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Dryden, John, 1631-1700

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


_Gons_. This is not yet our fortune's utmost malice;
The gall remains behind. This ship was that,
Which yesterday was mine; I can see nothing
Round me, but what's familiar to my eyes;
Only the persons new: Which makes me think,
Twas seized upon by Roderick, to revenge
Himself on me.
_Man_. Tis wonderful indeed.
_Amid_. The only comfort is, we are not known;
For when we entered it was dark.
_Hip_. That comfort
Is of as short continuance as the night;
The day will soon discover us.
_Man_. Some way must be invented to get out.
_Hip_. Fair Julia, sadly pining by herself.
Sits on her bed; tears falling from her eyes,
As silently as dews in dead of night.
All we consult of must be kept from her:
That moment, that she knows of Roderick's life,
Dooms us to certain death.
_Man_. 'Tis well considered.
_Gons_. For my part, were not you and she concerned,
I look upon my life, like an estate,
So charged with debts, it is not worth the keeping.
We cannot long be undiscovered by them;
Let us then rush upon them on the sudden,
(All hope of safety placed in our despair)
And gain quick victory, or speedy death.
_Man_. Consider first, the impossibility
Of the attempt; four men, and two poor boys,
(Which, added to our number, make us weaker)
Against ten villains, more resolved for death,
Than any ten among our holiest priests.


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