"I grieve, yet dare not show my discontent;
I love, and yet am forced to seem to hate;
I dote, but dare not what I meant;
I seem stark mute, yet inwardly do prate.
I am, and am not, freeze, and yet I burn,
Since from myself my other self I turn.
My care is like my shadow in the sun,
Follows me flying, flies when I pursue it,
Stands and lives by me, does what I have done.
Oh let me live with some more sweet content,
Or die, and so forget what love should have meant."
- Elizabeth I.
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