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Dryden, John, 1631-1700

"The works of John Dryden, $c now first collected in eighteen volumes. $p Volume 02"

I would not think thee him, I see thou art:
Pr'ythee disown thyself in pity to me:
Why should I be obliged by one I hate?
_Gons_. I could say something in my own defence;
But it were half a crime to plead my cause,
When you would have me guilty.
_Amid_. How I fear
The sweetness of those words will move her pity!
I'm sure they would do mine.
_Gons_. You took me for a robber, but so far
I am from that--
_Jul_. O, pr'ythee, be one still,
That I may know some cause for my aversion.
_Gons_. I freed you from them, and more gladly did it--
_Jul_. Be what thou wilt, 'tis now too late to tell me:
The blackness of that image, I first fancied,
Has so infected me, I still must hate thee.
_Hip_. Though (if she loves him) all my hopes are ruined,
It makes me mad to see her thus unkind. [_Aside_.
Madam, what see you in this gentleman,
Deserves your scorn or hatred? love him, or
Expect just Heaven should strangely punish you.
_Gons_. No more: Whate'er she does is best; and if
You would be mine, you must, like me, submit
Without dispute.
_Hip_. How can I love you, sir, and suffer this?
She has forgot that, which, last night, you did
In her defence.
_Jul_. O call that night again;
Pitch her with all her darkness round: then set me
In some far desert, hemmed with mountain wolves
To howl about me: This I would endure,
And more, to cancel my obligements to him.


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