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Me, me and none but me, dart home O gentle death,
And quickly, for I draw too long this idle breath.
O howe I long till I may fly to heav'n above,
Unto my faithful and beloved turtle dove.
Like to the silver Swan, before my death I sing:
And yet alive my fatal knell I help to ring.
Still I desire from earth and earthly joys to fly,
He never happy liv'd, that cannot love to die.