Arth. No, thou mistak'st thy hearing for thy sight:
He's gone, my Emmeline;
And I but stay to gaze on those fair eyes,
Which cannot view the conquest they have made.
Oh star-like night, dark only to thyself,
But full of glory, as those lamps of heaven,
That see not, when they shine!
Em. What is this heaven, and stars, and night, and day,
To which you thus compare my eyes and me?
I understand you, when you say you love: