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Methinks thou doth protest too much!
Wretched woman sip thy cup O guile
savour it long remember it's smile
for soon cometh bitterest dregs
no cup bearer to aide thy begs

Thy daughter hast turned her face from thee
from a lie spurned endlessly
hath she sought solace fair
far removed from self righteous glare

Wretched woman glazed neath hate
tolling bells reveal thy fate
dost thy tree bear sweetest fruits
or hath it withered to rotted roots?

Soon cometh thy days of reckoning
autumn years bow to beckoning
wintry winds fearsome gusts
soon to pale thy haughty lusts

Wretched woman remember when
blessed thou was with she back then
yet thy hardened heart sought no joy
sawest her more a means of ploy

Perfection be the illusionists art
hath been that way from the start
so if thou cry foul play and such
Methinks thou doth protest... too much!