Cynthia.
Since she cannot sing; then listen
To this subtle play of fancy:
"Love, if thou 'rt my god" . . . . (she becomes confused.
But how,
What can have my mind so darkened
What my memory so confuses,
What my voice can so embarrass?
Nisida.
I am turned to frost and fire,
I am changed to living marble.
Cynthia.
Frozen over is my breast,
And my heart is cleft and hardened.
Chrysanthus.
Thus to lose your wits, ye two,
What can have so strangely happened?
Escarpin.
Being poets and musicians,
Quite accounts, sir, for their absence.
Nisida.
Heavens! beneath the noontide sun
To be left in total darkness!
Cynthia.
In an instant, O ye heavens!
O'er your vault can thick clouds gather?
Nisida.
'Neath the contact of my feet
Earth doth tremble, and I stagger.