as much of pride;
That scarf he begged, you could not have denied;
Nor does it shock the virtue of a wife,
When given that man, to whom you owe your life.

_Almah._ Heaven knows, from all intent of ill 'twas free,
Yet it may feed my husband's jealousy;
And for that cause I wish it were not done.

_To them_ BOABDELIN, _and walks apart._

See, where he comes, all pensive and alone;
A gloomy fury has o'erspread his face:
'Tis so! and all my fears are come to pass.

_Boab._ Marriage, thou curse of love, and snare of life, [_Aside_
That first debased a mistress to a wife!
Love, like a scene, at distance should appear,
But marriage views the gross-daubed landscape near.
Love's nauseous cure! thou cloyest whom thou should'st please;
And, when thou cur'st, then thou art the disease.
When hearts are loose, thy chain our bodies ties;
Love couples friends, but marriage enemies.
If love like mine continues after thee,
'Tis soon made sour, and turned by jealousy;
No sign of love in jealous men remains,
But that which sick men have of life--their pains.

_Almah._ Has my dear lord some new affliction had? [_Walking to him._
Have I done any thing that makes him sad?

_Boab._ You! nothing: You! But let me walk alone.

_Almah._ I will not leave you till the cause be known:
My knowledge of the ill may bring relief.

_Boab._ Thank ye; you never fail to cure my grief!
Trouble me not, my grief concerns not you.

_Almah._ While I have life, I will your steps pursue.

_Boab._ I'm out of humour now; you must not stay.

_Almah._ I fear it is that scarf I gave away.

_Boab._ No, 'tis not that; but speak of it no more:
Go hence! I am not what I was before.

_Almah._ Then I will make you so; give me your hand!
Can you this pressing and these tears withstand?

_Boab._ Oh heaven, were she but mine, or mine alone!
[_Sighing, and going off from her._
Ah, why are not the hearts of women known!
False women to new joys unseen can move;
There are no prints left in the paths of love,
All goods besides by public marks are known;
But what we most desire to keep, has none.

_Almah._ Why will you in your breast your passion crowd,
[_Approaching him._
Like unborn thunder rolling in a cloud?
Torment not your poor heart, but set it free,
And rather let its fury break on me.
I am not married to a god; I know,
Men must have passions, and can bear