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Rh

Speak thine own natural voice, and be thyself: There is no eye to look upon us now; No more excuse for this mysteriousness. Let me now look upon thy face and bless it! Thou hast done well by me: thou'rt wond'rous gentle. I knew thee fair and charming, but I knew not Thou wert of such a soft and kindly nature. (The Countess unmasks and looks at him sorrowfully.) Ha, mother! is it you?

Who should it be? where should'st thou look for kindness? When we are sick where can we turn for succour; When we are wretched where can we complain; And when the world looks cold and surly on us, Where can we go to meet a warmer eye With such sure confidence as to a mother? The world may scowl, acquaintance may forsake, Friends may neglect, and lovers know a change, But when a mother doth forsake her child, Men lift their hands and cry, "a prodigy!"

O mother! I have been a thankless child! I've given thee hoary hairs before thy time; And added weight to thy declining years, Who should have been their stay.