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tality of the Soul. A drawn Sword on And bar each avenue; thy gath’ring fleets the Table, by him.

O'erspread the sea, and stop up ev'ry porl; Cato. It must be so--Plato thou reason'st Cato shall open to himself a passage, welt

And mock thy hopes.Else whence this pleasing hope, this fond desire,

Por. [Kneeling] Oh, sir! forgive your son, This longing after immortality?

Whose grief hangs beavy on him. 'Oh, my

father! Or whence this secret dread, and inward horror, Of falling into nought? Why shrinks the soul How am I sure it is not the last time Back on herself, and startles at destruction? I e'er shall call you so? Be not displeas’d, 'Tis the divinity that stirs within us;

Oh, be not-angry with me whilst 1 weep; Tis bear'n itself that points out an hereafter, And, in the anguish of my heart, beseech you And intimales eternity to man.

To quit the dreadful purpose of your soul! Eternity! thou pleasing, dreadful thought!

Cato. Thou hast been ever good and duti

ful. Through what variety of untried being,

[Embracing him. Through what new scenes and changes must Weep. pol, my son, all will be well again; we pass?

The righteous gods, whom I have sought to The wide, the unbounded prospect lies be

please, fore me :

Will succour Caio, and preserve his children. But shadows, clouds, and darkness, rest upon it.

Por. Your words give comfort to my droopHere will I hold. If there's a power above us

ing heart. (And tha! there is, all nature, cries aloud

Cato. Portius, ibou may'st rely upon my

conduct: Through all her works); he must delight in virtue;

Thy father will not act what misbecomes him. And that which he delights in must be happy. But go, my son, and see if aught be wanting But when, or where? - this world was made Among thy father's friends; see ihem embark'd for Caesar:

And tell me if the winds and seas befriend them. I'm weary of conjectures -- this must end them. My soul is quite weigh'd down with care, [Laying his Hand on his Sword.

and asks Thus am f doubly arm’d: my death and life, The soft refreshment of a moment's sleep. My bane and antidote, are both before me.

Por. My thoughts are more at rase, my This in a moment brings me to an end;

heart revives- [Exit Catu. But this informs me I shall never die.

Enter MARCIA...
The soul, secur'd in her existence, smiles
At the drawn dagger, and defies its point.

Oh, Marcia! Oh, my sister, still there's hope? The stars shall fade away, the sun himself

Our father will not cast away a life Grow dim with and nature sink in

So needful to us all, and to his country:

years, But thou shalt flourish in immortal youth,

He is retir'd to rest, and seems to cherish Unhurt amidst the war of elements,

Thoughts full of peace. - He has dispatch'd The wreck of matter, and the crush of worlds.

me hence What means this heaviness that hangs upon me? With orders that bespeak a mind compos'd, This letbargy that creeps through all my senses? And studious for the safety of his friends. Nature, oppress’d and harrass'd out with care, Marcia, take care that none disturb his slumSinks down to rest. This once I'll favour her,


[Erit. That my awaken'd soul may take ber flight,

Marcia. Oh, ye immortal powers, that guard Renew'd in all her strength, and fresh with life,

the just, An off'ring fit for heav'n. Let guilt or sear

Watch round his couch and soften bis repose, Disturb man's rest, Cato knows neither of them, Banish bis sorrows, and becalm his soul Indiff'rent in his choice to sleep or die.

With easy dreams; remember all bis virtues,
And show mankind that goodness is


care! Enter Portius. Bat, ha! who's this? my son! Why this in

Enter Lucia. trusion?

Lucia. Where is your father, Marcia, where Were not my orders that I would be private?

is Cato? Why am I disobey'd ?

Marcia. Lucia, speak low, he is retir'd Por. Alas, my father! What means this sword, this instrument of Lucia, I feel a gentle dawning hope death? Rise in my soul-We shall be happy still

. Let me convey it hence.

Lucia. Alas, I tremble when I think on Cato! Cato. Rash youth, forbear!

In every view, in every thought I tremble! Por. Oh, let the pray'rs, th' entreaties of Cato is stern and awful as a god; your friends,

He knows not how to wink at human frailty, Their tears, their common danger, wrest it Or pardon weakness, that he never felt. from you!

