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<story from a sist'ring vale,
And down I laid to list the sad-tuned tale,
Tearing of papers, breaking rings atwain,
Which fortified her visage from the sun,
The carcase of a beauty spent and done.
Nor youth all quit, but spite of heaven's fell rage
Which on it had conceited characters,
That seasoned woe had pelleted in tears,
As often shrieking undistinguished woe,
As they did batt'ry to the spheres intend;
To th' orbed earth; sometimes they do extend
To every place at once, and nowhere fixed,
Proclaimed in her a careless hand of pride;
Hanging her pale and pined cheek beside;
And, true to bondage, would not break from thence,
Of amber, crystal, and of beaded jet,
Upon whose weeping margent she was set;
Or monarchs' hands that lets not bounty fall
Which she perused, sighed, tore, and gave the flood;
Bidding them find their sepulchres in mud;
With sleided silk feat and affectedly
And often kissed, and often 'gan to tear;
What unapproved witness dost thou bear!
This said, in top of rage the lines she rents,
Sometime a blusterer that the ruffle knew
.
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