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To the dark, shaded cloister wilt thou go, Where sad and lonely, thro' the dismal grate Thou'lt spy my wasted form, and then upbraid me.

Ros. Forgive me, heed me not; I'm griev'd at heart; I'm fretted, gall'd, all things are hateful to me. If thou didst love my friend, I will forgive thee; I must forgive thee; with his dying breath He bade me tell thee, that his latest thoughts Were love to thee; in death he lov'd and blessed thee.

Vict. Oh! force me not away! by his cold corse Let me lie down and weep. O! Basil, Basil! The gallant and the brave! how hast thou lov'd me! If there is any holy kindness in you (To Isab. and Valt.) Tear me not hence. For he lov'd me in thoughtless folly lost, With all my faults, most worthless of his love; And I'll love him in the low bed of death, In horrour and decay.— Near his lone tomb I'll spend my wretched days In humble pray'r for his departed spirit: Cold as his grave shall be my earthy bed, As dark my cheerless cell. Force me not hence.