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Rh

She that should mourn him is his enemy.

Strange bird, but of one feather to mine eye

With what? Oh, speak. Make thy comparison.

Look; think ye not 'tis wondrous like mine own?

Thy brother's! Sent in secret! Can it be?

'Tis like his long locks in my memory.

Orestes! Would he dare to walk this land?

Belike he sent it by another's hand!

That calls for tears no less, if never more

His footstep may be set on Argos shore.

At my heart also bitterer than gall

A great wave beats. The iron hath patted thro' all