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 Companion, My dearest Crew, That me unkindly slew.

May your fault die, And have no name In books of fame; Or let it lie Forgotten now, as I.

We parted are And now no more, As heretofore, By jocund Lar Shall be familiar.

But though we sever, My Crew shall see That I will be Here faithless never, But love my Clipseby ever.

Empires of kings are now, and ever were, As Sallust saith, coincident to fear.

Every time seems short to be That's measured by felicity; But one half-hour that's made up here With grief, seems longer than a year.