Page:A Series of Plays on the Passions Volume 1.pdf/335

I only wish unknown, again to see
One who, alas! is heedless of my pain.

De Mon. Yes, it is ever thus. Undo that veil,
And give thy count'nance to the cheerful light.
Men now all soft, and female beauty scorn,
And mock the gentle cares which aim to please.
It is most damnable! undo thy veil,
And think of him no more.

Jane. I know it well, even to a proverb grown,
Is lovers' faith, and I had borne such slight;
But he who has, alas! forsaken me
Was the companion of my early days,
My cradle's mate, mine infant play-fellow.
Within our op'ning minds with riper years
The love of praise and gen'rous virtue sprung:
Thro' varied life our pride, our joys, were one;
At the same tale we wept: he is my brother.

De Mon. And he forsook thee?—No, I dare not curse him:
My heart upbraids me with a crime like his.

Jane. Ah! do not thus distress a feeling heart.
All sisters are not to the soul entwin'd
With equal bands; thine has not watch'd for thee,
Weep'd for thee, cheer'd thee, shar'd thy weal and woe,
As I have done for him.

De Mon. (Eagerly.) Ha! has she not?
By heaven! the sum of all thy kindly deeds
Were but as chaff pois'd against the massy gold,
Compar'd to that which I do owe her love.