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Yes, she would mourn—such love might she bestow; And poor of soul the man who would exchange it For warmest love of the most loving dame. But here comes Rosinberg—have I done well? He will not say I have.

Ros. Where is the princess? I'm sorry I return'd not ere she went.

Bas. You'll see her still.

Ros.What, comes she forth again?

Bas. She does to-morrow.

Ros.Thou hast yielded then.

Bas. Come, Rosinberg, I'll tell thee as we go: It was impossible I should not yield.

Ros. And has the first look of a stranger's face So far bewitched thee?

Bas.A stranger's face! Long has she been the inmate of my breast! The smiling angel of my nightly dreams.

Ros. What mean you now? Your mind is raving, Basil.

Bas. I speak in sober earnest. Two years since, When marching on the confines of this state, We heard the distant musick of the chace, And trampling horses near, I turn'd to look, And saw the loveliest sight of woman's form That ever blest mine eyes. Her fiery steed, Struck with the strange accoutrements of war, Became unruly, and despis'd the rein.