One short sleep past, we wake eternally, And Death shall be no more; Death, thou shalt die.
Goe and catche a falling starre, Get with child a mandrake root, Tell me, where all past yeares are, Or who cleft the Divel's foot. Teach me to hear Mermaides' singing, Or to keep of envies stinging, And finde What winde Serves to advance an honest minde.
Our faults are not seen, But past us; neither felt, but only in The punishment.
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