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Dear eye, which deign'st on this sad monument The sable scroll of my mishaps to view, Though with the mourning Muses' tears besprent, And darkly drawn, which is not feign'd, but true; If thou not dazzled with a heavenly hue, And comely feature, didst not yet lament. But happy liv'st unto thyself content, O let not Love thee to his laws subdue. Look on the woful shipwreck of my youth, And let my ruins for a Phare thee serve To shun this rock Capharean of untruth, And serve no god who doth his churchmen starve: His kingdom is but plaints, his guerdon tears, What he gives more are jealousies and fears.
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