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With that which comes between me and myself— The self that as a christian and a man I strongly strove to be

You have before some secret cause of trouble Hinted in broken words: will not your highness Unto a faithful friend

No, no, good Othus! Sometimes I dream like a distracted man And nurse dark fancies. Power and lawless will— Defenceless beauty—Mahomet—Valeria— Shape out of these wild words whatever thou wilt, For I can say no more.

Alas, I know it all!

And yet why should it thus disturb my mind? A thought, perhaps, that in no other breast Hath any shelter found.—It is my weakness: I am ashamed of it.—I can look On my short-fated span and its dark bound: I can, God strength'ning me, my earthly task Close as becomes a king; and, being clos'd, To that which in this world's tumultuous stage Shall happen after it, I am as nothing.