Not imitate the Gods, and spoil our Joys.
L. Lam. Lovely, and unambitious!
What hopes have I of all your promis’d Constancy,
Whilst this which possibly e’er long may adorn my Brow,
And ought to raise me higher in your Love,
Ought to transform you even to Adoration,
Shall poorly make you vanish from its Lustre?
Methinks the very Fancy of a Queen
Is worth a thousand Mistresses of less illustrious Rank.
Lov. What, every pageant Queen? you might from thence infer