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TALE IX.

ARABELLA.

Thrice blessed they that master so their blood -
But earthly happier is the rose distillid,
Than that which, withering on the virgin thorn,
Grows, lives, and dies in single blessedness.

Midsummer Night's Dream

I sometimes do excuse the thing I hate,
For his advantage whom I dearly love.

Measure for Measure.

Contempt, farewell! and maiden pride, adieu!

Much Ado about Nothing.

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