XLIV

See, as they creep along the river side,

      How she doth whisper to that aged Dame,

And, after looking round the champaign wide,

      Shows her a knife.—'What feverous hectic flame

Burns in thee, child?—what good can thee betide,

      That thou shouldst smile again?'—The evening came,

And they had found Lorenzo's earthy bed;

The flint was there, the berries at his head.