CHAPTER XIII.
Fond wretch! and what canst thou relate,
But deeds of sorrow, shame, and sin?
Thy deeds are proved—thou know'st thy fate;
But come, thy tale—begin—begin.
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But I have griefs of other kind,
Troubles and sorrows more severe;
Give me to ease my tortured mind,
Lend to my woes a patient ear;
And let me, if I may not find
A friend to help—find one to hear.
Crabbe's Hall of Justice..
When Urfried had with clamours and menaces driven Rebecca back to the apartment from
which she had sallied, she proceeded to conduct
the unwilling Cedric into a small apartment, the
door of which she heedfully secured. Then fetching from a cupboard a stoup of wine and two flagons, she placed them on the table, and said, in
a tone rather asserting a fact than asking a question, "Thou art a Saxon, father—Deny it not,"
she continued, observing that Cedric hastened
not to reply; "the sounds of my native language