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Rh

Eth. Mark'd you the changes of the stripling's eye? You do complain that he of late has grown A musing sluggard. Selred, mark me well: Brooding in secret, grows within his breast That which no kindred owns to sloth or ease. And is your father fix'd to keep him pent Still here at home? Doth the old wizard's prophesy, That the destruction of his noble line Should from the valour of his youngest son In royal warfare spring, still haunt his mind? This close confinement makes the pining youth More eager to be free.

Sel. Nay, rather say, the lore he had from thee Hath o'er him cast this sullen gloom. Ere this, Where was the fiercest courser of our stalls That did not shortly under him become As gentle as the lamb? What bow so stiff But he would urge and strain his youthful strength, Till ev'ry sinew o'er his body rose, Like to the sooty forger's swelling arm, Until it bent to him? What flood so deep That on its foaming waves he would not throw His naked breast, and beat each curling surge, Until he gain'd the far apposing shore? But since he learnt from thee that letter'd art, Which only sacred priests were meant to know,