Most sacred fire the burneth mightly in living breast!
Ye kindled first above
Emongst the eternal spheres and lamping skies
Thence poured into men, which men call love
Not that same, which does base affections rise, in brutish minds
And filthy lust inflame
But that sweet fit, which does true beauty love
And chooseth virtue for his dearest dame
From whence springs all honour, and never dying fame!
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