ALBANIO.
Ah, faithless nymph! and is it in this mode
Thou keep'st thy plighted oath? Oh heavy load
Of curst existence! oh false love, to cheer
My drooping soul with hopes so insincere!
Oh painful mode of martyrdom! oh death,
Cool torturer, slow to claim my hated breath!
You give me cause to call high Heaven unjust;
Gape, empty earth, and repossess the dust
Of this rebellious body, which debars
The swift-winged soul from soaring to the stars!
I, I will let it loose; let them that dare
Resist—resist me?—of themselves take care,
It much concerns them! Can I not fulfil
My threats? die, go—here—there—where'er I will,
Spirit or flesh?
CAMILLA.
Hark! he desires to do
Himself some mischief; my worst fears were true,
And his mind wanders.
ALBANIO.
Oh that here I had
The man whose malice seems to drive me mad!
I feel discharged of a vast weight! it seems
I fly, disdaining mountains, woods, and streams,
My farm, flock, field, and dairy! Are not these
Feet? yes, with them I fly where'er I please.
And now I come to think, my body's gone;
It is the spirit I command alone.
Some one has stolen and hid it as I gazed
On the clear sky, somewhat too much amazed;
Or has it stayed behind asleep? I swear
A figure coloured like the rose was there,
Slumbering most sweetly; now, if that should be
My shape—no, that was far too fair for me.
NEMOROSO.
Poor head! I would not give a coin of brass
For thy discretion now.
ALBANIO.
To whom, alas,
Shall I give notice of the theft?