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Count Alarcos; a Tragedy by Earl of Beaconsfield Benjamin Disraeli
page 43 of 179 (24%)

I:4:50 SOL.
And is this thine aid!

I:4:51 KING.
What word has roughed the brow, but now confiding
In a fond father's love?

I:4:52 SOL.
Alas! what word?
What have I said? what done? that thou should'st deem
I could do this, this, this, that is so foul,
My baffled tongue deserts me. Thou should'st know me,
Thou hast set spies on me. What! have they told thee
I am a wanton? I do love this man
As fits a virgin's heart. Heaven sent such thoughts
To be our solace. But to act a toy
For his loose hours, or worse, to find him one
Procured for mine, grateful for opportunities
Contrived with decency, spared skillfully
From claims more urgent; not to dare to show
Before the world my homage; when he's ill
To be away, and only share his gay
And lusty pillow; to be shut out from all
That multitude of cares and charms that waits
But on companionship; and then to feel
These joys another shares, another hand
These delicate rites performing, and thou'rt remembered,
In the serener heaven of his bliss,
But as the transient flash: this is not love;
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