William Strode Poems

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Whene'er the wast makes too much hast,
That hast againe makes too much wast.


I here stand keeper while 'tis light,
'Tis theft to enter when 'tis night.


This girdle doth the wast embrace
To keepe all others from that place.


This circle here is drawne about
To keepe all tempting spiritts out.


Whoe'er the girdle doth undoe
Hee quite undoes the owner too

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