,
Who can but shun, and want the power to chuse.

_Gons_. O whither would your fatal reasons move!
You court my kindness, to destroy my love.

_Jul_. You have the power to make my happiness,
By giving that, which you can ne'er possess.

_Gons_. Give you to Roderick? there wanted yet
That curse, to make my miseries complete.

_Jul_. Departing misers bear a nobler mind;
They, when they can enjoy no more, are kind;
You, when your love is dying in despair,
Yet want the charity to make an heir.

_Gons_. Though hope be dying, yet it is not dead;
And dying people with small food are fed.

_Jul_. The greatest kindness dying friends can have,
Is to dispatch them, when we cannot save.

_Gons_. Those dying people, could they speak' at all,
That pity of their friends would murder call:
For men with horror dissolution meet;
The minutes even of painful life are sweet.

_Jul_. But I'm by powerful inclination led;
And streams turn seldom to their fountain head.

_Gons_. No; 'tis a tide which carries you away;
And tides may turn, though they can never stay.

_Jul_. Can you pretend to love, and see my grief
Caused by yourself, yet give me no relief?

_Gons_. Where's my reward?

_Jul_. The honour of the flame.

_Gons_. I lose the substance, then, to gain the name.

_Jul_. I do too much mistress' power betray;
Must slaves be won by courtship to obey?
Thy disobedience does to treason rise,
Which thou, like rebels, would'st with love disguise.
I'll kill myself, and, if thou can'st deny
To see me happy, thou shalt see me die.

_Gons_. O stay! I can with less regret bequeath
My love to Roderick, than you to death:
And yet--

_Jul_. What new objection can you find?

_Gons_. But are you sure you never shall be kind?

_Jul_. Never.

_Gons_. What! never?

_Jul_. Never to remove.

_Gons_. Oh fatal never to souls damned in love!

_Jul_. Lead me to Roderick.

_Gons_. If it must be so--

_Jul_. Here, take my hand, swear on it thou wilt go.

_Gons_. Oh balmy sweetness! but 'tis lost to me,
[_He kisses her hand_.
Like food upon a wretch condemned to die:
Another, and I vow to go:--Once more;
If I swear often, I shall be foreswore.
Others against their wills may haste their fate;
I only toil to be unfortunate:
More my own foe than all my stars could prove;
They give her person, but I give her love.
I must not trust myself--Hippolito!

_Enter_ HIPPOLITO.

_Hip_. My lord!

_Gons_. Quickly go find Don Roder