If thou hast pity.
Aris. Ah, had I a heart
Great-swelling as the sad Molurian mount,
Or pil�d peaks that wreck the sailing moon,
'Twere not enough to melt upon this woe!
Ara. Wretched, O wretched me! To be the curse
Of what is best on earth!
Aris. Peace, unjust lips!
Thou art a rose that, rooted in Elysium,
Leans sorrowing to the world that it may see