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- T H E R A P E OF L V G R E C £.
I hauc debated eucn in my foule,
What wroiig,whatihamCjwhatforrow I fhal brec J,
But nothing can affcdions courfe controull,
Or ftop the headlong furic of his fpecd,
I know repentant teares infewe the deed,
Rcproch, difdaincj and deadly enmity,
Yet ftriuc I lo em brace mine infamy.
This (aidj hee fliakcs aloft his Romaine blade,
Which like a Faulcon towring in the skies,
Cowcheth the fowle below with his wings Iha de,
V V hofe crooked beakc threats,ifhe mount he dies.
So vnder his infulting Fauchion lies
• Harmelertc L v c k e t i a marking what he tels,
With trembling feare:as fowl hear Faulcos bcls.
Lv c R E c E, quoth he, this night I mud enioy thee.
If thou deny, then force muft worke my way :
For in thy bed I purpofe to deftroie ihee.
That done, fome worthleffe flaue of thine ile flay.
To kill thine Honour with thy liuesdccaic.
Andinthydeadaimesdo Imeanc to place him,
Swearing 1 flue him feeingthee imbrac c him.
E
11. 498— 5 t8
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