Yet sighes, deare sighes, indeede true friends you are That do not leave your left friend at the wurst, But, as you with my breast, I oft have nurst So, gratefull now, you waite upon my care.
Wit's an unruly engine, wildly striking Sometimes a friend, sometimes the engineer: Hast thou the knack? pamper it not with liking; But if thou want it, buy it not too deare Many affecting wit beyond their power, Have got to be a deare fool for an houre.George Herbert
And on his brest a bloodie crosse he bore, The deare remembrance of his dying Lord, For whose sweete sake that glorious badge he wore.Edmund Spenser
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