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SONNET DCCXCII
Lo! in the orient when the gracious light
When not to be receives reproach of being;
And in the praise thereof spends all his might,
From hands of falsehood, in sure wards of trust!
But why of two oaths' breach do I accuse thee,
Resembling strong youth in his middle age,
The cause of this fair gift in me is wanting,
That you are you, so dignifies his story,
How would, I say, mine eyes be blessed made
Steal from his figure, and no pace perceiv'd;
To entertain the time with thoughts of love,
The region cloud hath mask'd him from me now.
   You still shall live,--such virtue hath my pen,--
   For truth proves thievish for a prize so dear.

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