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Which, at the Throne of Grace, some moments since, Thou didst devoutly pray for?

Father, I am reproved: my mortal frailty Was smother'd, not extinct. (Turning to the .) I will not, standing on this awful verge, To mortal greatness bend, else on my knees Carlos, thou wilt not leave me till the end; But thou'lt forgive me now the many wrongs I've done thine honest worth, fastidiously Though I have held thee long in doubt, I trust Thou part'st with me in charity.