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 LX.

When my good angel guides me to the place Where all my good I do in STELLA see; That heaven of joys throws only down on me Thundered disdains and lightnings of disgrace. But when the rugged'st step of Fortune's race Makes me fall from her sight; then sweetly she With words—wherein the Muses' treasures be— Shows love and pity to my absent case. Now I—wit-beaten long by hardest Fate— So dull am, that I cannot look into The ground of this fierce love and lovely hate. Then some good body tell me how I do! Whose presence, absence; absence, presence is: Blessed in my curse, and cursèd in my bliss.

LXI.

Oft with true sighs, oft with uncallèd tears, Now with slow words, now with dumb eloquence; I STELLA'S eyes assailed, invade her ears: But this, at last, is her sweet breathed defence. "That who indeed infelt affection bears, So captives to his saint both soul and sense; That wholly hers, all selfness he forbears: Thence his desires he learns, his life's course thence." Now since her chaste mind hates this love in me: With chastened mind, I needs must show that she Shall quickly me from what she hates, remove. O Doctor CUPID! thou for me, reply! Driven else to grant by angel's sophistry, That I love not, without I leave to love.