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“ Ambition never won my mynde,

" For many its victim I have knowne; 6. Alas! like mee, here once confin'd -

" Their houres of peace for ever flowne.

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" Torne from my friends, from all the joyes,

" That virtuous freedom can afford; • But more my bleeding bofom fighes,

“ Torne from my love-my wedded lorde.

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And they have ta’en that haplesse fayre,

And to the drearye tow're have borne; Nor hecde the pangs of keene despaire,

With which her breaking hearte is torne.

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There dooin'd her future life to weare,

No more the balm of hope to knowe, Shee yields her to the fiend despaire,

That points the barbed dart of woe.

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