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<h2>XXIII</h2>
<p class="poem">
As an unperfect actor on the stage,<br />
Who with his fear is put beside his part,<br />
Or some fierce thing replete with too much rage,<br />
Whose strength’s abundance weakens his own heart;<br />
So I, for fear of trust, forget to say<br />
The perfect ceremony of love’s rite,<br />
And in mine own love’s strength seem to decay,<br />
O’ercharg’d with burthen of mine own love’s might.<br />
O! let my looks be then the eloquence<br />
And dumb presagers of my speaking breast,<br />
Who plead for love, and look for recompense,<br />
More than that tongue that more hath more express’d.<br />
O! learn to read what silent love hath writ:<br />
To hear with eyes belongs to love’s fine wit.<br />
</p>
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