VIII

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IF wrongfully I moan’d thy ‘pretty wrongs’,
When I was ’sometime absent from thy heart’,
O none so trusting but to him belongs
Some moody moment of his mortal part!
No man doth Nature make whose trust doth ever
Unveering with all winds point still the same;
None is so whole in health he knows no fever
To shake the firm composure of his frame.
My love so wholly thine, thy worth so dear,
Made each thine absence so distract my breast,
That in his turmoil faith sometime to fear
Converted, doubting most when most ’twas blest.
Because mine own heart lone without thee seem’d,
Me absent from thy heart I falsely deem’d.

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