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Walking by th' side, through Bushes clump o're-shaded,
Sad, mournful Voice their Ears from thence invaded.
(New Torrent-like did seem) complaining Sound,
Sighs mixt and Sobs; thought Female Grief's compound:

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Approaching near, they Woman's Garb beheld,
More turning strait (by tramplers noise compell'd)
Her Head that way, Morneda's Self it prov'd;
No meaner chance Clermanthe's Nurse belov'd.