I have prepared the world to be, by thee, tak’n,

But in the whorl of love, what have I forsak’n?

Ith pain worth hurtful letters spoken

To be the King of Hell for demon Queens

Who repay not this gracious given token?

I speak and say nay! ‘tis not worth the Hell

To burn for basic beauties of this realm,

To make thyself a sacrificial cell

For those who love not to so overwhelm.

Perhaps, all love is rotten to the blood

And bone profusely shed as bitter sheens

Revolve around thine heart, prepared to bud.

But perhaps not, for the pain of love aches

In worthiness to she who ne’er forsakes.

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