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XLVI.
[Æl.]
O my upswelling heart, what words can say
The pains, that pass within my soul ybrent?
Thus to be torn upon my spousal day,
O! 'tis a pain beyond entendëment.
Ye mighty Gods, and are your favours sent,
As thus, fast linkèd to a load of pain?
Must we aye hold in chase the shade content,
And, for the substance, but a ghost obtain?
O! why, ye saints, oppress ye thus my soul?
How shall I speak my woe, my grief, my dreary dole?
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