Antonietta, Matilda.
Mat. The hours fly fast, the morn is risen, and yet
My father comes not!
Ant. Ah! thou hast not learn’d,
By sad experience, with how slow a pace
Joys ever come; expected long, and oft
Deceiving expectation! while the steps
Of grief o’ertake us ere we dream them nigh.
But night is past, the long and lingering hours
Of hope deferr’d are o’er, and those of bliss