But I assured him there was no deceit.
He is a man who kindness will requite,
But, injured once, revenge is his delight;
And he would spend the best of his estates
To ruin, goods and body, them he hates; 640
While he is kind enough when he approves
A deed that’s done, and serves the man he loves.
Come, read your letters—I must now be gone,
And think of matters that are coming on.”
Henry was lost—his brain confused, his soul