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 And straight returneth home more debonnaire.

New birth's noe Probleme now: for we have seen

A senselesse Corps quickned with Life has beene.

And that not by a Miracle, but Art

With broken winded Nature, playing part.

The great inchanting Orpheus who could bring

From Hell Eurydice by a fidle string;

Yet Let her slip againe: And breaking's Truft

His Magicke-musicke Nerve, in sunder burst. O

Apollo scornes to make such Emp'ricke Cures:

Here's one now dead alive, alive endures.

Her fatall thread was Cut: Yet Plutoes bands.

Could her not ravish from his sacred hands.

Yea though a knife had Cut the Sisters Twine,

His Plantan Leafe would that together joyne,

See Orpheus, See, thy wonder-working Lyre,

Holds noe Comparison with thy Heavenly Sire.

Earch for a pleasant now delight,

To celebrate her births day's right.

It is a birth when after Death

The body gaines his former breath.

O! who'le pay him that dig'd the pitte?

The hungry grave hath lost a bitte,