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I thank thee, courteous maid.

All is not well: that step, those looks, those gestures, So quickly check'd when she perceiv'd me near, Betray too visibly a mind disturb'd And far remov'd from joy. Garcio is come Unwelcomely upon her. Yet that burst Of what appear'd like tenderness and love When he caress'd his child!—I cannot think She has in act been false; tho' much I doubt.

Ha! mutt'ring to thyself! what are thy thoughts?

Faith! ill-condition'd, moody, foolish thoughts, Such as lone men, whose heart no kind mate cheers, Alone could harbour.—Heaven forgive me for it!