Shall I soothe? Shall I seek for grace? Shall I pray? Shall I prove? Shall I strive to a heavenly joy without earthly love? Shall I think that a bleeding heart or a wounded eye or a sigh can ascend the clouds to attain so high? Shall I think that a bleeding heart or a wounded eye or a sigh can ascend the clouds to attain so high? Silly wretch, forsake these dreams of vain desire. O, bethink what I regard only hopes require. Silly heart, may be ill to die, hell is in despair. Witness yet how faint I die when I die for the fair. Silly heart, may be ill to die, perish in despair. Witness yet how faint I die when I die for the fair.
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