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Poem	Be silent you still musique of the Sphears, And every sense make haste to be all ears, And give devout attention to her aires, To which the Gods doe listen as to prayers Of pious votaries; the which to heare Tumult would be attentive, and would swear To keep lesse noise at Nile, if there she sing, Or with a happy touch grace but the string. Among so many auditors, such throngs Of Gods and men that presse to hear her songs, O let me have an unespied room, And die with such an anthem ore my tomb
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