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And nothing is, but what is not
False face must hide what the false heart doth know
A dagger of the mind, a false creation
In the great hand of God I stand
Tear to pieces that great bond / which keeps me pale
We are yet but young in deed
What, will the line stretch out to th' crack of doom
Yet who would have thought the old man to have had so much blood in him
My way of life / is fallen into the sere, the yellow leaf
The time is free.

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