XXVI.
Slowly he came, reading with anxious eyes
The thoughts that flicker'd on Alcesté's mien,
Veiling dishonour under Virtue's guise,
And avarice as though 'twere sorrow keen;
And still 'mid tears, and groans, and piping sighs,
He querulled forth his plaints the space between,
"Must thy poor father beg so near the grave,
"Be not so cruel—O! my daughter—save!"