The fructe of all the servise that I serveDispaire doth repe, such haples hap have I ;But tho he have no powre to make me swarve,Yet by the fire for colde I fele I dye...
—Thomas Wyatt
I find no peace, and all my war is done,I fear and hope; I burn and freeze like ice;I fly above the wind yet can I not arise;And naught I have and all the world...
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