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To my self.
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
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To my self.

And why love I the thing that hates me?
Reason won't admit of this:
Rather prize the thing that baits me,
there a promise is of Blisse,
Though the effect of it perhaps we misse.
For what appeareth good or great
to our Eys, our Hearts so deem;
The Taste directs the Appetit,
Sweets are made as We esteem:
But Reason thral'ld to Love who can redeem.