O Sorrow, wilt thou rule my blood, / Be sometimes lovely like a bride, / And put thy harsher moods aside, / If thou wilt have me wise and good.
My centered passion cannot move, / Nor will it lessen from to-day; / But I'll have leave at times to play / As with the creature of my love;
And set thee forth, for thou art mine, / With so much hope for years to come, / That howsoe'er I know thee, some / Could hardly tell what name were thine.
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