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580?-1640
O HAPPY Tithon! if thou knowst thy hap,
And valuest thy wealth, as I my want,
Then needst thou notwhich ah! I grieve to grant
Repine at Jove, lulld in his lemans lap:
That golden shower in which he did repose
One dewy drop it stains
Which thy Aurora rains
Upon the rural plains,
When from thy bed she passionately goes.
Then, wakend with the music of the merles,
She not remembers Memnon when she mourns:
That faithful flame which in her bosom burns
From crystal conduits throws those liquid pearls;
Sad from thy sight so soon to be removed,
She so her grief delates.
O favourd by the fates
Above the happiest states,
Who art of one so worthy well-beloved!
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