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On my dear Grand-child Simon Bradstreet Who dyed on 16 Novemb 1669 being but a moneth and one d
No sooner come, but gone, and fal'n asleep,
Acquaintance short, yet parting caus'd us weep,
Three flours, two searcely blown, the last i'th' bud,
Cropt by th'Almighties hand; yet is he good,
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