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 Worthy their everlasting chronicle: Never since first Bellona us'd a shield, Such three brave brothers fell in Mars his field. These were those three Horatii Rome did boast, Rome's were these three Horatii we have lost. One Cœur-de-Lion had that age long since; This, three; which three, you make up four, brave prince.

O jealousy, that art The canker of the heart; And mak'st all hell Where thou do'st dwell; For pity be No fury, or no firebrand to me.

Far from me I'll remove All thoughts of irksome love: And turn to snow, Or crystal grow, To keep still free, O! soul-tormenting jealousy, from thee.

Let's live in haste; use pleasures while we may; Could life return, 'twould never lose a day.