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Rh

I cannot see him. Go thou; plead my excuse: I am unwell; Say what thou wilt, but let me be excused.

Rovani here!—O, how is this? My lord?

He is not far behind. I am, fair lady, The vanguard of his band; and, as I trust, Bearing no dismal tidings.

O no! they should, indeed, be joyful, if— And, as in truth I trust—my lord is well!

Yes; from the wars, unhurt and strong in health, Garcio returns! where he has done the service Of an undaunted powerful combatant, To that of a right skilful leader join'd. He is not one of your reserved chiefs, Who, pointing with their dainty fingers, thus, Say, "Go, my friends, attack yon frowning ranks." No, by my faith! with heavy cimeter He closes to the bloody work himself, And to the carnage of each grizly field Brings his full tale of death.