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I would arrest and cry, hold! hold! have mercy: But when the man most adverse to my nature; Who e'en from childhood hath, with rude malevolence, Withheld the fair respect all paid beside, Turning my very praise into derision; Who galls and presses me where'er I go, Would claim the gen'rous feelings of my heart, Nature herself doth lift her voice aloud, And cries, it is impossible.

''Jane. (Shaking her head.)''—Ah Monfort, Monfort!

De Mon. I can forgive th' envenom'd reptile's sting, But hate his loathsome self.

Jane. And canst thou do no more for love of heaven?

De Mon. Alas! I cannot now so school my mind As holy men have taught, nor search it truly: But this, my Jane, I'll do for love of thee; And more it is than crowns could win me to, Or any power but thine. I'll see the man. Th' indignant risings of abhorrent nature; The stern contraction of my scowling brows, That, like the plant, whose closing leaves do shrink At hostile touch, still knit at his approach; The crooked curving lip, by instinct taught, In imitation of disgustful things, To pout and swell, I strictly will repress; And meet him with a tamed countenance,