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Poem	Wouldst thou hear what man can say In a little? Reader, stay. Underneath this stone doth lie As much beauty as could die; Which in life did harbor give To more virture than doth live. If at all she had a fault, Leave it buried in this vault. One name was Elizabeth, Th' other let it sleep with death; Fitter, where it died to tell, Than that it lived at all. Farewell.
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