Gertrude Or Fidelity Till Death
Dark lowers our fate,
And terrible the storm that gathers o'er us;
But nothing, till that latest
Which severs thee from nature, shall
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Dark lowers our fate,
And terrible the storm that gathers o'er us;
But nothing, till that latest
Which severs thee from nature, shall
Fly envious Time, till thou run out thy race,
Call on the lazy leaden-stepping hours,
Whose speed is but the heavy Plummets pace;
And glut thy self with what thy womb devours,