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Would give most unavailing pain to those Whose love you ne'er can recompense again. E'en now, to-day, O! was it not ungen'rous To fetter Basil with a foolish tie, Against his will, perhaps against his duty?

Vict. What, dost thou think against his will, my friend?

Alb. Full sure I am against his reason's will.

Vict. Ah! but indeed thou must excuse me here, For duller than a shelled crab were she, Who could suspect her pow'r in such a mind, And calmly leave it doubtful and unprov'd. But wherefore dost thou look so gravely on me? Ah! well I read those looks! methinks they say, Your mother did not so.

Alb. Your highness reads them true, she did not so. If foolish vanity e'er soil'd her thoughts She kept it low, withheld its aliment; Not pamper'd it with ev'ry motley food, From the fond tribute of a noble heart, To the lisp'd flatt'ry of a cunning child.

Vict. Nay, speak not thus Albini, speak not thus Of little blue-ey'd, sweet, fair-hair'd Mirando. He is the orphan of a hapless pair, A loving, beautiful, but hapless pair, Whose story is so pleasing, and so sad, The swains have turn'd it to a plaintive lay, And sing it as they tend their mountain sheep. To Isab. Besides I am the guardian of his choice, When first I saw him dost not thou remember?