_Dia_. Alas, Sir! What's the matter?--sit down a while.
_Cel_. Now--I am well--pardon me, lovely Creature,
If I betray a Passion, I'm too young
To've learnt the Art of hiding;
--I cannot hear you say that he was kind.
_Dia_. Kind! yes, as Blasts to Flow'rs, or early Fruit;
All gay I met him full of youthful Heat:
But like a Damp, he dasht my kindled Flame,
And all his Reason was--he lov'd another,
A Maid he call'd _Celinda_.
_Cel_. Oh blessed Man!
_Dia_. How, Sir?
_Cel_. To leave thee free, to leave thee yet a Virgin.
_Dia_. Yes, I have vow'd he never shall possess me.
_Cel_. Oh, how you bless me--but you still are married,
And whilst you are so--I must languish--
_Dia_. Oh, how his Softness moves me! [_Aside_.
--But can all this Disorder spring from Love?
_Cel_. Or may I still prove wretched.
_Dia_. And can you think there are no ways
For me to gratify that Love?
What ways am I constrain'd to use to work out my Revenge! [_Aside_.
_Cel_. How mean you, Madam?
_Dia_. Without a Miracle, look on my Eyes--
And Beauty--which you say can kindle Fires;
--She that can give, may too retain Desires.
_Cel_. She'll ravish me--let me not understand you.
_Dia_. Look on my Wrongs--
Wrongs that would melt a frozen Chastity,
That a religious Vow had made to Heaven:
--And next survey thy own Perfections.
_Cel_. Hah--
_Dia_. Art thou so young, thou canst not apprehend me?
Fair bashful Boy, hast thou the Power to move,
And yet not know the Bus'ness of thy Love?
_Cel_. How in an instant thou hast chill'd my Blood,
And made me know no Woman can be good?
'Tis Sin enough to yield--but thus to sue
Heav'n--'tis my Business--and not meant for you.
_Dia_. How little Love is understood by thee,
'Tis Custom, and not Passion you pursue;
Because Enjoyment first was nam'd by me,
It does destroy what shou'd your Flame renew:
My easy yielding does your Fire abate,
And mine as much your tedious Courtship hate.
Tell Heaven--you will hereafter sacrifice,
--And see how that will please the Deities.
The ready Victim is the noblest way,
Your Zeal and Obligations too to pay.
_Cel_. I think the Gods wou'd hardly be ador'd,
If they their Blessings shou'd, unask'd, afford;
And I that Beauty can no more admire,
Who ere I sue, can yield to my Desire.
_Dia_. Dull Youth, farewel:
For since 'tis my Revenge that I pursue
Less Beauty and more Man as well may do.
[_Offers to
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