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Rh

Where stalks the sabred ruffian o'er the deck, Watching his distant prey—some home-bound ship, With all its stores and freight of precious souls, Who ne'er shall greet their native shores again, Must be his guilty home.

Alas, alas!

Thou shalt not follow me, nor will I fly. Sever'd from thee I will not live, sweet love, Nor shalt thou be the mate of one disgraced, And by the good disowned. Here I'll remain, And Heaven will work for me a fair deliv'rance.

No, no! the present means for thy escape Are sent to thee by Heaven. Be not so stubborn! With or without me fly, even as thou wilt, But do not linger here. (Looking to the door, on hearing it move.) The door—O misery! we are surprised. It is Henriquez; Heaven have pity on us!

Ha! not alone! Who is it? Wretched Mencia.