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I thank thee: this shall be our daily song: It cheers my heart, altho' these foolish tears Seem to disgrace its sweetness.

As if he brought good tidings.

Ed.Grant he may!

Aur. (eagerly.) What brings thee hither, boy?

Page. (to Aur.) A noble stranger of the Legate's train, Come from the Holy Land, doth wait without, Near to the garden gate, where I have left him; He begs to be admitted to your presence; Pleading for such indulgence as the friend Of Ermingard, for so he bade me say.

Aur. The friend of Ermingard! the Holy Land! O God! it is himself! My head is dizzy grown; I cannot go. Haste, lead him hither, boy. (Waving her hand impatiently.) Fly; hear'st thou not?[ Page.