Lov. 'Tis well; leave me.
Solus.
Sure Fate has yet some Business to be done,
Before Amanda's Heart and mine must rest;
Else, why amongst those Legions of her Sex,
Which throng the World,
Shou'd she pick out for her Companion
The only one on Earth
Whom Nature has endow'd for her undoing?
Undoing was't, I said——Who shall undo her?
Is not her Empire fix'd? Am I not hers?
Did she not rescue me, a groveling Slave,
When, chain'd and bound by that black Tyrant Vice,
I labour'd in his vilest Drudgery?
Did she not ransom me, and set me free?
Nay, more:
When by my Follies sunk
To a poor tatter'd, despicable Beggar,
Did she not lift me up to envy'd Fortune?
Give me herself, and all that she possest?
Without a Thought of more Return,
Than what a poor repenting Heart might make her,
Han't she done this? And if she has,
Am I not strongly bound to love her for it?
To love her—Why, do I not love her then?
By Earth and Heaven, I do!
Nay, I have Demonstration that I do:
For I would sacrifice my Life to serve her.
Yet hold——If laying down my Life
Be Demonstration of my Love,
What is't I feel in favour of Berinthia?
For shou'd she be in danger, methinks, I cou'd incline
To risk it for her Service too; and yet I do not love her.
How then subsists my Proof?—
—O, I have found it out.
What I would do for one, is Demonstration of my Love;
And if I'd do as much for t'other: it there is Demonstration
of my Friendship——Ay——it must be so. I find
I'm very much her Friend.—Yet let me ask myself one
puzzling Question more:
Whence springs this mighty Friendship all at once?
For our Acquaintance is of a later Date. Now Friendship's
said to be a Plant of tedious Growth, its Root
compos'd of tender Fibres, nice in their Taste, cautious
in spreading, check'd with the least Corruption in the
Soil, long ere it take, and longer still ere it appear to
do so; whilst mine is in a Moment shot so high, and fix'd
so fast, it seems beyond the Power of Storms to shake it.
I doubt it thrives too fast.
[Musing.
Enter Berinthia.
—Ah, she here!—Nay, then take heed, my Heart, for
there are Dangers towards.
Ber. What makes you look so thoughtful, Sir? I hope you are not ill.
Lov. I was debating, Madam, whether I was so or not; and that was it which made me look so thoughtful.
Ber. Is it then so hard a matter to decide? I thought all People had been acquainted with their own Bodies, tho' few People know their own Minds.
Lov. What if the Distemper, I suspect, be in the Mind?