Gal. Death, with what unconcern he hears all this! Art thou possest?—Pox, why dost not answer her?
Mar. I hope he will not yield—[Aside.
—He stands unmov’d—
Surely I was mistaken in this Face,
And I believe in Charms that have no power.
Gal. ‘Sdeath, thou deservest not such a noble Creature,— I’ll have ‘em both my self.—[Aside.
Fil.—Yes, thou hast wondrous power, And I have felt it long. [Pausingly.
Mar. How!
Fil.—I’ve often seen that Face—but ‘twas in Dreams:
And sleeping lov’d extremely!
And waking;—sigh’d to find it but a Dream:
The lovely Phantom vanish’d with my Slumbers,
But left a strong Idea on my heart
Of what I find in perfect Beauty here,
—But with this difference, she was virtuous too.
Mar. What silly she was that?
Fil. She whom I dream’d I lov’d.
Mar. You only dreamt that she was virtuous too;
Virtue it self’s a Dream of so slight force,
The very fluttering of Love’s Wings destroys it;
Ambition, or the meaner hope of Interest, wakes it to nothing;
In Men a feeble Beauty shakes the dull slumber off.—
Gal. Egad, she argues like an Angel, Harry.