Shall she be _another's?_--Yes; when I shrink at sight of what lies
yonder,--my sword, George;--that shall prevent her ever being
_another's_.

Tell me you believe she will be _mine_:--it may help to calm my
disturbed mind.--Be sure you do not hint she will be _another's_.

Have I told you, Mr. Powis is coming home?--I cannot recollect whether I
have or not;--neither can I pain myself to look back.

All the world has something to comfort them, but your poor
friend.--Every thing wears the face of joy, till I turn my eyes
inwards:--_there it is_ I behold the opposite;--_there it is_ where
Grief has fix'd her abode.--Does the fiend ever sleep? Will she be
composed by ushering in the happy prospects of others?--Yes, I will
feel, joy.--Joy did I say? Joy I cannot feel.--Satisfaction
then?--Satisfaction likewise is forbid to enter.--What then will
possess my mind; on recollecting peace is restor'd, where gratitude
calls for such large returns?--I'll pray for them;--I'll pray for a
continuance of their felicity.--I'll pray, if they have future ills in
store, they may light on the head of Darcey.--Yes, he can bear more
yet:--let the load be ever so heavy, he will stoop to take up the
burthen of his friends;--such friends as Sir James and Lady Powis have
been to

DARCEY.