Queen. Is’t possible? am I so beautiful?
Bac. As Heaven, or Angels there.
Queen. Supposing this, how can my Beauty make you so obliging?
Bac. Beauty has still a Power over great Souls, and from the moment I beheld your Eyes, my stubborn Heart melted to compliance, and from a nature rough and turbulent, grew soft and gentle as the God of Love.
Queen. The God of Love! what is the God of Love?
Bac. ’Tis a resistless Fire, that’s kindled thus—at every Takes her by the Hand and gazes on her.
gaze we take from such fine Eyes, from such bashful Looks, and such soft Touches—it makes us sigh,—and pant as I do now, and stops the breath when e’er we speak of Pain.
Queen. Alas for me if this should be Love! Aside.
Bac. It makes us tremble when we touch the fair one; and all the Blood runs shivering through the Veins, the Heart’s surrounded with a feeble Languishment, the Eyes are dying, and the Cheeks are pale, the Tongue is faltring, and the Body fainting.
Queen. Then I’m undone, and all I feel is Love. Aside.