Guil. My love for her has now no hope, Don Lope,
But in your love for me. She is your guest,
And I as such, beside my joy in you,
May catch a ray of her—may win you even
To plead for me in such another strain
As has not yet wearied her ears in vain;
Or might you not ev’n now, as she returns,
Give her a letter from me; lest if first
She see, or hear from others of my coming,
She may condemn my zeal for persecution,