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 Print thy lips into the air, So by this Means I may kiss thy kiss Whenas some kind Wind Shall hither waft it, and in lieu My lips shall send a 1000 back to you.

Go hence away, and in thy parting know 'Tis not my voice but Heaven's that bids thee go; Spring hence thy faith, nor think it ill desert I find in thee that makes me thus to part. But voice of fame, and voice of Heaven have thundered We both were lost, if both of us not sundered. Fold now thine arms, and in thy last look rear One sigh of love, and cool it with a tear. Since part we must, let's kiss; that done, retire With as cold frost as erst we met with fire; With such white vows as fate can ne'er dissever, But truth knit fast; and so, farewell for ever.

Apollo sings, his harp resounds: give room, For now behold the golden pomp is come, Thy pomp of plays which thousands come to see With admiration both of them and thee. O volume! worthy, leaf by leaf and cover,