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Could such inordinate and low desires,
Such poor, such bare, such lewd, such mean attempts,
Such barren pleasures, rude society
As thou art matched withal, and grafted to.

I know not whether God will have it so
For some displeasing service I have done,
That, in his secret doom, out of my blood
He’ll breed revengement and a scourge for me.

Accompany the greatness of thy blood,
And hold their level with thy princely heart?

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