What though thy birth require a higher place
Than my low heart is able to bestow?
Admit it do, yet count it no disgrace;
'Tis my humility that makes me low,
And since I have aspir'd so high a favour,
Which once I had, but now I can't obtain,
I'll spend my days, even with as sad behaviour,
And study most, how most I may complain.
O that my plaints would mollify thy heart,
And once thou wouldst give period to my smart.
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Other Poems of Interest...
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