Aman. None that will long disorder me, I hope.
Wor. Whate'er it be disturbs you, I wou'd to Heaven 'twere in my Power to bear the Pain, till I were able to remove the Cause.
Aman. I hope ere long it will remove itself. At least, I have given it warning to be gone.
Wor. Wou'd I durst ask, Where 'tis the Thorn torments you?
Forgive me, if I grow inquisitive;
'Tis only with desire to give you Ease.
Aman. Alas! 'tis in a tender Part. It can't be drawn without a World of Pain: Yet out it must; for it begins to fester in my Heart.
Wor. If 'tis the Sting of unrequited Love, remove it instantly: I have a Balm will quickly heal the Wound.
Aman. You'll find the Undertaking difficult: The Surgeon who already has attempted it, has much tormented me.
Wor. I'll aid him with a gentler Hand—if you will give me leave.
Aman. How soft soe'er the Hand may be, there still is Terror in the Operation.
Wor. Some few Preparatives would make it easy, could I persuade you to apply 'em. Make Home Reflections, Madam, on your slighted Love: Weigh well the Strength and Beauty of your Charms: Rouse up that Spirit Women ought to bear, and slight your God, if he neglects his Angel. With Arms of Ice receive his cold Embraces, and keep your Fire for those who come in Flames. Behold a burning Lover at your Feet, his Fever raging in his Veins. See how he trembles, how he pants! See how he glows, how he consumes! Extend the Arms of Mercy to his Aid: his Zeal may give him Title to your Pity, altho' his Merit cannot claim your Love.