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Act I, Scene 27

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  • Shakespeare. Weary with toil, I haste me to my bed, 365
    The dear repose for limbs with travel tired;
    But then begins a journey in my head,
    To work my mind, when body's work's expired:
    For then my thoughts, from far where I abide,
    Intend a zealous pilgrimage to thee, 370
    And keep my drooping eyelids open wide,
    Looking on darkness which the blind do see
    Save that my soul's imaginary sight
    Presents thy shadow to my sightless view,
    Which, like a jewel hung in ghastly night, 375
    Makes black night beauteous and her old face new.
    Lo! thus, by day my limbs, by night my mind,
    For thee and for myself no quiet find.

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