Chapter 27 SEVENTH

Julia.--Gentle sir,

You are our captive-but we'll use you so,

That you shall think your prison joys may match

Whate'er your liberty hath known of pleasure.

Roderick.

No, fairest, we have trifled here too long;

And, lingering to see your roses blossom,

I've let my laurels wither.

OLD PLAY.

Arrayed in garments of a mourning