And for an epitaph the rock shall groan
Eternally: if any ask the stone.
23 centre] compass.
A Blackmoor Maid wooing a fair Boy:
sent to the Author by Mr. Hen. Rainolds.
Stay, lovely boy, why fly'st thou me
That languish in these flames for thee?
I'm black, 'tis true: why so is Night,
And Love doth in dark shades delight.
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