Marcia. Though stern and awful to the foes Cato. Wouldst thou betray me? Wouldst

of Rome, thou give me up

He is all goodness, Lucia, always mild; A slase, a captive, into Caesar's hands? Compassionate and gentle to his friends; Retire, and learn obedience to a father, Filld with domestic tenderness, the best, Or know, young man

The kindest father; I have ever found him Por. Look not thus sternly on me; Easy and good, and bounteous to my wishes. You know, I'd rather die than disobey you.

Lucia. Tis his consent alone can make us Coto. 'Tis well! again I'm master of myself.

blest. Now, Caesar, let thy troops beset our gates, But who knows Cato's thoughts?


to rest.


Who knows how yet he niay dispose of Oh, Marcia, what we fear'd is come to pass! Portius,

Cato has fall’n upon his sword Or how he has determin'd of thyself?

Luc. Oh, Portius, Marcia. Let him but live, commit the rest Hide all the horrors of the mournful tale, lo heav'n.

And let us guess the rest.

Por. I've rais'd bím up,

And plac'd him in his chair; where, pale and Luc. Sweet are the slumbers of the vir

faint, tuous man!

He gasps for breath, and as his life flows Oh, Marcia, I have seen thy godlike father;

froin him, * Some power invisible supports his soul, Demands to see his friends.

His servants, And bears it up in all its wonted greatness.

weeping, A kind, refreshing sleep is fallin upon him: Obsequious to his order, bear him bither! I saw him stretch'd at ease; his fancy lost Mar. Oh, heav'n! assist me in this dreadful In pleasing dreams; as I drew near his couch,

hour, He smild, and cried, Cacsar, thou canst not to pay the last sad duties to my father!

hurt me. Marcia. His mind still labours with some

Caro brought on in a Chair. dreadful thought.

Juba. These are thy triumphs, thy exploits,

O Caesar!
Enter JUBA.

Luc. Now is H. he fall'n indeed!
Juba. Lucius, the horsemen are return'd Cato. Here selle down
from viewing

Portius, come near me


friends emThe number, strength, and posture of our foes,

bark'd? Who now encamp within a short hour's march; Can any thing be thought of for their service? On the high point of yow bright western tower Whilst I yet live, let me not live in vain We ken ihem from afar; the setting sun Oh, Lucius, art thou here?—Thou art too Plays on their shining arms and burnishd


Let this our friendship live between our cbilAnd covers all the field with gleams of fire.

drenLuc. Marcia, 'tis time we should awake thy Make Portius happy in thy daughter Lucia. father,

Marcia, my daughterCaesar is still dispos'd to give us terms,

Oh, bend me forward !-Juba loves thee, Marcia. And waits at distance till he hears from Cato. A senator of Rome, while Rome survivid,

Would not have match'd his daughter with Enter PORTIUS.

a kingPortius, thy looks speak somewhat of impor- But Caesar's arms have thrown down all distance.

tinction What tidings dost thou bring? Methinks I see I'm sick to death-Oh, when shall I get loose Unusual gladness sparkle in thy eyes,

From this vain world, th'abode of guilt and Por. As I was basting to the port, where now

sorrow! My father's friends, impatient for a passage, And yet, methinks, a beam of light breaks in Accuse the ling'ring winds, a sail arriv'd On my departing soul. Alas, I lear From Pompey's son, who, through the realms I've been too hasty !- Oh, ye powers, that of Spain,

search Calls out for vengeance on his father's death, The heart of man, and weigh his inmost And rouses the whole nation up to arms.

thoughts, Were Cato at their head, once more might If I have done amiss, impute it notRome

The best may err, but you are good, andAssert her rights, and claim her liberty.


[Dies. [4 groan is heard. Por. There fled the greatest soul that ever But, hark! what means that groan? ---Oh,

warm'd give me way,

A Roman breast:- Oh, Cato! oh, my friend! And let me fly into my father's presence! Thy will shall be religiously observ'd.

[Exit. But let us bear this awful corpse to Caesar, Luc. Cato, amidst his slumbers, thinks on And lay it in his sight, that it may stand, Rome,

A fence belwixt us and the victor's wrath: And, in the wild disorder of his soul, Cato, though dead, shall still protect his friends. Mourns o'er his country. - fla! second groan

From hence, let fierce contending nations Heav'n guard us all!

know, Mar. Alas, 'tis not the voice

What dire effects from civil discord flow: Of one who sleeps; 'tis agonizing pain- 'Tis this that shakes our country with alarms, 'Tis death is in that sound

And gives up Rome a prey to Roman arms;

Produces fraud, and cruelty, and strife,
Re-enter. PORTIUS.

