A wretched Sight indeed;
[Going towards them.
Tenesco.
Comfort, my Prince, nor let your Passion swell
To such a Torrent, it o'erwhelms your Reason,
And preys upon the Vitals of your Soul.
You do but feed the Viper by this View;
Retire, and drive the Image from your Thought,
And Time will soon replace your every Joy.
Chekitan.
O my Tenesco, had you ever felt
The gilded Sweets, or pointed Pains of Love,
You'd not attempt to sooth a Grief like mine.
Why did you point me to the painful Sight?
Why have you shown this Shipwreck of my Hopes,
And plac'd me in this beating Storm of Woe?
Why was I told of my Monelia's Fate?
Why wa'n't the wretched Ruin all conceal'd
Under some fair Pretence—That she had fled—
Was made a Captive, or had chang'd her Love—
Why wa'n't I left to guess her wretched End?
Or have some slender Hope that she still liv'd?
You've all been cruel; she died to torment me;
To raise my Pain, and blot out every Joy.—
Tenesco.
I fear'd as much: His Passion makes him wild—
[Aside.
Chekitan.