Theo. Ah, Eugeny! some heavenly nymph descends
To make thee music in these desert woods,
To quench or feed thy baleful melancholy:
It is so sweet, I could almost believe,
But that 'tis sad, it were an angel's voice.
Eug. What, in the name of miracle, is this?
Theo. Remove not thou; I'll make discovery
Within this thicket.
Eug. Ha! what means thy wonder?
What dost thou see?
Theo. I know not how to tell thee:
Now I could wish myself to be all eyes,
As erst all ears. I see a shape as fair,
And as divine, as was the voice it sent;
But clouded all with sorrow: a fair woman,
If by a name so mortal I may term her.
In such a sorrow sat the Queen of Love,
When in the wood she wail'd Adonis' death,
And from her crystal-dropping eyes did pay
A lover's obsequy.
Theo. Sure, black is Cupid's colour; Death and he
Have chang'd their liveries now, as in the fable
They did their quivers once.[12]
Eug. Ah, woe is me!
Theo. What means that woe?
Eug. Ah, Theodore! my guilt
Pursues me to the woods! No place can keep
The monuments of my misdeeds away.