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Of mortall life the leafe, the bud, the flowre No more doth florish after first decay, That earst was sought to deck both bed and bowre Of many a lady, and many a Paramowre. Gather therefore the Rose whilest yet is prime, For soone comes age that will her pride deflowre; Gather the Rose of love whitest yet is time, Whitest loving thou mayest loved be withe equall crime.
What are they? Sir Hu. We will deny none of her freinds to see her; They can intend noe rescue. Con. Noe, my life ont, sir: they come unarm'd. Sir Hu. Be still; letts see this misterie. Florish, Horrid Musike. Enter Death, Gri., and Furies. Gri.
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