And robs the guilty world of Cato's lífe. Por. Oh, sight of woe!



CONGREVE. WILLIAM COXGREVE, descended from the Congreves in Staffordshire, who trace their ancestry as far hack as delare the conquest first saw the light at Bardsa, ricar Leeds, Yorkshire, 1677. He was cducated first at Filmy: and afterwards sent to the university in Dublin, under the direction of Dr. Aslie. His father, who was only a younger brother, and provided for in the army by a combission on the Irish çstablishment, had been compelled to undertake & jearsey thither in consequence of his command, being desirous his study should be directed to profit as well as improvedent, sent bim over to England, and placed him at the age of 16 as stadent in the Temple. Here he lived for spreral years, but with very little attention to statutes or reports. His disposition to become an author appeared very early; Johnson says, “ Amnag all the efforts of early genius, which literary liistory records, 1. donbt whether any. one can be produced that more surpasses the coumon limits of naluire than the plays of Congreve. His first dranatic labour va The Old Batchelor, acted in 1693. This piece introduced him to Lord Halifax, the Maecenas of the, age, wa, desirous of raising so promising a genius above the necessity of loo basty productions, made him one of the corne Bissioners for licencing backney-coaches. He soon after bestowed upon him a place in the Pipe-office, with one in tho Cristoms of 600 pounds a year. 1694 Congreve produced The Double Dealer. The next year, when Betterton opened the ory Theatre in Lincoln's Inn Fields, he gave him his comedy of Love for Love. The Biographic Dramatic saya,

This met with so much success, that they immediately offered the author a share in the profits of the house, on candilion af his furnishing them with one play yearly. This offer he accepted: but whether through indolence or that Correcto ess which he looked on as necessary to his works, his Mourning Bride did not come out till 1697, nur his Vay of the world till two years after that." He had been involved in a long contest with Jeremy Cullier, * firious and implacable non-juror, who published A Short View of the Immorality and Profaneness of the English Stage, in which he had very severely attacked some of Congreve's pieces: this, added to the ill success his Way of the

4, though an exceeding good comedy, met with, completed his disgust; and lie made a resolution of never moro writing for the stage. Johnson says, "At last comedy grew more modest, and Collier lived to see the reward of his labour in the reformation of the theatre." In 1714, Congreye was appointed Commissioner of Wine Licences, and 17. Dec. same year was nomidated Secretary of Jamaica, olaking altogether a yearly income of 1200 pounds. Johnson says, “His honours were yet for greater than his profils. Every writer mentioned him with respect; and, among other testimonies to his meril, Steele madde him the patron of his Miscellany, and Pope inscribed to him his Translation of the Iliad. But he treated the Muros vila ingratitude ; for, having long conversed familiarly with the great, he wished to be considered rather as a inan of fashien ihan oi vit; and, when he received a visit from Voltaire, disgusted him by the despicable foppery of desiring to be cogsidered not as an author but gentleman; to which the Frenchman replied, 'If lie had been ouly a entea an, he should not have come to visit him.'He died at his house in Surey. Street, in the Strand, Jamary 29,

Oar limits will not allow us to give Johnson's account of this author; but every one agrees in considering bię serprisingly eminent in his Theatrical pieces ; at the same time, whon bo quiised this tract, he evidently failed ed, although his Miscellaneous Poems will ever inaintain a respectable place in British literature, his couma was est) elssely wrtathed for these lo add one leaf to his poctical fame.

THE MOURNING BRIDE, ACTED at Lincoln's-Inn Fields. 1697. This is the only Tragedy our author over wrote, and it met with more access than any of his other pieces. Although Dr. Johnson accuses it of bombast and wait of real nature; n0lwithstanding Dibdin says, that it is overcharged with imagery, as his comedics are with point, and if we try to conceive it, it is with an aching imagination, that may raise astonislıment, but must destroy pleasure; it is to be considered that, “the poel's eye in a fine phrenzy rolling,” in embodying “airy nothing,” raises his mind so high above ibe things of this world in his look "from earth to heaven," that his conceptions appear too bold for a cool, criticising genius, It is certain, that the language of passion, in real life, is boisterous and elevated; and, in persons of a certain cast, may go a step farther than what in cooler moments would appear, simple nature; and Dr Jolinson's criti. cisa is evidently unprepared, for he says himself, he had not read Congreve's plays for many years.

