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Whither? say, whither shall I fly, To slack these flames wherein I fry? To the treasures, shall I go, Of the rain, frost, hail, and snow? Shall I search the underground, Where all damps and mists are found? Shall I seek (for speedy ease) All the floods and frozen seas? Or descend into the deep, Where eternal cold does keep? These may cool; but there's a zone Colder yet than anyone: That's my Julia's breast, where dwells Such destructive icicles, As that the congelation will Me sooner starve than those can kill.

With blameless carriage, I lived here To the almost seven and fortieth year. Stout sons I had, and those twice three One only daughter lent to me: The which was made a happy bride But thrice three moons before she died. My modest wedlock, that was known Contented with the bed of one.