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fair, long live a happy maiden!

Blest from thy cradle by a worthy mother,

High-thoughted like to her, with bounty laden,

Like pleasing grace affording, one and other;

Sweet model of thy far renownèd sire!

Hold back a while thy ever-giving hand,

And though these free penned lines do nought require,

For that they scorn at base reward to stand,

Yet crave they most for that they beg the least

Dumb is the message of my hidden grief,

And store of speech by silence is increased;

O let me die or purchase some relief!

Bounteous Fidessa cannot be so cruel

As for to make my heart her fancy's fuel!