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Dean Bourn, farewell; I never look to see Dean, or thy warty incivility. Thy rocky bottom, that doth tear thy streams And makes them frantic, ev'n to all extremes; To my content, I never should behold, Were thy streams silver, or thy rocks all gold. Rocky thou art; and rocky we discover Thy men; and rocky are thy ways all over. O men, O manners; now, and ever known To be a rocky generation! A people currish; churlish as the seas; And rude (almost) as rudest savages. With whom I did, and may re-sojourn when Rocks turn to rivers, rivers turn to men.