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Hence, all you vain delights, As short as are the nights Wherein you spend your folly! There's nought in this life sweet, If man were wise to see 't, But only melancholy, Oh, sweetest melancholy! - Song in Praise of Melancholy, as given in Malone's Manuscripts in the Bodleian Library, manuscript no. 21 [Melancholy] My love and I for kisses played; She would keep stakes: I was content; But when I won she would be paid; This made me ask her what she meant. Pray, since I see (quoth she) "your wrangling vain, Take your kisses; give me mine again." - Verses, in "Gentleman's Magazine", July, 1823 [Kisses]
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