Count Alarcos; a Tragedy by Earl of Beaconsfield Benjamin Disraeli
page 37 of 179 (20%)
page 37 of 179 (20%)
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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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