And life is thorny, and youth is vain. Repentance! Repentance!
When love's well-timed 'tis not a fault to love. We shall never, never part. My life, my all that's mine! As Old Time makes these decay, so his flames must waste away. Ah me! Love can not be cured by herbs.
Not as all other women are is she that to my soul is dear. Thus I am not able to exist either with you or without you; and I seem not to know my own wishes.
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