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|Ch. #||Chapter Title||Word Count||Reviews|
So quick bright things come to confusion.
O! Why rebuke you him that loves you so?
A sweet-face man; a proper man, as one shall see in a summer's day.
Take pains. Be perfect.
Therefore another prologue must tell he is not a lion.
Things base and vile, holding no quantity,
My soul is in the sky.
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