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Robert Hollingworth & I Fagliolini
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Come, blessed Byrd
Come, blessed bird, and with thy sugared relish Help our declining choir now to embellish, For Bonny-boots, that so aloft would fetch it, O he is dead, and none of us can reach it. Then tune to us, sweet bird, thy shrill recorder. Elpin and I and Dorus, for fault of better, Will serve in the . Begin, and we will follow thee in order. Then sang the wood-born minstrel Of Dian: Long live fair Oriana.
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