So. There’s Massinissa: my true Zanthia,
Shall’s venture nobly to escape, and touch
My lord’s just arms? Love’s wings so nimbly[356] heave
The body up, that, as our toes shall trip 10
Over the tender and obedient grass,
Scarce any drop of dew is dash’d to ground.
And see the willing shade of friendly night
Makes safe our instant haste! Boldness and speed
Make actions most impossible succeed.
Zan. But, madam, know the forest hath no way
But one to pass, the which holds strictest guard.
So. Do not betray me, Zanthia.
Zan. I, madam?
So. No,
I not mistrust thee, yet—but——
Zan. Here you may 20
Delay your time.
So. Ay, Zanthia, delay,
By which we may yet hope—yet hope—alas!
How all benumb’d’s my sense! Chance hath so often struck
I scarce can feel. I should now curse the gods,
Call on the furies, stamp the patient earth.
Cleave my stretch’d cheeks with sound, speak from all sense,
But loud and full of players’ eloquence.
No, no; what shall we eat?
Zan. Madam, I’ll search
For some ripe nuts which autumn hath shook down
From the unleaved hazel, then some cooler air 30
Shall lead me to a spring. Or I will try
The courteous pale[357] of some poor foresters
For milk.
So. Do, Zanthia. O happiness