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If floods of tears could cleanse my follies past,
And smokes of sighs might sacrifice for sin;
If groaning cries might salve my fault at last,
Or endless moan, for error pardon win:
Then would I cry, weep, sigh and ever moan,
Mine errors, faults, sins, follies past and gone.

I see my hopes must wither in their bud;
I see my favours are no lasting flower.
I see that words will breed no better good
Than loss of time and light'ning, but at hours.
Thus when I see, then thus I say therefore,
That favours, hopes and words can blind no more.

Text přidal zanzara

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