  When I do mock the blackness of the night With my despair—outweep the very dews And wash my wan cheeks stark of all delight, Denying every counsel of dear use In mine embittered state; with infinite Perversity, mine eyes drink in no sight Of pleasance that nor moon nor stars refuse In silver largess and gold twinklings bright;— I question me what mannered brain is mine That it doth trick me of the very food It panteth for—the very meat and wine That yet should plump my starved soul with good And comfortable plethora of ease, |
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