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Booke Of Songs And Aires
Mourne, mourne, day is with darknesse fled,


Mourn, mourn, Day is with darkness fled,
What heav'n then governs earth,
O none, but hell in heavenĀ“s stead,
Chokes with his mists our mirth.
Mourn, mourn, look now for no mre day
Nor night, but that from hell,
Then all must as they may
In darkness learn to dwell.
But yet this change, must needs change our delight,
That thus the sun should harbour with the night





 
 
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