Sonnet CXLVI
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Poor soul, the centre of my sinful earth, | 1
[ ] these rebel powers that thee array; | 2
Why dost thou pine within and suffer dearth, | 3
Painting thy outward walls so costly gay? | 4
Why so large cost, having so short a lease, | 5
Dost thou upon thy fading mansion spend? | 6
Shall worms, inheritors of this excess, | 7
Eat up thy charge? is this thy body's end? | 8
Then soul, live thou upon thy servant's loss, | 9
And let that pine to aggravate thy store; | 10
Buy terms divine in selling hours of dross; | 11
Within be fed, without be rich no more: | 12
So shalt thou feed on Death, that feeds on men, | 13
And Death once dead, there's no more dying then. | 14
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