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 Mon. Set with the sun thy woes. Sil. The day grows old, And time it is our full-fed flocks to fold. Chor. The shades grow great, but greater grows our sorrow; But let's go steep Our eyes in sleep, And meet to weep To-morrow. Quintell, quintain or tilting board. Bents, grasses. Pales, the goddess of sheepfolds.


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MARRY. I do not love to wed, Though I do like to woo; And for a maidenhead I'll beg and buy it too. I'll praise and I'll approve Those maids that never vary; And fervently I'll love, But yet I would not marry. I'll hug, I'll kiss, I'll play, And, cock-like, hens I'll tread, And sport it any way But in the bridal bed. For why? that man is poor Who hath but one of many, But crown'd he is with store That, single, may hav