Jul. Your favour from constraint has set me free,
But that secures not my felicity;
Slaves, who, before, did cruel masters serve,
May fly to deserts, and in freedom starve.
The noblest part of liberty they lose,
Who can but shun, and want the power to chuse.
Gons. O whither would your fatal reasons move! You court my kindness, to destroy my love.
Jul. You have the power to make my happiness, By giving that, which you can ne'er possess.
Gons. Give you to Roderick? there wanted yet That curse, to make my miseries complete.
Jul. Departing misers bear a nobler mind;
They, when they can enjoy no more, are kind;
You, when your love is dying in despair,
Yet want the charity to make an heir.
Gons. Though hope be dying, yet it is not dead; And dying people with small food are fed.
Jul. The greatest kindness dying friends can have, Is to dispatch them, when we cannot save.
Gons. Those dying people, could they speak' at all,
That pity of their friends would murder call:
For men with horror dissolution meet;
The minutes even of painful life are sweet.
Jul. But I'm by powerful inclination led; And streams turn seldom to their fountain head.
Gons. No; 'tis a tide which carries you away; And tides may turn, though they can never stay.