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Rh

"Good day, fair Dame."—"The same to you, Sir Knight."— "Might I presume—but how can words express it, The sunshine of your beauty dazzles so!— You will not chide me hence? What gentle goodness! Dear, precious moments, but so swiftly gone!" Then whispers low the waiting gentlewoman, "Madam, may he return another day?"— "Well, well, he may, since thou wilt have it so. It is in truth an amiable fool."

Fie, fie, Rovani! art thou not asham'd? Who would believe, in hearing thee expatiate On woman's weakness thus, that thou thyself Art but a poor dependent on her favour For all the bloom and sparkle of thy being— A very daily beggar of her smiles!

I, say'st thou? Where, in what nook of the earth, Lives she for whom I sigh?

Nay, rather ask in what nook of the earth She liveth not. There's ne'er a moving thing, That wears upon its form a woman's weed, Be it or short or tall, or pale or buxom, Or young or old, but thou dost roll thine eye,