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THE BRIDE: A DRAMA.
In every victory thy arms achieve,
Be it o'er foreign, yea, or kindred foe,
Greet thee right heartily.
RASINGA.
MONTEBESA.
With any sense of aught to taint thy glory,
Grant me a boon that will enhance thy triumph,
And make me say, with full, elated heart,
Rasinga is my son.
RASINGA.
MONTEBESA.
RASINGA.
The foul disgrace and ruin of thy son.
MONTEBESA.
I do adjure thee to be merciful.
RASINGA.
An unrevenged, despised, derided man?
And have I got from thee and my brave sire