| Unquiet thoughts, your civil slaughter stint,
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| And wrap your wrongs within a pensive heart:
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| And you: my tongue that makes my mouth a mint,
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| And stamps my thoughts to coin them words by art,
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| Be still: for if you ever do the like
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| I’ll cut the string that makes the hammer strike.
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| But what can stay my thoughts they may not start,
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| Or put my tongue in durance for to die?
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| When as these eyes, the keys of mouth and heart,
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| Open the lock where all my love doth lie;
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| I’ll seal them up within their lids for ever:
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| So thought’s, and words, and looks shall die together.
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| How shall I gaze on my mistress' eyes?
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| My thoughts must have some vent: else heart will break.
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| My tongue would rust as in my mouth it lies,
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| If eyes and thoughts were free, and that not speak. |