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Mary Queen of Scots Alas! what am I! and in what estate? A wretched corse, [sic] bereavéd of its heart; An empty shadow, lost, unfortunate, To die is now in life my only part. Foes to my greatness! Let your envy rest; In me no taste for grandeur now is found; Consumed by grief, with heavy ills oppressed, You wishing ill to me will soon be crowned. And you, my friend, who still have held me dear, Bethink you, that when health and heart are fled, And every hope of future good is dead, 'Tis time to wish our sorrows ended here; and that this punishment on earth is given That my poor soul may rise to endless bliss in Heaven.