TAMERLANE.
29
To know no second Bride-bed, but my Grave.
Mon.I swear, it must not be, since still my EyeFinds thee as heavenly white, as Angel pure,As in the earliest hours of Life, thou wert,Nor art thou his, but mine; thy first Vows mine,Thy Soul is mine,———
Arp.Oh! think not, that the PowerOf most persuasive Eloquence can make meForget, I have been another's, been his Wife;Now by my Blushes! by the strong Confusion,And Anguish of my Heart! spare me Moneses,Nor urge my trembling Virtue to the Precipice.Shortly, (oh! very shortly) if my SorrowsDivine aright, and Heav'n be gracious to me,Death shall dissolve the fatal Obligation,And give me up to Peace, to that blest PlaceWhere the Good rest from Care and anxious Life.
Mon.Oh! teach me, thou fair Saint, like thee to suffer,Teach me, with hardy Piety, to combatThe present Ills, instruct my Eyes to passThe narrow bounds of Life, this Land of Sorrow,And with bold Hopes, to view the Realms beyond,Those distant Beauties of the future State.Tell me Arpasia, ——— say, what Joys are those,That wait to crown the Wretch who suffers here:Oh! tell me, and sustain my failing Faith.
Arp.Imagine somewhat exquisitly fine,Which Fancy cannot paint, which the pleas'd MindCan barely know, unable to describe it;Imagine, 'tis a Tract of endless Joys,Without Satiety, or Interruption;Imagine, 'tis to meet, and part no more.
Mon.Grant, gentle Heaven, that such may be our Lot!Let us be be blest together,——— Oh! my Soul!Build on that hope, and let it arm thy Courage,To struggle with the Storm, that parts us now.
Arp.Yes! my Moneses, now the Surges rise,The swelling Sea breaks in between our Barks,
And
