| Come a shore, come, merrie mates |
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| Elegye, An - |
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| The Writer to his Booke |
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| Epigramme - |
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| Most sweet and pleasing are thy wayes, O God |
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| What is it that all men possesse, among themselves conversing? |
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| Unlesse there were consent twixt hell and heaven |
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| Loe, when backe mine eye |
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| Fire, fire, fire, fire! |
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| If she forsake me, I must die |
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