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How should I your true love know
From another one?
By his Cockle hat and staffe,
And his Sandal shoone.
He is dead and gone Lady,
He is dead and done,—
At his head a grasse-greene Turfe,
At his heeles a stone.
White his Shrowd as the Mountain Snow,
Larded with sweet flowers:
Which bewept to the grave did not go,
With true-love showres.
William Shakespeare
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