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Act I, Scene 98

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  • Shakespeare. From you have I been absent in the spring,
    When proud-pied April dress'd in all his trim 1360
    Hath put a spirit of youth in every thing,
    That heavy Saturn laugh'd and leap'd with him.
    Yet nor the lays of birds nor the sweet smell
    Of different flowers in odour and in hue
    Could make me any summer's story tell, 1365
    Or from their proud lap pluck them where they grew;
    Nor did I wonder at the lily's white,
    Nor praise the deep vermilion in the rose;
    They were but sweet, but figures of delight,
    Drawn after you, you pattern of all those. 1370
    Yet seem'd it winter still, and, you away,
    As with your shadow I with these did play:

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