Coud.c great critic have been raised by the same 'feelings that actuated Congreve in coniposing his tragedy, it' is very sure, lio Fould not have pronounced so severe a sentence. We have not the smallest pretension to call in question the opinions ef so great a man as Johnson on this play; knowing his attention was entirely directed to chasten the tasto of the age; bat ve do think (if we can judge by our own feelings), that he must have feil a secret deliglit himself in reading this pince; and hope we do not overstep tho bounds of modesty in declaring the story to be extremely pleasing, affecting, and well old; the langnage, although extremely elevated, may be allowed to be this side of bombasl, expressing the idtas perhaps in an impassioned manner; but we believe not beyond the limits of poetical nature ; and will content ourselves with sometimes being astonished for pleasure, Dr. Johnson declares, that, af he were to select from the *hole mass of English poetry the most poctical paragraph, he knows not what he conld prefer to au exclamation in this tragedy ("No, all is bush'd, and still as death—'tis dreadful !" 10: “Thy voice--my own affrights me with ils echoes ! >') Johnson continues, “He who reads these lines enjoys for a moment the powers of a poct; he feels what be remembers to have felt before; but he feels it with great increase' of 'sensibility; he recognises a familiar image, bat meets it again amplified and expanded, embellished with beauty, and cnlarged with majesty".

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ACT 1.

Than trees or flint?: O, force of constant woe! Scene 1.-4 Room of State. 'Tis not in harmony to calm my griefs. The Curtain rising slowly to soft Music, Anselmo sleeps, and is at peace; last night

discovers ALMERIA in Mourning, LEONO- The silent tomb receiv'd the good old king; RA wailing. ALMERIA rises and comes He and his sorrows now are safely lodg'd forward.

Within its cold, but hospitable bosom. Alm. Music has charms to sooth a savage Why am not I at peace? breast,

Léon. Dear madam, cease, To soften rocks, or bend a knotted oak. Or moderate your grief; there is no cause-I've read that things inanimate have mov'd, Alm. No cause! Peace, peace! there is eter And, as with living souls, have been inform’d, By_magic numbers and persuasive sound. And misery eternal will succeed. What then am I? Am I more senseless grown Thou canst not tell--thou hast indeed no causc,

nal cause,


Of his success,

Leon. Believe ine, madam, I lament.Anselmo, Who knew our flight, we closely were pursu'd, And alsgays did compassionate bis fortune : And almost taken; when a sudden storm Have often wept to see how cruelly Drove us, and those that follow'd, on the coast Your father kept in chains his fellow king; Of Afric: There our vessel struck the shore, And oft at night, when all have been retir’d, And, bulging 'gainst a rock was dash'd in pieces, Have stol'n from bed, and to his prison crept, But hear'n spar'd me for get much more afWhere, while his gaolor slepi, I through the

fliction! grate

Conducting them who follow'd us, to shun Have softly whisperd, and inquir'd bis health, The shoal, and save me floating on the waves, Sent in my sighs and pray’rs for his deliv'rance; While the good queen and my Alphonso For sighs and pray’rs were all that I could offer.

perish'd.. Alm. Indeed thou hast a soft and gentle Leon. Alas! Were you then wedded to nature,

Alphonso ? That thus could melt to see a stranger's wrongs. Alm. That day, ihat fatal day, our hands 0, Leonora, badst thou known Anselmo,

were join'd. How would thy heart have bled to see his For when my lord beheld the ship pursuing, suff'rings!

