my paſſion, which, like an hungry wolf, became ſtill more ravenous, the leſs nouriſhment it found. The ſecret flame conſumed the marrow in my bones, my cheeks grew pale, my ſkin ſhrunk and ſhrivelled, my pace faultered, my knees ſhook like a reed bent to and fro by the wind. In this melancholy ſituation I was ſtill in want of a truſty friend, into whoſe diſcreet boſom I could pour forth my griefs, and who at leaſt could raiſe my drooping ſpirits by the cordial of hope.
As I lay ill at my inn, and had given up all hopes of life, the prince charged his body phyſician, Theophraſtus, with the care of my health. As he approached I held out my hand, expecting he would feel my pulſe, but he only ſhook it with a friendly ſmile, without troubling himſelf about the irritability of my nerves, and ſaid, Do not ſuppoſe, noble knight, that I am come to attempt your recovery by balſams and electuaries; your‘health
