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'Tis not the fight that crowns us, but the end.
'Tis not the fight that crowns us, but the end.
Silke doth quench the fire in the Kitchin.
Silke doth quench the fire in the Kitchin.
Take away her rewards, and who will ever clasp naked Virtue to
his bosom?
Take away her rewards, and who will ever clasp naked Virtue to
his bosom?
A sword laid by,
Which eats into itself, and rusts ingloriously.
A sword laid by,
Which eats into itself, and rusts ingloriously.
My soul is dark! oh quickly string
The harp I yet can brook to hear.
My soul is dark! oh quickly string
The harp I yet can brook to hear.
What's done can't be undone.
[Fr., Ce qui est faicr ne se peult desfaire.]
What's done can't be undone.
[Fr., Ce qui est faicr ne se peult desfaire.]