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SCENE I.

Stuart.
This Solitude but more foments Despair!
Recals—compares—and to th'incessant Pangs
Of Spite, Revenge, and Shame condemns my Soul!—
O! what a miserable Slave am I!—
Precipitated from the tow'ring Hope
Of eagle-ey'd Ambition, to th'Abyss
Of mutt'ring Horror, curs'd from Thought to Thought!
—Hah Jealousy!—I feel th'infernal Power!
Her hissing Snakes arrouse—her Torch inflames
My madd'ning Soul!—Yes,—if he thus permits
My Feet to range at will; my 'vengeful Hand
Will soon requite him.—
[Enter Grime.