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If mortall men so grevous paynes would taste
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Of love fayne woolde I frame my style
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Sonnett
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Upon the Death of the Young Lord Harrington
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That yeelds yow due prayse I am the meanest of manye
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Sonnett
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He that cann number by his skill or payne
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My harte I have oftymes bydd the beware
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Vauntinge sometymes how I had bynn a thralle
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Lett those that lyve in love, lament the lovers fitts
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