AMYNTAS.
111
But shame, that caused her late behaviour to thee.
AMYNTAS.
Thou art a true physician; thou wouldst have
Thy love-sick patient dwindle on in torment.
Again thou offerest me false consolations
A pleasing antidote against my welfare:
Despair alone can be my remedy;
A bitter, but a salutary medicine.
The specious liar, Hope, hath been my ruin:
Again I feel it rising in my breast;
It often faints; but still resumes its vigour;
Nay, when 'tis quite extinct, it lives again;
The merest trifle can restore it's being.
Nay, what it's bane should be, it's cordial proves!
Why do I hope? because I live; alas!
What evil greater than a life like mine!
Thou art a true physician; thou wouldst have
Thy love-sick patient dwindle on in torment.
Again thou offerest me false consolations
A pleasing antidote against my welfare:
Despair alone can be my remedy;
A bitter, but a salutary medicine.
The specious liar, Hope, hath been my ruin:
Again I feel it rising in my breast;
It often faints; but still resumes its vigour;
Nay, when 'tis quite extinct, it lives again;
The merest trifle can restore it's being.
Nay, what it's bane should be, it's cordial proves!
Why do I hope? because I live; alas!
What evil greater than a life like mine!
DAPHNE.
For shame, support your misery like a man;
Live on in misery; nay, with future bliss
For shame, support your misery like a man;
Live on in misery; nay, with future bliss
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