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Am vaild with a stonie sanctuarie,
To saue my Ire stuft soule least it miscarie:
From threatning stormes ore'turning veritie,
That shames to see truthes refined puritie;
Those open plains, those hie skie kissing mounts,
Wher huffing winds cast vp their airy accounts,
Were too too open, shelter yeelding none,
So that the blasts did tyrannize vpon
