Christopher Marlowe

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

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.

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.