Whatwhile I purged my sin unto thee nor with any weeping
Tittle of cruel despite such as be thine could I 'bate.
For that no sooner done thou washed thy liplets with many
Drops which thy fingers did wipe, using their every joint,
Lest of our mouths conjoined remain there aught by the contact
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Like unto slaver foul shed by the butterèd bun.
Further, wretchedmost me betrayed to unfriendliest Love-god
Never thou ceased'st to pain hurting with every harm,
So that my taste be turned and kisses ambrosial erstwhile