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That our garments, being, as they were, drenched in the sea, hold notwithstanding their freshness and glosses, being rather new-dyed than stained with salt water.
Methinks our garments are now as fresh as when we put them on first in Afric, at the marriage of the king's fair daughter Claribel to the King of Tunis.
That stand 'twixt me and Milan, candied be they
And melt ere they molest!
Here lies your brother,
No better than the earth he lies upon,
If he were that which now he's like—that's dead
All the infections that the sun sucks up
From bogs, fens, flats, on Prosper fall and make him
By inchmeal a disease!
I'll show thee every fertile inch o' th' island.
And I will kiss thy foot. I prithee, be my god.
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