Adeline. Oh! witness for me, Heaven!
The pure and holy warmth that fills my bosom.
Gondi. Nay then, my heart bleeds for thee! for thou mightst
As easily attempt to walk unmov'd,
With all the liquid fires which Ætna vomits
Pour'd in thy breast, as here to hope for happiness.
Oh! what does the heart feel, that's rudely torn
From the dear object of its wedded love!
And, still, to add a spur to gall'd reflection,
That very object, whom the time's necessity