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For were it day, I wolde upryse.
A! slowe sonne, shew thyn enpryse!
Speed thee to sprede thy bemis bright,
And chace the derknesse of the night,
To putte away the stoundes stronge,
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Which in me lasten al to longe."
'The night shalt thou contene so,
Withoute rest, in peyne and wo;