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Poem	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.
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