"My Love! thou mock'st my weakness; and would'st steel
My breast before the time when it must feel.
But trifle now no more with my distress,
Such mirth hath less of play than bitterness"
My breast before the time when it must feel.
But trifle now no more with my distress,
Such mirth hath less of play than bitterness"
Lord Byron - The Corsair
Ah, that verbose old-timey English writing. Gotta love it.
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