Christopher Marlowe

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Hell hath no limits, nor is circumscribed In one self place, for where we are is hell, And where hell is there must we ever be.

1

Come live with me and be my love,
And we will all the pleasures prove,
That valleys, groves, hills, and fields,
Woods, or steepy mountain yields.

2

O, thou art fairer than the evening air clad in the beauty of a thousand stars.

3

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