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274 Dudley, my one one love, my spirit halts ; Would that it had thine now on which to lean ; Faulty thou wert, they said ; come back, dear faults,- Have I not right to pardon, as a queen ? Truly, 'tis hard to rule, 'tis sore to love, All my life long the two have torn my heart ; Now that the end has come, all things to prove, I but repent me of my chosen part. Now to my mother's God, who dwells alar, Come I, a broken queen, a woman old ; Smirched with the miry way my soul hath trod, Weary of life as with a tale twice told. Thou who dost know what ingrate subjects are, Hear me, assoil, receive me, God, my God.