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Rh

Eth. Be not cast down, sweet maid; he'll soon return; All are not lost who join in chanceful war.

Ber. I know right well, good Thane, all are not lost. The native children of rude jarring war, Full oft returning from the field, become Beneath their shading helmets aged men: But ah! the kind, the playful, and the gay; They who have gladden'd their domestic board, And cheer'd the winter fire, do they return? (shaking her head sorrowfully.) I grieve you all: I will no more complain. Dear mother, lead me hence. (to Sig.) (To Sel.) I thank you, gentle Selred, this suffices. (Exeunt Bertha supported by Sigurtha.

''Sel. (to Mollo, who has sat for some time with his face cover'd.)'' What, so o'ercome, my father?

Moll. I am o'ercome, my son; lend me thine arm. (Exeunt.