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The furious
gun in his raging ire,
When that the bowl is rammed
in too sore
And that the flame cannot part from the
fire,
Cracketh in sunder, and in the air doth roar
The shivered pieces; right so doth my desire,
Whose flame increaseth from more to more,
Which to
let out I dare not look or speak;
So now hard force
my heart doth all to break.
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