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A wise precaution, mask'd with seeming love. When I shall think of nobody but thee, I might, perhaps, betray our secret bond, Beginning thus to some old gouty kinsman A dull epistle—"My dear Claudien."

Alas, that secret, that constraining secret! It is a galling weight about our necks, Would we were rid of it!

But when the king of Denmark, thy good master, Shall know how thou art circumstanced, he surely Will not enforce upon thee an alliance Unsought by thee, now thought of with repugnance, Because he did at first, on thy behalf Propose it to the parent of the maid,— A maid thou'st scarcely seen, and never woo'd?

I trust he will not, and should lose no time In reaching Copenhagen ere the court Remove to Elsineur, that speedily I may return to thee, my sweet Rosella, A free and happy man.

A free man, say'st thou, Claudien?