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 For our instruction, exile hath its value. It is an old French air I learned in Paris. Ormond [shaking his head.]I fear the soldier 'll stop the comely page For good and all! BroghillRochester [sic]. [glancing at his song. The rest is over leaf.
 * [He holds out his hand to.

Good! ever foremost at the post!—Our friends?— Would you have liked it better had I writ:—


 * A soldier stern of eye,
 * Detains as he passes by,
 * A page of roguish bearing,—

Instead of:—


 * A soldier, stern-faced wight,
 * A page detains one night,
 * A page, etc.

The repetition of "a page" hath charm, Is it not so? The French— Ormond. A truce, my lord. I have not wit enough to judge your talent. Rochester.But I esteem you a most worthy judge. And for a proof thereof I'll read to you A new quatrain.
 * [He rises and begins in a dramatic tone.

"O fair Egeria!"
 * [He interrupts himself.

I pray thee, guess to whom it is addressed. Ormond.My lord, the time to jest, meseems, has passed.
 * [Aside.

God's blood! Charles is no less insane than he To send him to me!