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on Ofcur ; my foil was the youth of
her love. She forgot the blood of her
father ; and loved the hand that flew
him.
Son of Ofcian, faid Dermid, Hove;
O Ofcur, I love this maid. But her
foul cleaveth unto thee ; and nothing
can heal Dermid. Here, pierce this
bofom, Ofcur ; reheve me, my friend,
with thy fword.
My fword, fon of Morny, (hall ne-
ver be flained with the blood of Der-
mid.
Who then is worthy to flay me, O
Ofcur fon of Ofcian I Let not my life
pafs away unknown. Let none but Of-
cur flay me. Send me with honour to
the grave, and let my death be renown-
ed.
E Dermid,

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