EPILOGUE.
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o! I have made a Calender for every year,That steel in strength, and time in durance, shall outwear;And, if I marked well the stars' revolution,It shall continue till the world's dissolution,To teach the ruder shepheard how to feed his sheep,And from the falser's fraud his folded flock to keep.Go, little Calender! thou hast a free passport;Go but a lowly gate amongst the meaner sort:Dare not to match thy pipe with Tityrus his style,Nor with the Pilgrim[22] that the ploughman play'd a while;But follow them far off, and their high steps adore;The better please, the worse despise; I ask no more.
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