SEBASTIAN.
COUNT ZATERLOO.
Whose valiant father left him but his sword
And his proud spirit, thro' this changeful world
To shape his way, with heart as truly tempered
To all the softest witch'ries of refinement
As e'er own'd cherish'd heir of wide domains,
In palace nurs'd.
SEBASTIAN.
But he since then has of a foreign state
The soldier been; and had not now returned,
But in the hope, 'tis laid, of being heir
To his great uncle's vast and rich possessions,
Of which that villain Hubert has depriv'd him
With treach'rous wiles. Poor heart! he has my pity.
'Tis said a ling'ring fever seiz'd upon him
From disappointment; and I marvel not;
The stroke was most severe.
COUNT ZATERLOO.
For that he left behind him, in the country
To which he now belongs, a gentle maid
And his betroth'd, with whom he thought to share
