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On Himself.
By Robert Herrick
The work is done: young men and maidens, set
Upon my curls the myrtle coronet
Washed with sweet ointments: thus at last I come
To suffer in the Muses' martyrdom;
But with this comfort, if my blood be shed,
The Muses will wear blacks when I am dead.
Extra Info: Blacks, mourning garments.
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