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Hath urged her on.—The blood from his shorn trunk Shall to mine eyes be as the gushing fount To the parch'd pilgrim—Blood! but that his rank Forbids such execution, his marr'd carcase, A trampled mass—a spectacle of horror, Shouldthe detested traitor! [Noise at the door.] Who is there?

Juan de Creda: pray undo thy door.

No, not to thee; not ev'n to thee, De Creda.

Nay, but thou must, or fail in honest truth. I have thy promise once again to see me Ere thy revengeful purpose take effect; Yea, and I hold thee to it.

Turn from my door, for thou since then hast seen me, And hast no further claim.

Tamper not so unfairly with thy words: I saw thee as the forest peasant sees A hunted tiger passing to his lair.