.
.
Hark, Hark! the lark at heaven's
gate sings
Hark, Hark!
the lark at heaven's gate sings,
And Phoebus ‘gins arise,
His steeds
to water at those springs
On chalie'd flowers that lies;
And winking
Mary-buds begin
To ope their golden eyes;
With everything
that pretty is:
My lady sweet, arise;
Arise, arise!
(Cymbeline, I I, 3)
.
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