Elect. The gifts the earth hath drunk, my father hath them:
Now this new wonder come and share with me.
Chor. Speak on, my heart goes pit-a-pat with fear.
Elect. There on the tomb I see this lock cut off.
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Chor. What man or maid low-girdled can it claim?
Elect. Full easy this for any one to guess.
Chor. Old as I am, may I from younger learn?
Elect. None but myself could cut off lock like this.
Chor. Yea, foes are they that should with grief-locks mourn.