SCENE VIII.
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Adam and Eve._ _Adam._ These sacrificings, O my best beloved,These rites and forms which you have taught our boys,Which I nor practise nor can understand,Will turn, I trust, to good; but I much fear.Besides the superstitious search of signsIn merest accidents of earth and air,They cause, I think, a sort of jealousy—Ill-blood. Hark, now! _Eve._ O God, whose cry is that?Abel, where is my Abel? _Adam._ Cain! what, Cain!
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