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  • My Love in Her Attire

    My love in her attire doth show her wit,
    It doth so well become her:
    For every season she hath dressings, fit,
    For winter, spring, and summer.
    No beauty she doth miss,
    When all her robes are on:
    But Beauty's self she is,
    When all her robes are gone.

    by Unknown

     



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