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Whilst I | alone | did call | upon | thy aid,
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My verse | alone | had all | thy gent|le grace,
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But now | my gra|cious num|bers are | decayed,
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And my sick Muse | doth^give | anoth|er place.
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I grant |(sweet* love)| thy love|ly arg|ument
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Deserves | the tra/vail of | a worth|ier pen;
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Yet what | of thee | thy po|et doth | invent
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He robs | thee of,| and pays | it thee | again.
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He lends | thee vir|tue, and | he stole | that
word
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From thy | behav|ior, beaut|y doth | he give,
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And found | it in | thy cheek:| he can | afford
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No praise | to thee,| but what | in thee | doth
live.
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Then thank | him not | for that | which he | doth
say,
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Since what | he owes | thee, thou | thyself |
dost pay.