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Rh When once relieved of Moses; for you’re light, You’re light, my cousin! which is well for you, And manly. For myself,—now mark me, sir, They burnt Leigh Hall; but if, consummated To devils, heightened beyond Lucifers, They had burnt instead a star or two, of those We saw above there just a moment back, Before the moon abolished them,—destroyed And riddled them in ashes through a sieve On the head of the foundering universe,—what then? If you and I remained still you and I, It would not shift our places as mere friends, Nor render decent you should toss a phrase Beyond the point of actual feeling!—nay You shall not interrupt me: as you said, We’re parting. Certainly, not once or twice, To-night you’ve mocked me somewhat, or yourself, And I, at least, have not deserved it so That I should meet it unsurprised. But now, Enough: we’re parting. . parting. Cousin Leigh, I wish you well through all the acts of life And life’s relation, wedlock, not the least; And it shall ‘please me,’ in your words, to know You yield your wife, protection, freedom, ease, And very tender liking. May you live So happy with her, Romney, that your friends May praise her for it. Meantime, some of us Are wholly dull in keeping ignorant Of what she has suffered by you, and what debt Of sorrow your rich love sits down to pay: