XLII
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ow strike your sailes ye jolly Mariners, 370For we be come unto a quiet rode,Where we must land some of our passengers,And light this wearie vessell of her lode.Here she a while may make her safe abode,Till she repaired have her tackles spent,[*] 375And wants supplide. And then againe abroadOn the long voyage whereto she is bent:Well may she speede and fairely finish her intent. * * * * *
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