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Rh

Thou seem'st like one bereaved of all sense; What is the matter with thee?

Nothing; but thus to pass with culprit feet Beneath the shade of night, these well-known courts Which I so oft have trod in front of day, With the firm footsteps of an honest man, Doth make me

Fye! thou art become a fool. Shake off such weakness: we're compell'd to this. We shall beneath the sultan's iron sway, Disgrac'd from the late failure of our plots, Live like lash'd slaves, if the bewitching beauty Of my young Ella come not to our aid To bend his rugged nature. Strong in her, We shall not merely safe protection find, But highest favour and authority; And tho' by stealth I needs must bear her hence, Being my daughter, I, in nature's right

Hush! now I hear a lightly-sounding step. Ella!