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What, have I thus betray'd my liberty? Can those black beams such burning marks engrave In my free side? or am I born a slave, Whose neck becomes such yoke of tyranny? Or want I sense to feel my misery? Or sprite, disdain of such disdain to have, Who for long faith, though daily help I crave, May get no alms but scorn of beggery? Virtue awake, beauty but beauty is; I may, I must, I can, I will, I do Leave following that, which it is gain to miss. Let her go! Soft, but here she comes. Go to, Unkind, I love you not. Oh me, that eye Doth make my heart give to my tongue the lie.