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From crying blood yet cleansed am not I, Martyrs and others, dying causelessly. How many princely heads on blocks laid down For nought but title to a fading crown! 'Mongst all the crueltyes by great ones done, Of Edward's youths, and Clarence hapless son, O Jane, why didst thou dye in flow'ring prime? Because of royal stem, that was thy crime.
I saw strong Rochel yielded to her Foe, Thousands of starved Christians there also I saw poor Ireland bleeding out her last, Such crueltyes as all reports have passed; Mine heart obdurate stood not yet aghast. Now sip I of that cup, and just't may be The bottome dreggs reserved are for me.
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