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The House of the, and the Apartment of , who enters, followed by , and throws himself hack into a chair with the action of deep distress.

Follow me not, my friend; it is in vain That friendly soothing would assuage my grief.

Grieve not for that which is, indeed, most grievous, Beyond all measure.

Can we measure grief, And say, So much of it shall be my portion, And only this? A prudent, lesson'd sorrow, Usurps the name it bears.—She was the light That brighten'd every object; made this world A place worth living in. This beauteous flame Hath in the socket sunk: I am in darkness, And no returning ray shall cheer my sight. This earth, and every thing that it contains, Is a dull blank around me.