Inbossom my head forth, lead me into silent poetry
Wretchedness leaves my eyes desired,
As labouring claims those golden hairs
Come appetise my tongue to heavenly moistures
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Do lend a breast to gaze upon
Have in summers past all pleasures
Or be them winded in my forehead (fill your dowry needs)
Sleepless (the sound of crashing waves)
Make thyself aroused to a flood of tears
In streaks of day, when owls do cry
And fables tread the primrose path
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