II.

The deed that I dared, could it merit their malice, A king and a father to place on his throne? His right are these hills, and his right are these valleys, Where the wild beasts find shelter, but I can find none; But 'tis not my sufferings thus wretched, forlorn: My brave gallant friends! 'tis your ruin I mourn; Your deeds proved so loyal in hot-bloody trial-- Alas! I can make you no sweeter return!

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