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Rh

No; storms are hush'd within their silent cave, And unflesh'd lions slumber in the den. But there doth come a time! What, Bertha, is it thee who steal'st upon me?

Ber. I heard thee loud: Conversest thou with spirits in the air?

Ethw. With those whose answ'ring voice thou can'st not hear.

Ber. Thou hast of late the friend of such become, And only they. Thou art indeed so strange Thy very dogs have ceas'd to follow thee, For thou no more their fawning court receiv'st, Nor callest to them with a master's voice. What art thou grown, since thou hast lov'd to pore Upon those magic books?

Ethw. No matter what! a hermit an' thou wilt.

Ber. Nay, rather, by thy high assumed gait And lofty mien, which I have mark'd of late, Oft times thou art, within thy own mind's world, Some king or mighty chief. If so it be, tell me thine honour's pitch, And I will tuck my regal mantle on And mate thy dignity. (assuming much state.)

Ethw. Out on thy foolery!