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George Chapman
1559-1634



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Muses, that sing


Muses, that sing

Muses, that sing loveís sensual empery,
And lovers kindling your enraged fires
At Cupidís bonfires burning in the eye,
Blown with the empty breath of vain desires,
You that prefer the painted cabinet
Before the wealthyjewels it doth store ye,
THat all your joys in duying figure set,
And stain the living substance of your glory,
Abjure those joys; abhore their memory;
And let my love the honoured subject be
Of love, and honourís complete history.
Your eyes were never yet let in to see
The majesty and riches of the mind,
But dwell in darkness, for your God is blind.


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© 2002 Elena and Yakov Feldman