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To The Lady Crewe, Upon The Death Of Her Child
by [?]


Why, Madam, will ye longer weep,
Whenas your baby’s lull’d asleep?
And, pretty child, feels now no more
Those pains it lately felt before.

All now is silent; groans are fled;
Your child lies still, yet is not dead,
But rather like a flower hid here,
To spring again another year.