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Rh

Weep not, my sister, death brings sure relief; And many a brave man's son has died the death That now abideth me.

Alas! ere that bright sun which shines so brightly Shall reach his noon, of my brave father's race No male descendant shall remain alive,— Not one to wear the honours of his name,— And I the cursed cause of all this wreck! Oh, what was I, that I presumptuously Should think to keep his undivided heart! 'T were better I had lived a drudge,—a slave, To do the meanest service of his house, Than see thee thus, my hapless, noble brother.

Lament not, gentle sister; to have seen thee Debased and scorn'd, and that most wond'rous creature, Whose name I will not utter, made the means Of vexing thee—it would have driven me frantic. Then do not thus lament; nor think that I Of aught accuse thee. No; still let us be In love most dearly link'd, which only death Has power to sever. [To, as first observing him.] Boy, why art thou here?