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Sonnet 25

Hercules help! An eagle tore a part,
From my poor liver, swooping from above,
Nay, not my liver, but rather my heart,
And no eagle is she, perhaps a dove;
She once at my table ate, as my guest,
And as Zeus bade, naught should she mistreat,
Heart that offered all, host no one could best,
Or a fool, that his love would so entreat;
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