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Oh, oh! forbear! It was not you, my father; I gave myself away: I did it willingly: We acted both for good; and now your love Repays me richly—stands to me instead Of many blessings.—Noble Lorne, besides— O, he hath been to me so kind—so tender! Say not I am deserted: heaven hath chid me— Hath chid me sorely: but hath bless'd me too,— O, dearly bless'd me!

Hath chid thee sorely!—how I burn to hear it! What hast thou suffer'd?

We will not tell thee now. Go to thy chamber And be a while composed. We have, my father, A tale to tell that will demand of thee Recruited strength to hear.—We'll follow thee.