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O for my ſake doe you wifh fortune chide,
The guiltie goddeſſe of my harmfull deeds,
That did not better for my life prouide,
Then publick meanes which publick manners breeds.
Thence comes it that my name receiues a brand,
And almoſt thence my nature is ſubdu’d
To what it workes in,like the Dyers hand,
Pitty me then,and wiſh I were renu’de,
Whilſt like a willing pacient I will drinke,
Potions of Eyſell gainſt my ſtrong infection,
No bitterneſſe that I will bitter thinke,
Nor double pennance to correct correction.
Pittie me then deare friend,and I aſſure yee,
Euen that your pittie is enough to cure me.
Zie ook het online-facsimile van de oorspronkelijke uitgave (site helaas niet altijd bereikbaar).
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