Wounded I am, and dare not seek relief,
For this new stroke, unseen but not unfelt;
No blood nor bruise is witness to my grief.
But sighs, but sighs and tears,
wherewith I mourn and melt.
If I complain my witness is suspect.
If I contain with cares I am undone,
sit still and die, tell truth and be reject,
tell truth and be reject,
O hateful choice that sorrow cannot shun,

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