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Come thou, who art the wine and wit Of all I've writ: The grace, the glory, and the best Piece of the rest. Thou art of what I did intend The all and end; And what was made, was made to meet Thee, thee, my sheet. Come then, and be to my chaste side Both bed and bride. We two, as reliques left, will have One rest, one grave. And, hugging close, we will not fear Lust entering here, Where all desires are dead or cold As is the mould; And all affections are forgot, Or trouble not. Here, here the slaves and pris'ners be From shackles free: And weeping widows long oppress'd Do here find rest. The wronged client ends his laws Here, and his cause. Here those long suits of chancery lie Quiet, or die: And all Star-Chamber bills do cease, Or hold their peace. Here needs no Court for our Request, Where all are best,