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Count Alarcos; a Tragedy by Earl of Beaconsfield Benjamin Disraeli
page 37 of 179 (20%)
Canst answer that, good Sir? O there are women
The world deem mad, or worse, whose life but seems
One vile caprice, a freakish thing of whims
And restless nothingness; yet if we pierce
The soul, may be we'll touch some cause profound
For what seems causeless. Early love despised,
Or baffled, which is worse; a faith betrayed,
For vanity or lucre; chill regards,
Where to gain constant glances we have paid
Some fearful forfeit: here are many springs,
Unmarked by shallow eyes, and some, or all
Of these, or none, may prompt my conduct now --
But I'll not have thy prince.

I:4:17 KING.
My, gentle child --

I:4:18 SOL.
I am not gentle. I might have been once;
But gentle thoughts and I have parted long;
The cause of such partition thou shouldst know
If memories were just.

I:4:19 KING.
Harp not, I pray,
On an old sorrow.

I:4:20 SOL.
Old! he calls it old!
The wound is green, and staunch it, or I die.
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