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I trow that countenance cannot lie, Whose thoughts are legible in the eie.
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Her berth was of the wombe of morning dew, And her conception of the joyous Prime.
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But of his cheere did seeme too solemne sad; Yet nothing did he dread, but ever was ydrad.
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Fierce warres and faithfull loves shall moralize my song.
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O happy earth, Whereon thy innocent feet doe ever tread!
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The gentle minde by gentle deeds is knowne. For a man by nothing is so well bewrayd, As by his manners.
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A bold bad man, that dar'd to call by name Great Gorgon, Prince of darknesse and dead night.
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Through thicke and thin, both over banke and bush In hope her to attaine by hooke or crooke.
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And is there care in Heaven? And is there love In heavenly spirits to these Creatures bace?
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For all that faire is, is by nature good; That is a signe to know the gentle blood.
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Entire affection hateth nicer hands.
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Death slue not him, but he made death his ladder to the skies.
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How oft do they their silver bowers leave To come to succour us that succour want!
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Me seemes the world is runne quite out of square, From the first point of his appointed sourse, And being once amisse growes daily wourse and wourse.
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I hate the day, because it lendeth light To see all things, but not my love to see.
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Sweete Themmes runne softly, till I end my Song.
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As when in Cymbrian plaine An heard of bulles, whom kindly rage doth sting, Doe for the milky mothers want complaine, And fill the fieldes with troublous bellowing.
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A Gentle Knight was pricking on the plaine.
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For we by conquest, of our soveraine might, And by eternall doome of Fate's decree, Have wonne the Empire of the Heavens bright.
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As withered weed through cruell winters tine, That feeles the warmth of sunny beames reflection, Liftes up his head, that did before decline And gins to spread his leafe before the faire sunshine.
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Tell her the joyous Time will not be staid, Unlesse she doe him by the forelock take.
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With that I saw two swans of goodly hue Come softly swimming down along the Lee: Two fairer birds I yet did never see; The snow which doth the top of Pindus strow Did never whiter show, Nor Jove himself, when he a swan would be For love of Leda, whiter did appear
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For all that Nature by her mother-wit Could frame in earth.
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I learned have, not to despise, What ever thing seemes small in common eyes.