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Jackson, Helen Hunt, 1830-1885

"A Collection of Old English Plays, Volume 4"


And let my pleasing wordes of comfort chase
These[35] duskie cloudes of thy uniust dispaire
Farre from thy hart, and let a pleasing hope
Of young _Pertillos_ happy safe returne
Establish all your ill-devining thoughts;
So shall you make me cheerfull that am sad,--
And feede your hopes with fond illusions.
_Sos_. I could be so; but my divided soule,
Twixt feare and hope of young _Pertillos_ life,
Cannot arrive at the desired port
Of firme beleefe, until mine eyes do see
Him that I sent to know the certainetie.
_Fal_. To know the certaintie! of whom, of what?
Whome, whether, when, or whereabout, I praie,
Have you dispatcht a frustrate messenger?--
By heaven, and earth, my heart misgiveth[36] me,
They will prevent my cunning pollicie. [_To the people_.
Why speake you not? what winged Pegasus
Is posted for your satisfaction?
_Sos_. Me thinkes my speach reveales a hidden feare,
And that feare telles me that the childe is dead.
_Fall_. By sweete _S. Andrew_ and my fathers soule,
I thinke the peevish boy be too too well
But speake, who was your passions harbinger?
_Sos_.


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