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Poem by Thomas Heywood
But Psyche lives, and on her breath attend Delights that far surmount all earthly joy; Music, sweet voices, and ambrosian fare; Winds, and the light-winged creatures of the air; Clear channeled rivers, springs, and flowery meads, Are proud when Psyche wantons on their streams, When Psyche on their rich embroidery treads, When Psyche gilds their crystal with her beams. We have but seen our sister, and, behold! She sends us with our laps full brimmed with gold.
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