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I do but ask that you be always fair That I forever may continue kind; Knowing me what I am, you should not dare To lapse from beauty ever, nor seek to bind My alterable mood with lesser cords: Weeping and such soft matters but invite To further vagrancy, and bitter words Chafe soon to irremediable flight. Wherefore I pray you if you love me dearly, Less dear to hold me than your own bright charms, Whence it may fall that until death, or nearly, I shall not move to struggle from your arms; Fade if you must; I would but bid you be Like the sweet year, doing all things graciously |