And saw her rate so far exceeding ours, Thou hadsi no cause but general compassion. He came to me, and beggd me by my love, Leon. Love of my royal mistress gave me I would consent the priest should make us one; cause,

That whether dealb ur victory ensu'd,
My love of you begot my grief for him; I might be bis, bevind the pow'r of fate:
For I had beard that when the chance of war The queen too will assist bis suit-I granted ;
Had bless'd Anselmo's arms with victory, And in one day was wedded, and a widow.
And the rich spoil of all the field, and you, Leon. Indeed, 'twas mournful--
The glory of the whole, were made the prey Alm. 'Twas-as I bare told thee

For which I mourn, and will for ever mourn;
He did endear himself to your affection, Nor will I change these black and dismal robes,
By all the worthy and indulgent ways Or ever dry these swoln and wat'ry eyes;
His most industrious goodness could invent; Or ever taste content, or peace of heart,
Proposing, by a inatch between Alphonso, While I have life and thought of my Al.
His son, the brave Valencian prince, and you,

phonso. (Loud shouts. To end the long dissension, and unite

Leon. Hark! The jarring, crowns.

The distant shouts proclaim your father's triAlm. Why was I carried to Anselmo's couri?

umph. [Shouts at a distance. Or there, why was I us'd so tenderly? O cease for heav'n's sake, assuage a little Wbý, not ill treated, like an enemy,


This torrent of your grief; for much I fear For so my father would have' usd his child. "Twill urge his wrath, to see you drown'd in O, Alphonso, Alphonso!

tears, Devouring seas have wash'd thee from my sight, When joy appears in ev'ry other face. No time shall rase thee from my memory; Alm. "And joy he brings to ev'ry other heart, No, I will live to be thy monument:

But double, double weight of woe to mine ; The cruel ocean is no more thy tomb; For with him Garcia comes- Garcia, to whom But in

my heart thou art interr'd; there, there, I must be sacrificed, and all the vows Thy dear resemblance is for ever fix'd; I

gave my dear Alphonso basely broken. My love, my lord, my husband still, though lost! No, it shall never be; for I will die Leon. Húsband! 0, heav'ns!

First, die ten thousand deaths.-Look down, Alm. Alas! What have I said ?

look down, [Kneels. My grief bas hurry'd me beyond' all thought. Alphonso, hear the sacred vow I make; I would have kept that secret; though I know And thou, Anselmo, if yet thou art arriv'd Thy love and faith to me deserve all confi- Through all impediments of purging fire, dence.

To that bright heav'n where my Alphonso reigns,
Leon. Witness these tears

Behold thou also, and attend my vow:
The memory of that brave prince stands fair If ever I do yield, or give consent,
In all report

By any action, word, or thought, to wed
And I have heard imperfectly his loss; Another lord; may then just heav'o show'r down
But fearful to renew your troubles past,

Unheard-of curses on me, greater far
I never did presume to ask the story. (If such there be in angry heav'n's vengeance)
im. If for my swelling heart I can, r'n Than any I have yet endur'd. And now
tell thee.

[Rising I was a welcome captive in Valencia, My heart has some relief: having so well Ev'n on the day when Manuel, my father, Discharg'd this debt, incumbent on my love. Led on bis conqu’ring troops, high as the gates Yet one thing more I would engage from thee. of king Anselmo's palace; which, in rage, Leon. My heart, my life, and will, are onAnd heat of war, and dire revenge, be fir'd.

ly yours:
The good king flying to avoid the flasnes, Alm. I thank thee. 'Tis but this: anon,
Started amidst his foes, and made captivity

when all
His fatal refuge-Would that I had fallin Are wrapp'd aud busied in the general joy,
Amidst those fames—but 'twas not so decreed. Thou wilt withdraw, and privately with me
Alphonso, who foresaw my father's cruelty, Steal forth to visit good Anselmo's tomb.
Had borne the queen and me on board a ship Leon. Alas! I fear some fatal resolution.
Ready to sail; and when this news was brought Alm. No, on my life, my faith, I mean no ill,
We put to sea; but being betray'd by some Nor violence.- I feel myself more light,

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And more at large since I bave made this vow. What, tears! my good old friends
Perhaps I would repeat it there more solemnly. Gon. But tears of joy.
Tis that, or some such melancholy thought; Believe me, sir, to see you thus, has fila
Upon my word, no more.

Mine eyes with more delight than they can hold. Leon. I will attend you.

King. By heav'n thou lov'st me, and I am Enter Alonzo.

pleas'd thqu' dost

Take it for thanks, 'old man, that I rejoice Alon. The lord Gonsalez comes to tell your To see thee weep on this occasion-some highness

llere are, who seem to mourn at our success! The king is just arrived.

