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Our good De Creda, he will tarry with us; He will not go to-morrow as he threaten'd.

I'll stay with you a day beyond the time, And then I must depart; a pressing duty Compels me so to do.

But thou 'It return again, and bring with thee The sacred Book which thou hast told me of?

I will return again and bring that book, If Heaven permit. But man's uncertain life Is like a rain-drop hanging on the bough, Amongst ten thousand of its sparkling kindred, The remnants of some passing thunder shower, Who have their moments, dropping one by one, And which shall soonest lose its per'lous hold We cannot guess. I, on the Continent, must for a time A wand'rer be; if I return no more, You may conclude death has prevented me.

Ha, mother! welcome, welcome, Montebesa! There; take again your daughter and her boy.