| Now from unloving Ire doth Hatred spring |
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| From Envy springs ay-watchful Jealousie |
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| This Prodigie, this more than mounstrous Pride |
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| Holy Roode or Christes Crosse, The - Sonnet |
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| Epitaph, An - |
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| Sith that thou has so soundly slept, my Muse |
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| Mirum In Modum - |
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| Now, for the Hart fraile life first intertaines |
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| Speculum Proditori - |
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| Now, to retire from whence our Rimes doe range |
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