Why is't, Almeria, that you meet our eyes, Alm. Conduct him in. [Exit Alonzo. Upon this solemn day, in these sad weeds? That's his pretence: his errand is, I know, In opposition to my brightness, you To fill my ears with Garcia's valiant deeds; And yours are all like daughters of affliction. And gild and magnify his son's exploits.

Alm. Forgive me, sir, if I in this offend. But I am arm'd with ice around my heart, The year, which I have vow'd to pay to hear'n, Not to be warm'd with words, or idle elo- In mourning and strict life, for

, my deliv'rance quence.

From wreck and death, wants yet iò be expir'd; Enter GensALEZ.

King. Your zeal to heav'n is great, so is Gon. Be ev'ry day of your long life like this.

your debt; The sun, bright conquest, and your brighter eyes; Yet something too is due to me, who gave Have all conspir'd to blaze promiscuous light, That life which heav'n preserv'd. A day be

slow'd And bless this day with most unequal lustre. Your royal father, my victorious lord,

In filial duty, had aton'd and given Laden with spoils, and ever-living laurel,

A dispensation to your vow--No more? Is ent'ring now in martial pomp the palace. Twas weak and wilful--and a woman's error. Five hundred mules precede his solemn march, Yet-upon thought, it doubly wounds my sight, Which groan beneath the weight of Moor- To see that sable worn upon the day ish wealth.

Succeeding that in which our deadliest foe; Chariots of war, adornd with glitt'ring gems,

Hlated Anselmo! was interr'd-By heav'n! Succ- '. and next

, a hundred neighing steeds, It looks as thou didst mourn for him!' just so White as the fleecy rain on Alpine hills;

Thy senseless vow appeard to bear its daté, Tbal bound and foam, and champ the gol-Not from that hour wherein thou wert preden bit,

serva, As they disdain'd the victory they grace.

But that wherein the curs'd Alphonso perish'd. Prisoners of war in shining fetters follow:

Ila! What! thou dost not weep to think And captains of the noblest blood of Afric:

of thai? Sweat by his chariot-wheels;

Gon. Have patience, royal sir; the princess The swarming populace spread every wall,

weeps While you alone retire, and shun this, sight; One pointed hour should be' Alphonso's loss,

To have offended if fate decreed, This sight, which is indeed not seen (though And her deliverance, is she to blame?

twice The multitude should gaze) in absence of your

King. I tell thee she's to blame, not to have

feasted Alm. My lord, mine eyes ungratefully bebold When my first foe was laid in earth; such The gilded trophies of exterior bonours.

enmity, Nor will my ears be charm'd with sounding Such detestation bears my blood to his: words,

My daughter should have revellid at his death ; Or pompous phrase; the pageantry of souls. She should have made these palace walls to But that my father is return'd in safety,

shake, I bend to hear'n with thanks.

And all this high and ample roof to ring Gon. Excellent princess!

With her rejoicings. What, to mourn and But 'tis a task unfit for my weak age

weep! With dying words to offer at your praise.

Then, then to weep,


pray, Garcia, my son, your beauty's lowest slave,

By heav'n! Has better done, in proving with his sword

There's not a slave, a shackled slave of mine, The force and influence of your matchless But should have smil'd that hour, through ali

charms. Alm. I doubt not of the worth of Garcia's And shook his chains in transport and rude deeds,

harmony! Which had been brave, though I had ne'er 'Gon. What she has done was in excess of been born.

goodness; Leon. Madam, the king.

Betray'd by too much piety, to seem

As if she had offended.-Sure, no more. Symphony of warlike Music. Enter the

King. To seem is to commit, at this conKing, attended by Garcia and several Of

juncture. ficers; Files of Prisoners, in Chains, and I wo'not have a seeming sorrow seen Guards. ALMERIA meets the King, and To-day.—Retire, divest yourself with speed kneels ; afterwards GONSALEZ kneels and of that offensive black; on me be all kisses the King's Hand, while GARCIA The violation of your vow; for you, does the same to the PRINCESS.

It shall be your excuse that I command it. King. Almeria, rise– My best Gonsalez, Gar. [Kneeling] 'Your pardon, sir, if I rise

presume so far,


and grieve

his care,

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