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| Fair torch, burn out thy light, and lend it not/To darken her whose light excelleth thine/And die, unhallow'd thoughts, before you blot/With your uncleanness that which is divine; | |
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| Offer pure incense to so pure a shrine:/Let fair humanity abhor the deed/That spots and stains love's modest snow-white weed. | |
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| (ahem) ... wehn a man lvoes a women... | |
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| ah! by my troth: I am dieing! | |
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