XXIII.
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„•./''■ ^h The curious wits, seeing dull pensivenesse Bewray it selfe in my long-setled eyes, Whence those same fumes of melancholy rise, With idle paines and missing ayme, do guesse. i ^^ ^ ' Some, that know how my spring I did addresse, — 1 ' , Deeme that my Muse some fruit of knowledge plies'; Others, because the Prince my service tries, -^ u c*/^''^\ »*'^ Thinke that I thinke state errours to redress J ^ L * ,. , But harder judges judge ambition's rage — ' i /\iviJrti'vrf{ Scourge of it selfe, still climing slipprie place —
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