By John Donne.

Men, till they tooke laws which made freedome lesse,
Their daughters, and their sisters did ingresse;
Till now unlawful, therefore ill, 'twas not.
So jolly, that it can move, this soule is,
The body so free of his kindnesses,
That selfe-preserving it hath now forgot,
And slackneth so the soules, and bodies knot,
Which temperance straightens; freely on his she friends
He blood, and spirit, pith, and marrow spends,
    Ill steward of himselfe, himselfe in three yeares ends.


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