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POETEY. j POETRY. I

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POETEY. j POETRY. I TO HIS FORSAKEN MISTRESS. I (By Sir Robert Aytoun. 1570-1635-) > I do confess thou'rt tmouth and air, I And I might have gone near to love thee, Had I not fuund the slightest prayer That lips could speak, hid power to move thee But I can let thee now alone, As worthy to be loved by none. I do confess thou'rt svt-eet. but find Thee such an unthrift of thy sweets, Tby favors are but like the wind, That kisses everything it meets And since thou can with more than one, Thou'rt worthy to be kissed by none. The morning rose that untouched stands, Armed with her briars, how sweetly smells, But. plucked and strained through ruler hands, Her scent no longt r in her dwells, But scent and beauty both are gone, And leaves fall from her, one by one. Such fate ere long will thee betide, When thou bast handled b:en a while; Like sere flowers to be thrown aside And I will ligh, while some will smile, To see thy love for more than one Hath brought thee to be loved by none.

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