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 Am vaild with a stonie sanctuarie, To saue my Ire stuft soule least it miscarie: From threatning stormes ore'turning veritie, That shames to see truthes refined puritie; Those open plains, those hie skie kissing mounts, Wher huffing winds cast vp their airy accounts, Were too too open, shelter yeelding none, So that the blasts did tyrannize vpon