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Taught thy young arms thine earliest feats of strength; With boastful pride thine early rise beheld In glory's paths, contented then to fill A second place, so I might serve with thee; And say'st thou now, I am no friend of thine? Well be it so; I am thy kinsman still, And by that title will I save thy name From danger of disgrace. Indulge thy will; I'll lay me down and feign that I am sick, And yet I shall not feign—I shall not feign, For thy unkindness makes me sick indeed; It will be said that Basil tarried here To save his friend, for so they'll call me still; Nor will dishonour fall upon thy name For such a kindly deed.—

Ros.O! blessed heav'n, he weeps! (Runs up to him, and catches him in his arms.) O Basil! I have been too hard upon thee. And is it possible I've mov'd thee thus?

''Bas. (in a convulsed broken voice.)'' I will renounce—I'll leave—

Ros.What says my Basil?

Bas. I'll Mantua leave—I'll leave this seat of bliss— This lovely woman—tear my heart in twain—