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Farewel, ye brooks; no more along
Your banks mun I be walking:
No more you'll hear my pipe or song,

Or pretty Moggy's talking.

But I by death an end will give
To grief, fince we mun sever;

For who can after parting live,
Ought to be wretched ever.

XXVII.

OME kind angel, gently flying,
Mov’d with pity at my pain,
Tell Corinna, I am dying,
Till with joy we meet again.

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AD DOM. GOWER, COLL. MAGISTRUM, EP IST O L A D EPR E CATOR I.A.

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