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With kisses kind she gratifies my pain,
Protesting never rigour more to show.
Happy was I this good hap to obtain;
But drowsy slumbers flying to their cell,
My sudden joy converted was to bale;
My wonted sorrows still with me do dwell.
I lookèd round about on hill and dale,
But I could neither my fair Chloris view,
Nor yet the satyr which erstwhile I slew.
