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Poem	These houres, and that which hovers o’re my End, Into thy hands, and hart, lord, I commend. Take Both to Thine Account, that I and mine In that Hour, and in these, may be all thine. That as I dedicate my devoutest Breath To make a kind of Life for my lord’s Death, So from his living, and life-giving Death, My dying Life may draw a new, and never fleeting Breath.
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