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| Books | Books |
 Whilst summer lasts, and I live here, Fidele, I'll sweeten thy sad grave: Thou shalt not lack The flower, that's like thy face, pale primrose; nor The azur'd hare-bell, like thy veins; no, nor The leaf of eglantine, whom not to slander, Out-sweeten'd...  The Plays and Poems of William Shakspeare: With the Corrections and ... - Page 163 by William Shakespeare - 1821 Full view -
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