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They may have pity on thee; but from me It were an act against the sense of nature.

Nay, say not so! I have for mercy sued At the proud feet of power, and been rejected: What injury can reach a dying man? Can his few hours of breathing poise the scales 'Gainst the whole term of a man's reckon'd life In youth's best strength?

Go, thou hast been deceiv'd with a false tale: And, were it true, hope ends not but with life; Heaven only knows who is a dying man.

For blessed charity close not your pity Againd all other feelings but your own! (Clasplng the Countess' knees and kissing her hand.) Sweet lady! gentle lady! dearest lady! O be not ruthless to a soul bow'd down In extreme wretchedness!

Cease, cease! unlock thy hold; embrace me not! Has he for whom thou plead'st from out o' thyself Receiv'd his being? press'd with infant lips Thy yearning bosom? smiled upon thy knees,