That yet I may,
Pitying your sad condition,
Work your cure:—A great physician
Comes to visit you to-day.
Chrysanthus (aside).
Who do I behold? ah, me!
Carpophorus.
I will speak to him with your leave.
Chrysanthus (aside).
No, my eyes do not deceive,
'T is Carpophorus that I see!
I my pleasure must conceal.
Carpophorus.
Sir, of what do you complain?
Chrysanthus.
Since you come to cure my pain,
I will tell you how I feel.
A great sadness hath been thrown
O'er my mind and o'er my feelings,
A dark blank whose dim revealings
Make their sombre tints mine own.
Carpophorus.
Can you any cause assign me
Whence this sadness is proceeding?
Chrysanthus.
From my earliest years to reading
Did my studious tastes incline me.
Something thus acquired doth wake
Doubts, and fears, and hopes, ah me!
That the things I read may be.
Carpophorus.
Then from me this lesson take.
Every mystery how obscure,
Is explained by faith alone;
All is clear when that is known:
'T is through faith I 'll work your cure.
Since in that your healing lies,
Take it then from me.
Chrysanthus.