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And so thou hast, and I may not deceive thee. Take, take, Sulpicius.—O such withering words! The sinking, sick'ning heart and parched mouth! I cannot utter them.

Why in this agony of perturbation? Nay, strive not now to speak.

I must, I must!— Take back thy proffer'd gift; all earth could give;— That which it cannot give I must retain.

What words were these? If it were possible, I could believe thee touch'd with sorcery, The cursed art of those vile Nazarenes. Where hast thou past the night? their haunts are near.

Nay, nay; repress thine anger; noble Maro May not be questioned thus.

He may, and shall. And yet I will not urge him, If he, with hand press'd on his breast, will say, That he detests those hateful Nazarenes.