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Did seem as adverse and impossible As if the very centre cope of heaven Should kiss the nether deep. And this man was my friend! To whom my soul, shut from all men besides, Was free and artless as an infant's love, Telling its guileless faults in simple trust. Oh the coil'd snake! It presses on me here (his hand on his heart.) As it would stop the centre throb of life. (Returning to the casket, and taking out other papers.) And sonnets, too, made on her matchless beauty, Named Celia, as his cruel shepherdess. Ay ; she was matchless, and it seems was cruel, Till his infernal arts subdued her virtue. I'll read no more. What said he in the letter?

(Reads again.) The bearer will return with the key, and I'll come by the path at night-fall.

Night falls on some who never see the morn.

My Lord, I've found her: Donna Leonora Has bid me say she will be with you instantly.

I cannot see her now; I am not well. I shall be better shortly: tell her so. I'll rest me in my chamber for an hour,