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[lxix] Wilde Beautie.

If all but Yce thou bee,
How dost thou thus mee burne?
Or how at Fire which thou dost raise in mee
(Sith Yce) thy selfe in Streames dost thou not turne?
But rather (plaintfull Case!)
Of Yce art Marble made to my Disgrace:
O Miracle of Loue! not heard till now,
Cold Yce doth burne, and hard by Fire doth grow.