A load so sad, so insupportable,
As it appear’d but now.—I saw but now,
Not far from hence, a miserable virgin
Lamenting her dead mother. Near the corpse
She sat; nor friend, nor kindred, nor acquaintance,
Except one poor old woman, was there near
To aid the funeral. I pitied her:
Her beauty, too, was exquisite.—In short,
He mov’d us all: and Antipho at once
Cried, “Shall we go and visit her?”—Why, aye,