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So famed for beauty is; but whence he comes, I cannot tell, my lord.

To Cromack's ancient laird!—If that indeed— Beshrew me, if it be!—I'd rather lose Half of my lands than son of mine such wrong, Such shameful wrong, should do. This sword I've drawn Like robbery to revenge, ne'er to abet it: And shall I now with hoary locksNo, no!— My noble Lorne! he cannot be so base.

Well, John, how is it? Welcome art thou home, If thou return'st, as well I would believe. Deserving of a welcome.

Doubts my lord That I am so returned? Your ear, my father. Let these withdraw: I have a thing to tell you.