Yea, thou cometh before me once too oft’.
For I am charged to cast thee in Bridewell.
Thy audience pleases with voice so soft;
Shall I divide the child to make all well?
Lest thou enamor me I have no choice,
'Tis not I but my throne has been defiled.
Whereby thy pleas cometh in soften voice,
And black begets white as mouths spew wild.
Thy ‘sblood in kine hast bid me prevalence;
The road to hell, paved with good intentions.
To wit; thou hast spake thy benevolence.
You seek the grace of my interventions,
Yet umbrage admits to Gods’ lower world.
I shall thole thy thistles with love unfurled.
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