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- # SNAKE-SPEAKS
Crawles to maturity, wherewith being crown'd,
Crooked eclipses gainst his glory fight,
And time that'gout, doth now his gift confound.
Time doth transfuse the florish set on youth,
And deluce the parallels in beauties brow,
Feedes on the rarities of natures truth,
And nothing stands but for his fieth to mow.
And yet to times in hope, my verse shall stand
Praising thy worth, disright his cruel hand.
61
Is it thy wil, thy Image should keepe open
My heavy eicids to the weary night?
Dost thou desire my flumbers should be broken,
While shadows like to three do mocke my fight?
Is it thy spirit that thou send'st from thee
So farre from home into my deeds to prye,
To find out shames and idle houses in me,
The skope and tenure of thy Icloufic?
O no, thy loue though much, is not so great,
It is my loue that keeps mine cie awake,
Mine owne true loue that doth my rest defeat,
To plaie she watch-man euer for thy sake,
For thee watch I, whilst thou dost wake elsewhere,
From me farre of, with others all to neere.
62
S Inne of selfe-loue possesseth al mine cie,
And all my soule, and all my curry part;
And for this sinne there is no remedie,
It is so grounded inward in my heart.
Me thinks no face so gratious is as mine,
No shape so true, no truth of such account,
And for my selfe mine owne worth do define,
As I all other in all worths surmount.
But when my glasse she was me my selfe indeed
Beated and chop with tand antiquitie,
Mine owne selfe loue quite contrary I scad
Selfe
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