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Not from the ſtars do I my judgement plucke,
And yet me thinkes I haue Aſtronomy,
But not to tell of good,or euil lucke,
Of plagues,of deaths,or ſeaſons quallity,
Nor can I fortune to breefe mynuits tell;
Pointing to each his thunder,raine and winde,
Or ſay with Princes if it ſhall go wel
By oft predict that I in heauen finde.
But from thine eies my knowledge I derive,
And conſtant ſtars in them I read ſuch art
As truth and beautie ſhal together thriue
If from thy ſelfe,to ſtore thou wouldſt conuert;
Or elſe of thee this I prognoſticate,
Thy end is Truthes and Beauties doome and date.
Zie ook het online-facsimile van de oorspronkelijke uitgave (site helaas niet altijd bereikbaar).
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