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And, hugging close, we will not feare Lust entering here;

Where all desires are dead or cold, As is the mould; And all affections are forgot,

Or trouble not. Here needs no court for our request, Where all are best; All wise, all equal, and all just Alike i' th' dust. Nor need we here to feare the frowne Of court or crown; Where fortune bears no sway o'er things,

There all are kings. And for a while lye here concealed, To be revealed, Next, at that great platonick yeere, And then meet here. HERRICK.

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Fear no more the frown o' th' great, Thou art past the tyrant's stroke: Care no more to clothe and eat;

To thee the reed is as the oak: The sceptre, learning, physic, must All follow this, and come to dust.

Fear no more the lightning-flash, Nor the all-dreaded thunder-stone; Fear not slander, censure rash:

Thou hast finished joy and moan: All lovers young, all lovers must Consign to thee, and come to dust. SHAKSPEARE.

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ODE ON THE DEATH OF THOMSON.

IN yonder grave a Druid lies, Where slowly winds the stealing wave;

The year's best sweets shall duteous rise

To deck its poet's sylvan grave.

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