Mor. Why do you give your mind this needless care,
And for yourself, and me, new pains prepare?
I ne'er approved this passion in excess:
If you would show your love, distrust me less.
I hate to be pursued from place to place;
Meet, at each turn, a stale domestic face.
The approach of jealousy love cannot bear;
He's wild, and soon on wing, if watchful eyes come near.
Mel. From your loved presence how can I depart?
My eyes pursue the object of my heart.
Mor. You talk as if it were our bridal night:
Fondness is still the effect of new delight,
And marriage but the pleasure of a day:
The metal's base, the gilding worn away.
Mel. I fear I'm guilty of some great offence,
And that has bred this cold indifference.
Mor. The greatest in the world to flesh and blood:
You fondly love much longer than you should.
Mel. If that be all which makes your discontent,
Of such a crime I never can repent.
Mor. Would you force love upon me, which I shun?
And bring coarse fare, when appetite is gone?
Mel. Why did I not in prison die, before
My fatal freedom made me suffer more?
I had been pleased to think I died for you,
And doubly pleased, because you then were true:
Then I had hope; but now, alas! have none.
Mor. You say you love me; let that love be shown.
'Tis in your power to make my happiness.
Mel. Speak quickly! To command me is to bless.