BUT do thy worst to
steal thyself away |
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For term of life thou art assured mine; |
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And life no longer than thy love will stay, |
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For it depends upon that love of thine. |
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Then need I not to fear the worst of wrongs, |
5 |
When in the least of them my life hath end. |
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I see a better state to me belongs |
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Than that which on thy humour doth depend: |
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Thou canst not vex me with inconstant mind, |
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Since that my life on thy revolt doth lie. |
10 |
O! what a happy title do I find, |
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Happy to have thy love, happy to die: |
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But what s so blessed-fair
that fears no blot? |
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Thou mayst be false, and yet
I know it not. |
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