That unio me dost such religion use !
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ow I do fear myself, that am not worth The least indulgent thought thy pen drops forth ! At once thou mak*st me happy, and unrnak'st ; And giving largely to me, more thon takst. What fate is mine, that so itself bereaves ? WTiat art is thine, that so tliy friend deceives ? When even there, where most thou praisest me For writing better, I must envy thee. Bbw. Jonsok.
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