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When I do count the clock that tells the time,
nothing ‘gainst Time’s scythe can make defence
Some say the world will end in fire,
And die as fast as they see others grow;
In daylight, and in beauty, from his birth:
So long lives this, and this gives life to thee.
So are you to my thoughts as food to life,
Consumed by that which it was nourished by.
For precious friends hid in death’s dateless night,
As the deathbed whereon it must expire,
my Cento
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