Page:A Series of Plays on the Passions Volume 1.pdf/138

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136
COUNT BASIL: A TRAGEDY.

Vict. So far thou'st read it well.

Bas.Ha! have I well?
Thou dost not hate me then?

Vict.My father comes;
He were displeas'd if he should see thee thus.

Bas. Thou dost not hate me, then?

Vict. Away, he'll be displeas'd—I cannot say—

Bas. Well, let him come, it is thyself I fear;
For did destruction thunder o'er my head,
By the dread pow'r of heav'n I would not stir
Till thou hadst answer'd my impatient soul!
Thou dost not hate me?

Vict. Nay, nay, let go thy hold—I cannot hate thee.
(breaks from him and exit.)

Bas, alone. Thou canst not hate me! no, thou canst not hate me!
For I love thee so well, so passing well,
With such o'erflowing heart, so very dearly,
That it were sinful not to pay me back
Some small, some kind return.

Enter Mirando, dressed like Cupid.


Mir. Bless thee, brave soldier.

Bas. What sayst thou, pretty child? what playful fair
Has deck d thee out in this fantastick guise?

Mir. It was Victoria's self; it was the princess.

Bas. Thou art her fav'rite then?

Mir.They say I am;
And now, between ourselves, I'll tell thee, soldier,
I think in very truth she loves me well.