Now to thintent thou mayest playnly beholde and Iudge rightly of these hony mouthed false feynyng flatterours and auncient enemyes of Christes religion the better and more readily […]
The moon turns the smoke into wannish clouds of white and yellow, which slowly rise, break, and disappear.
Draw forth thy ſword, thou mightie man at armes, Intending but to raiſe my charmed ſkin: And Ioue himſelfe will ſtretch his hand from heauen, To ward the blow, and ſhield me ſafe from harme, […]
Oft have ye heard my canty strains; But now, what else for me remains But tales of woe
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