We may not wepe, there is no more in store;
But wo and pain us frettith more and more:
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Thou †blisful planet, lovers sterre so shene,
Have rowth on us, that sigh and carefull been;
And ponish, Lady, grevously, we pray,
The false untrew with counterfet plesaunce,
That made their oth, be trew to live or dey,
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With chere assured, and with countenaunce;