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Upon the watch, perhaps, hath given alarm. Should they escape us by some other path!— It must not be: I will look out.

Keep still. I see them now; but let us be conceal'd Till they are nearer.

They move tardily, With their damn'd dalliance.—So very fond That they forget the peril of their state, Lost in the present bliss. Ay; smile with lips which shall, within an hour, Be closed in death; and glance your looks of love From eyes which shall, ere long, in coldness glare Like glassy icicles.

Stay; rush not on them now.

See that! see that! her hand, and then her lips! Shall I look on, and give another moment Be not a madman in thine extacy, And foil thine own intent.—See, they advance.