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Act I, Scene 48


  • Shakespeare. How careful was I, when I took my way,
    Each trifle under truest bars to thrust, 660
    That to my use it might unused stay
    From hands of falsehood, in sure wards of trust!
    But thou, to whom my jewels trifles are,
    Most worthy of comfort, now my greatest grief,
    Thou, best of dearest and mine only care, 665
    Art left the prey of every vulgar thief.
    Thee have I not lock'd up in any chest,
    Save where thou art not, though I feel thou art,
    Within the gentle closure of my breast,
    From whence at pleasure thou mayst come and part; 670
    And even thence thou wilt be stol'n, I fear,
    For truth proves thievish for a prize so dear.