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Dryden, John, 1631-1700

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


_Jul_. This strange unkindness of my Rodorick
I owe to thee, and thy unlucky love;
Henceforth go lock it up within thy breast;
'Tis only harmless while it is concealed,
But, opened, spreads infection like a vault.
Go, and my curse go with thee!--
_Gons_. I cannot go 'till I behold you happy:--
--Here, Rodorick, receive her on thy knees;
Use her with that respect, which thou would'st pay
Thy guardian angel, if he could be seen.
--Do not provoke my anger by refusing.--
I'll watch thy least offence to her; each word,
Nay, every sullen look;--
And, as the devils, who are damned to torments,
Yet have the guilty souls their slaves to punish;
So, under me, while I am wretched, thou
Shalt be tormented.--
_Rod_. Would'st thou make me the tenant of thy lust,
To toil, and for my labour take the dregs,
The juicy vintage being left for thee?
No: she's an infamous, lewd prostitute:
I loath her at my soul.
_Gons_. I can forbear
No longer: swallow down thy lie, foul villain.
[_They fight off the stage. Exeunt_.
_Jul_. Help, help!
_Amid_. Here is that witch, whose fatal beauty
Began the mischief; she shall pay for all.
[_Goes to kill JULIA_.
_Hip_. I hate her for it more than thou canst do;
But cannot see her die, my master loves.


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