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To PANDORA.
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
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To PANDORA.

Faire Sicil fertill first of Cruell Kings,
When Dionise did all thy state ouerthrow,
And wrought so many strange & monstrus things
And led so long a life without all law:
Sad sorrow was the Syracusan Song,
And all saue old Hymera, wish'd him dead,
Shee wish'd him weel, cause many tyrants sprong:
And were hee gone, a worser would succeed.
It is my weird, and woe is mee therefore,
To serue and loue where recompence is none.
Oft haue I chang'd, and now can change no more
For badder ay succeeds, when bad are gone.
And this sweet hart maks me thy beadman thral,
Least by thy losse, in harder haps I fall.
Quando ego non timui grauiora pericula veris.