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Poem by Ben Jonson
An Elegy (Since you must go)
Since you must go, and I must bid farewell, Hear, mistress, your departing servant tell What it is like : and do not think they can Be idle words, though of a parting man. It is as if a night should shade noon-day, Or that the sun was here, but forced away ; And we were left under that hemisphere, Where we must feel it dark for half a year. What fate is this, to change men's days and hours, To shift their seasons, and destroy their powers ! Alas ! I have lost my heat, my blood, my prime, Winter is come a quarter ere his time. My health will leave me ; and when you depart, How shall I do, sweet mistress, for my heart ? You would restore it ! no ; that's worth a fear, As if it were not worthy to be there : O keep it still ; for it had rather be Your sacrifice, than here remain with me. And so I spare it : come what can become Of me, I'll softly tread unto my tomb ; Or, like a ghost, walk silent amongst men, Till I may see both it and you agen.
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