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Which thou for many years hast lavish'd on her, Till, in the gladness of a foolish heart, She did believe that she was worthy of it.

Yes, dear Artina, thou wert worthy of it! Thou wert, and art, and shalt be loved and honour'd While there is life within Rasinga's bosom. Why didst thou think it could be otherwise, Although another mate within my house May take her place, to be with thee associated, As younger sister with an elder born? Such union is in many houses found.

I have no skill in words—no power to reason: How others live I little care to know: But this I feel, there is no life for me, No love, no honour, if thy alter'd heart Hath put me from it for another mate. Oh, woe is me! these children on thy knees, That were so oft caress'd, so dearly cherish'd, Must then divide thy love with younger fav'rites, Of younger mother born? Alas! alas! Small will the portion be that falls to them.

Nay, say not so, Artina; say not so.