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Thou truly say'st; at least I have observ'd That those who bear misfortunes over meekly Do but persuade mankind that they and want Are all too fitly match'd to be disjoin'd, And so to it they leave them.

'Tis ever so: Even good men then neglect them; but the base, They, who by mean and undermining arts To o'ergrown wealth attain, like the ass's heel 'Gainst the sick lion's low and lanken breast Spurn at them.

Yes, good Bernard, thou speak'st truly. For I myself, who, as thou know'st right well, Am not too meekly to misfortune bent, Have somewhat of the worthless ass's kick Against my bosom felt.—'Lone and unarm'd— Had but one brave companion by my side My anger shar'd, full dearly had the knave— But let it pass—he had a brave man's curse, And that will rest upon him.

But, pray thee, Count, tell us the circumstance, Thou speak'st in mystery.