A prety ducke there was that said, To whome shall I make mone I haue beene long a pretie maid, And yet I lie alone. Alone I lie in deepe dispaire, Which kils my louely heart, For none wil my sweet ioyes repaire, Or play a louers part. A tickling part that maidens loue, But I can neuer get, Yet long haue sought, and stil do craue, At rest my hart to set.
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