XVIII.
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Ah! why wilt thou affright a feeble soul?A poor, weak, palsy-stricken, churchyard thing,Whose passing-bell may ere the midnight toll;Whose prayers for thee, each morn and evening,Were never miss'd."--Thus plaining, doth she bringA gentler speech from burning Porphyro;So woful, and of such deep sorrowing, 160That Angela gives promise she will doWhatever he shall wish, betide her weal or woe.
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