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, my lord, are the tidings true, That thy mother's jewels are shapen anew?

I hear that a bride has chosen been, The stars consulted, the parents seen.

Had I been childless, had never there smiled The brilliant eyes from the face of a child,

Then at least I had understood This thing they tell me thou findest good.

But I have been down to the River of Death, With painful footsteps and shuddering breath,

Seven times; thou hast daughters three, And four young sons who are fair as thee.

I am not unlovely, over my head Not twenty summers as yet have sped.

'T is eleven years since my opening life Was given to thee by my father's wife.

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