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Then tooke the angrie witch her golden cup,° Which still she bore, replete with magick artes; Death and despeyre did many thereof sup, And secret poyson through their inner parts, Th' eternall bale of heavie wounded harts; Which after charmes and some enchauntments said She lightly sprinkled on his weaker parts; Therewith his sturdie courage soone was quayd, And all his senses were with suddeine dread dismayd.