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How fast this creature runs upon the earth1;
Her loving it shows her ignoble birth.2
3How swift she swims within the
4Let her but
grov’lling4be, she is in peace.
5But do but turn this turtle to the skies:
She sighs and sobs and discontented lies,5
7And in this passion, bathed in tears, she dies.
8So let a miser fear the loss
9His heart like
Nabal’s7instantly is cold.
him8that Death is come to take his due,
11He’ll call for interest or your bonds renew.
12Bid gallants leave their dames, their drink, their dice;
13Not they, they’ll swear, for present paradise.
14Tell them in love they’re at
yawl and bawl10for
wenches11or more drink.
light12lady leave her wanton love;
17Not she, she vows, for all the joys above.
18Tell her, ere long
her paint won’t hide her clay13;
19What doth she care, she’ll do it while she may.
20Put but these
ranters14where they cannot
They lie like fish on the forsaken shore.16
22Or curb these
gallants17of their vain desire,
pyraustas18kept out of the fire.
24Or take these wantons from their vanity;
25They’ll like this simple creature
26And in despair most commonly they die.
27Then hear a friend that tells you but the truth:
28Remember thy Creator in thy youth.
29And leave those follies ere they do leave you,
30Or else expect that Hell will have its due.