The greatest kindness dying friends can have,
Is to dispatch them, when we cannot save.
_Gons_. Those dying people, could they speak' at all,
That pity of their friends would murder call:
For men with horror dissolution meet;
The minutes even of painful life are sweet.
_Jul_. But I'm by powerful inclination led;
And streams turn seldom to their fountain head.
_Gons_. No; 'tis a tide which carries you away;
And tides may turn, though they can never stay.
_Jul_. Can you pretend to love, and see my grief
Caused by yourself, yet give me no relief?
_Gons_. Where's my reward?
_Jul_. The honour of the flame.
_Gons_. I lose the substance, then, to gain the name.
_Jul_. I do too much mistress' power betray;
Must slaves be won by courtship to obey?
Thy disobedience does to treason rise,
Which thou, like rebels, would'st with love disguise.
I'll kill myself, and, if thou can'st deny
To see me happy, thou shalt see me die.
_Gons_. O stay! I can with less regret bequeath
My love to Roderick, than you to death:
And yet--
_Jul_. What new objection can you find?
_Gons_. But are you sure you never shall be kind?
_Jul_. Never.
_Gons_. What! never?
_Jul_. Never to remove.
_Gons_. Oh fatal never to souls damned in love!
_Jul_.
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