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Rh

Feel'st thou no pain, my love? Thou art fatigued. Ah! why didst thou refuse thine own support? These arms that to the earth's far verge would bear, Blessing their toil, so sweet, so dear a burthen.

Indeed, my Lord, I needed no support; The pain had pass'd away: I walk with ease.

The foolish envious pain which cast thee, Sweet, Upon another's care. Thus, thus, and thus I pay thee my devotion. Nay, look on me, Smile on me thy sweet smiles, and raise thine eyes, Sweet mate, sweet play-fellow, pretty Zorada!

Nay, good my Lord, these words are full of fondness, And yet they please me not. What shall I say? Speak to me as a wife, companion, friend.