To know that Mirza loves me, is to know
That she is mortal—that I knew before.
To know that Mirza’s worthy of my love,
And that, despite the searching influence
That I alone resist—oh, this indeed
Is happiness!—I’m sure she loves me well!
Enter Zeolide.
Zeo. Indeed she does! If half-an-hour ago
She spoke abruptly to her Philamir,
She bitterly repents it. Oh, my love,