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Ode To Cynthia
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Now the sun is laid to sleep, Seated in thy silver chair, State in wonted manner keep. Dare itself to interpose; Cynthia's shining orb was made Heaven to cheer when day did close. And thy crystal-shining quiver, Give unto the flying hart Space to breathe, how short soever. Goddess excellently bright. Bless us then with wished sight Thou that mak'st a day of night. |