Not by Amphialus.
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ome Bays, perchance, or Myrtle Bough,For difference crowns the BrowOf those kind souls that wereThe noble Martyrs here ;And if that be the only Odds,(As who can Tell ?) ye kinder Gods,Give me the Woman here. There never yet was Woman made, Nor shall, but to be cursed,And O ! that I, fond I, should first I
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