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In Ciprus, springes
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
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In Ciprus, springes

Complaint of the louer disdained.

In Ciprus, springes (whereas dame Venus dwelt)
A well so hote, that whoso tastes thesame,
[_]

the same


Were he of stone, as thawed yse should melt,
And kindled fynde his brest with fired flame.
Whose moyst poyson dissolued hath my hate.
This creeping fire my colde lims so opprest,
That in the hart that harborde freedome late,
Endlesse despeyre longe thraldome hath imprest.
An other so colde in frozen yse is founde,
Whose chilling venom of repugnant kynde
The feruent heat doth quenche of Cupides wounde:
And with the spot of change infectes the minde:
Whereof my dere hath tasted, to my paine.
My seruice thus is growen into disdaine.