In-Text |
If euer Rest were drawen to the life, 'tis in that most exact Night-peece, Death; wherin all memory of preceding trouble is so slumbred, that no relick awakes to disturbe the quiet which it affords. |
If ever Rest were drawn to the life, it's in that most exact Night-piece, Death; wherein all memory of preceding trouble is so slumbered, that no relic awakes to disturb the quiet which it affords. |
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