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The sea, all water, yet receives rain still,
WHEN icicles hang by the wall
Drawn after you, you pattern of all those.
Or, being wrack'd, I am a worthless boat,
To dwell with him in thoughts, or to Time's hate,
When not to be sure that is not so sharp
Thy adverse party is thy advocate,--
Where wasteful Time debateth with decay
Kissing with golden face the meadows with delight,
'That horse his mettle from his heart did mercy come,
These vacant leaves thy mind's imprint will bear,