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It was deep April
Constancy
My Darling
Unbosoming
Maids, not to you my mind doth change
Come Gorgo, put the rug in place
Ah, Eros doth not always smite
Sometimes I do despatch my heart
So jealous of your beauty
Already to mine eyelids' shore
A Girl
I sing thee with the stock-dove's throat
Nightfall
Sweet-Briar in Rose
Lo, my loved is dying
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