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I should be as merry as the day is long;
And so I would be here, but that I doubt
My uncle practises more harm to me:
He is afraid of me, and I of him:

Is it my fault that I was Geffrey's son ?

No, indeed, is't not; And I would to heaven,
I were your son, so you would love me, Hubert.
Hub. If I talk to him, with his innocent prate
He will awake my mercy, which lies dead:
Therefore I will be sudden, and dispatch.

20

[Asile.

Arth. Are you sick, Hubert? you look pale to

day:

In sooth, I would you were a little sick;

That I might sit all night, and watch with you:

I warrant, I love you more than you do me.

Hub. His words do take possession of my bosom.

Read here, young Arthur

How now, foolish rheum!

[Shewing a Paper.

Turning dispiteous torture out of door?

I must be brief; lest resolution drop

Out at mine eyes, in tender womanish tears.
Can you not read it? is it not fair writ?

Arth. Too fairly, Hubert, for so foul effect:

[Aside.

Must you with hot irons burn out both mine eyes? Hub. Young boy, I must.

Arth. And will you?

Hub. And I will.

40

Arth. Have you the heart? When your head did

but ake,

I knit my handkerchief about your brows

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London Printed for J. Bell British Library Strand June 9th 1786.

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