Eugenius. Alas! to what an imposition of hands was this tender young thing devoted! Poor soul!
Filippo. I sigh for her myself when I think of her.
Eugenius. Beware lest the sigh be mundane, and lest the thought recur too often. I wish it were presently in my power to examine her myself on her condition. What thinkest thou? Speak.
Filippo. Holy Father! she would laugh in your face.
Eugenius. So lost!
Filippo. She declared to me she thought she should have died, from the instant she was captured until she was comforted by Abdul: but that she was quite sure she should if she were ransomed.
Eugenius. Has the wretch then shaken her faith?
Filippo. The very last thing he would think of doing. Never did I see the virtue of resignation in higher perfection than in the laughing, light-hearted Almeida.
Eugenius. Lamentable! Poor lost creature! lost in this world and in the next.
Filippo. What could she do? how could she help herself?