| http://www.w3.org/ns/prov#value | - Weep not, my sweet, thy lover is a king, And by my soul, and these dear wildered eyes, And by the life in these blue wandering veins, [kissing her hand] These azure rivers in a lily field- I will lift thee high as is the English throne! [Exeunt the king and Glaia] Ste.
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