I
could be well moved if I were as you.
If
I could pray to move, prayers would move me.
But
I am constant as the northern star,
Of
whose true-fixed and resting quality,
There
is no fellow in the firmament.
The
skies are painted with unnumbered sparks.
They
are all fire and every one doth shine,
But
there’s but one in all doth hold his place.
So
in the world. 'Tis furnished well with men,
And
men are flesh and blood, and apprehensive,
Yet
in the number I do know but one
That
unassailable holds on his rank,
Unshaked
of motion.
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