| Hide not, sweetest Love, a sight so pleasing |
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| Leave prolonging thy distresse |
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| The Spyres Curten |
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| Ev'ry Dame affects good fame, what ere her doings be |
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| Wise men patience never want |
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| So sweet is thy discourse to me |
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| Lift up to heav'n, sad wretch, thy heavy spright |
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| O Love, where are thy Shafts, thy Quiver, and thy Bow? |
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| As by the streams of Babylon |
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| If any hath the heart to kill |
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