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 It was the lark, the herald of the morn, No nightingale : look, love, what envious streaks Do lace the severing clouds in yonder east : Night's candles are burnt out, and jocund day Stands tiptoe on the misty mountain tops ; I must be gone and live, or...  The Plays of William Shakespeare: With the Corrections and Illustrations of ... - Page 318 by William Shakespeare - 1809 Full view -
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