Epigram
When Arria to her Pætus had bequeath'd
The Sword, in her chast bosome newly sheath'd:
Trust mee (quoth shee) My owne wound feeles no smart;
Tis thine (my Pætus) grieves and kills my heart.
The Sword, in her chast bosome newly sheath'd:
Trust mee (quoth shee) My owne wound feeles no smart;
Tis thine (my Pætus) grieves and kills my heart.
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