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| Out of her favor, where I am in love. | |
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| Alas, that love, so gentle in his view, Should be so tyrannous and rough in proof! | |
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| Alas, that love, whose view is muffled still, Should, without eyes, see pathways to his will! Where shall we dine?O me! What fray was here? Yet tell me not, for I have heard it all. Heres much to do with hate but more with love.Why then, O brawling love, O loving hate, O anything of nothing first created! O heavy lightness, serious vanity, Misshapen chaos of well-seeming forms! Feather of lead, bright smoke, cold fire, sick health, Still-waking sleep, that is not what it is! This love feel I, that feel no love in this. Dost thou not laugh? | |
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| No, coz, I rather weep. | |
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| Good heart, at what? | |
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| At thy good hearts oppression | |
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