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Rh

All, Hope! who makest the lover still thy fool! Do I not know that she would give her presence To no man living at an hour like this, In such a spot as this, yet twice already Some birch's shiny stem or blossom'd shrub Have been to me her very form and semblance. She may despise my billet—tear it—burn it, Yet my heart beats as though—Ha! here comes Jerome.

What news?

Good news.

I'd smother thee with kisses, But that thou art such an unseemly hound. How look'd she? Was she angry? Was she pleased? Will she vouchsafe to hear me plead my suit?

She will.

And where?

In the long gallery, Now unfrequented. I will be on watch That no intruder break upon your meeting.