Emilia, talking of Flavina, in The Two Noble Kinsmen (I.iii.71-81) by William Shakespeare and John Fletcher 

But I, / and she I sigh and spoke of, were things innocent, / loved for what we did, and like the elements / that know not what nor why, yet do effect / rare issues by their operance, our souls / did so to one another. What she liked / was then of me approved, what not, condemned, / no more arraignment. The flower that I would pluck / and put between my breasts–O, then but beginning / to swell about the blossom–she would long / till she had such another, and commit it / to the like innocent cradle, where, Phoenix-like, they died in perfume…


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