Althaea
Look, ye say well, and know not what ye say,
For all my sleep is turned into a fire,
And all my dreams to stuff that kindles it.
CHORUS.
Yet one doth well being patient of the gods.
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Look, ye say well, and know not what ye say,
For all my sleep is turned into a fire,
And all my dreams to stuff that kindles it.
CHORUS.
Yet one doth well being patient of the gods.