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“ For every little grief to wet his eyes : “ To grow unto himself was his desire,

And so 'tis thine; but know, it is as good To wither in my breast, as in his blood.

" Here was thy father's bed, here in my breast ; “ Thou art the next of blood, and 'tis thy right : “ Lo! in this hollow cradle take thy rest, “My throbbing heart shall rock thee day and night:

“ There shall not be one minute in an hour “ Wherein I will not kiss my sweet love's flower.”

Thus weary of the world, away she hies,
And yokes her silver doves; by whose swift aid
Their mistress mounted, through the empty skies
In her light chariot quickly is convey'd,
Holding their course to Paphos, where theu

queen
Means to immure herself, and not be seeu.

THE RAPE OF LUCRECE.

TO THE

RIGHT HONOURABLE HENRY WRIOTHESLY,

EARL OF SOUTHAMPTON, AND BARON OP TITCHFIELD.

ance,

The love I dedicate to your Lordship is without end; whereof this pamphlet, without beginning, is but a superfluous moiety.1 The warrant I have of your honourable disposition, not the worth of my untutored lines, makes it assured of accept

What I have done is yours, what I have to do is yours; being part in all I have, devoted yours. Were my worth greater, my duty would show greater: meantime, as it is, it is bound to your lordship, to whom I wish long life, still lengthened with happiness.

Your Lordship’s in all duty,

WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE.

I miely) i.e. part.

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