Vict. It cannot, if I measure yours by mine;
Or, if extinguished, like a trail of smoke
From a wax taper, soon would light again.
Alph. 'Tis so; for when I say I will not love,
Then I love most. Farewell, my only joy!
I go to hide me from the world and you.
Vict. As, when the sun is down,
His light is clipt into a thousand stars,
So your sweet image, though you shine not on me,
Will gild the horror of the night, and make