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By this, mild patience bid fair Lucrece speak (1269)

To the poor counterfeit of her complaining: (1270)

'My girl,' quoth she, 'on what occasion break (1271)

Those tears from thee, that down thy cheeks are raining? (1272)

If thou dost weep for grief of my sustaining,
Know gentle wench, it small avails my mood: (1274)

If tears could help, mine own would do me good.

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