Yea, worse than death: death parts both woe and joy: From joy I part, still living in annoy.
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In forming a judgment, lay your hearts void of foretaken opinions; else, whatsoever is done or said, will be measured by a wrong rule; like them who have jaundice, to whom everything appears yellow.
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Let my whispering voice obtain Sweet reward for sharpest pain;
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Night hath closed all in her cloak, Twinkling stars love-thoughts provoke,...
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Oft have I mused, but now at length I find, Why those that die, men say they do depart.
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