A Sonnet

Ile dote noe more, nor shall mine eyes
againe
maintaine
my former Jealousies,
If I can feare
noe more her haire
to fetter mee, twill bee the best
the noblest Trophy I can reare
unto my rest:
Thus perish in mee all my fire of Lust
only a Just
desire keepe heate in mee
to bee
A looker on yet still Liue free.
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