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To His Sister

 Loving Sister: every line
Of your last letter was so fine
With the best mettle, that the grayne
Of Scrivener's pindust were but vayne:
The touch of Gold did sure instill
Some vertue more than did the Quill.
And since you write noe cleanly hand Your token bids mee understand Mine eyes have here a remedy Wherby to reade more easily.
I doe but jeast: your love alone Is my interpretation: My words I will recant, and sweare I know your hand is wondrous faire.

Poem by William Strode
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