Olym. Will you not please to eat?
Ors. It is too gross a Pleasure for a King.
Sure, if they eat, ‘tis some celestial Food,
As I do by gazing on thy Eyes—
Ah, lovely Maid—
Olym. Why do you sigh, Sir?
Ors. For something which I want; yet having thee, What more can Heaven bestow to gratify My Soul and Sense withal?
Olym. Sir, taste this Wine; Perhaps ‘twill alter that deceiv’d Opinion, And let you know the Error of your Passion; ’.will cause at least some Alteration in you.
Ors. Why shouldst thou ask so poor a Proof of me? But yet, I will obey,—give me the Wine.
[They put something into the Bowl.
Olym. How do you like it, Sir?
Ors. Why—well; but I am still the same.
Come, give it me again—’tis very pleasant—
Will you not taste it too?—
Methinks my Soul is grown more gay and vigorous;
What I have drank, has deify’d thee more,
Heightens the Pleasure which I take to gaze on thee,
And sends a thousand strange uneasy Joys,
That play about my Heart, and more transport me—
Drink, my fair Virgin, and perhaps thy Eyes
May find some Charms in me to make thee thus.
Olym. Alas, they’ve found already but too many. [Aside.