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Vict. Our feeble efforts will presumptuous seem In what your highness fails.

Vict. I fear we incommoded you, my Lord, With the slow tedious length of our procession. E'en as I pass'd, against my heart it went To stop your weary soldiers on their way So long a time.—

Bas.Ah! Madam, all too short! Time never bears such moments on his wing, But when he flies too swiftly to be mark'd.

Vict. Ah! surely then you make too good amends By marking now his after-progress well. To-day must seem a weary length to him Who is so eager to be gone to-morrow.

Ros. They must not linger who would quit these walls; For if they do, a thousand masked foes, Some under show of rich luxurious feasts, Gay, sprightly pastime, and high-zested game;— Nay, some, my gentle ladies, true it is, The very worst and fellest of the crew, In fair alluring shape of beauteous dames, Do such a barrier form t'oppose their way, As few men may o'ercome.

Isab. From this last wicked foe should we infer Yourself have suffer'd much?

Albin. No, Isabella, these are common words,