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CI.
Enter a Squire.
[Hur.]
My servant squire, prepare a flying horse,
Whose feet are wings, whose pace is like the wind,
Who will outstrip the morning light in course,
Leaving the mantle of the dark behind;
Some secret matters do my presence find.
Give out to all that I was slain in fight;
If in this cause thou dost my order mind,
When I return, thou shalt be made a knight.
Fly, fly, be gone! an hoür is a day,
Quick dight my best of steeds, and bring him here; away!
Exit Squire.
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