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Dryden, John, 1631-1700

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

Whoever falls, 'tis my protector still,
And then the crime's as great, to die as kill.--
Acacis, do not hopeless love pursue;
But live, and this soft malady subdue.
_Aca_. You bid me live, and yet command me die!
I am not worth your care;--Fly, madam, fly!
(While I fall here unpitied) o'er this plain,
Free from pursuit, the faithless mountains gain;
And these I charge,
As they would have me think their friendship true,
Leave me alone, to serve, and follow you:
Make haste, fair princess, to avoid that fate,
Which does for your unhappy father wait.
_Oraz_. Is he then left to die, and shall he see
Himself forsaken, ere his death, by me?
_Mont_. That would you do?
_Oraz_. To prison I'll return,
And there, in fetters, with my father mourn.
_Mont_. That saves not his, but throws your life
away.
_Oraz_. Duty shall give what nature once must
pay.
_Aca_. Life is the gift, which heaven and parents
give,
And duty best preserves it, if you live.
_Oraz_. I should but further from my fountain fly,
And, like an unfed stream, run on and die:
Urge me no more, and do not grieve to see
Your honour rivalled by my piety.
[_She goes softly of, and often looks back_.
_Mont_. If honour would not, shame would lead the way;
I'll back with her.


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