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Shakespeare. Reprinted fr

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Trans No To Strand, rear
Ink Buildings. Ce Pro pipe VIII. 250. r.d.

[ this edition is assigned in the Manchester
Cabalone (no 4456/t about 1775. It is
Bohn's Loconde,

metimes, mys

Joiner to Capell's edition of the Plays.
Descicted to Semuel Poole by the Editor.
Exp and patract of Shakespeare
litte page of the


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Vilia miretur vulgus, mihi flavus Apollo
Pocula Caftaliâ plena miniftret aquâ.
Ovid. Amor. l. 1. El. 15.

To the Right Honourable


Earl of Southampton, and Baron of Tichfield.

Right Honourable,

I know not how I fhall offend, in dedicating my unpolished lines to your lordfhip; nor how the world will cenfure me, for chufing fo ftrong a prop to fupport fo weak a burden: only if your honour feem but pleased, I account myfelf highly praised, and vow to take advantage of all idle hours, till Í have honoured you with fome graver labour. But if the firft heir of my invention prove deformed, I fhall be forry it had fo noble a godfather, and never after ear so barren a land, for fear it yield me ftill fo bad a harvest. I leave it to your honourable furvey, and your honour to your heart's content; which I wish may always answer your own wifh, and the world's hopeful expectation.

Your Honour's in all duty,

Will. Shakespear.


Even as the fun, with purple-coloured face,
Had ta'en his laft leave of the weeping morn,
Rofe-cheek'd Adonis hied him to the chase:
Hunting he lov'd, but love he laugh'd to scorn.
Sick-thoughted Venus makes amain unto him,
And like a bold-fac'd fuitor 'gins to woo him.

Thrice fairer than myself! (thus fhe began)
The fields fweet flower! fweet above compare!
Stain to all nymphs! more lovely than a man!
More white and red, than doves or rofes are !

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Nature, that made thee with herself at ftrife,
Saith, that the world hath ending with thy life.

Vouchfafe, thou wonder! to alight thy fteed,
And rein his proud head to the faddle-bow;
If thou wilt deign this favour, for thy meed,
A thousand honey fecrets fhalt thou know.

Here come and fit, where ferpent never hiffes,
And being fet, I'll fmother thee with kiffes.

And yet not cloy thy lips with loathed fatiety,
But rather famifh them amid their plenty;
Making them red and pale with fresh variety:
Ten kiffes fhort as one, one long as twenty.
A fummer's day will feem an hour but short,
Being wafted in fuch time-beguiling sport.

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