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Poet. Sir, I haue vpon a high and pleasant hill Feign'd Fortune to be thron'd. The Base o'th' Mount Is rank'd with all deserts, all kinde of Natures That labour on the bosome of this Sphere, To propagate their states; among'st them all, Whose eyes are on this Soueraigne Lady fixt, One do I personate of Lord Timons frame, Whom Fortune with her Iuory hand wafts to her, Whose present grace, to present slaues and seruants Translates his Riuals