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Man.No Jerome, no. Once on a time I serv'd a noble master, Whose youth was blasted with untoward love, And he with hope and fear and jealousy For ever toss'd, led an unquiet life: Yet, when unruffled by the passing fit, His pale wan face such gentle sadness wore As mov'd a kindly heart to pity him; But Monfort, even in his calmest hour, Still bears that gloomy sternness in his eye Which sullenly repells all sympathy. O no! good Jerome, no, it is not love.

Jer. Hear I not horses trampling at the gate? (Listening.) He is arriv'd—stay thou—I had forgot— A plague upon't! my head is so confus'd— I will return i'the instant to receive him. ( hastily)

Man. Your ancient host, my lord, receives you gladly, And your apartment will be soon prepar'd.

De Mon. 'Tis well.

Man. Where shall I place the chest you gave in charge? So please you, say my lord.

''De Mon. (Throwing himself into a chair.)'' Where-e'er thou wilt.