IX

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IX

So she was silenced, and fair Bellanaine,

Writhing her little body with ennui,

Continued to lament and to complain,

That Fate, cross-purposing, should let her be

Ravish’d away, far from her dear countree;

That all her feelings should be set at nought,

In trumping up this match so hastily,

With lowland blood; and lowland blood she thought

Poison, as every stanch true-born Imaian ought.