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