And from your sacred vials pour your graces Upon my daughter's head!-Tell me, mine own, Where hast thou been preserv'd? where liv'd? how found Gave hope thou wast in being,-have preserv'd Paul. Leon. O peace, Paulina ! Thou shouldst a husband take by my consent, And made between 's by vows. Thou hast found mine; But how, is to be question'd: for I saw her, As I thought, dead; and have, in vain, said many A prayer upon her grave. I'll not seek far, For him, I partly know his mind,—to find thee An honourable husband.-Come, Camillo, And take her by the hand, whose worth and honesty By us, a pair of kings.-Let's from this place.- My ill suspicion. This your son-in-law, And son unto the king, whom heavens directing, [Exeunt. BELL AND BAIN, PRINTERS, GLASGOW. |