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Many points weather'd, many perilous ones, At last a harbour opens; but therein Sunk rocks they need fine steering much it is To be nor mad, nor bigot have a mind Nor let Priests' talk, or dream of worlds to be, Miscolour things about her sudden touches For him, or him sunk rocks; no passionate faith But if let be balance and compromise; Brave, wary, sane to the heart of her a Tudor School'd by the shadow of death a Boleyn, too, Glancing across the Tudor not so well."
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