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Lay me to rest, in still unconsciousness, Like senseless clod that doth no pressure feel From wearing foot of daily passenger; Like steeped rock o'er which the breaking waves Bellow and foam unheard? O would I could!

Enter who springs forward to his master, but is checked upon perceiving De Monfort draw back and look sternly at him.

Man. My lord, my master! O my dearest master! (De Monfort still looks at him without speaking.) Nay, do not thus regard me; good my lord! Speak to me: am I not your faithful Manuel?

''De Mon. (In a hasty broken voice.)'' Art thou alone?

Man. No, sir, the lady Jane is on her way; She is not far behind.

''De Mon. (Tossing his arm over his head in an agony.)'' This is too much! All I can bear but this! It must not be.—Run and prevent her coming. Say, he who is detain'd a pris'ner here Is one to her unknown. I now am nothing. I am a man, of holy claims bereft; Out from the pale of social kindred cast; Nameless and horrible.— Tell her De Monfort far from hence is gone Into a desolate, and distant land,