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Dryden, John, 1631-1700

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

Why thus, in vain, are thy weak spirits prest?
Restore thyself to thy more needful rest.
_Aca_. And leave Orazia!--
_Zemp_. Go, you must resign:
For she must be the gods'; not yours, nor mine.
_Aca_. You are my mother, and my tongue is tied
So much by duty, that I dare not chide.--
Divine Orazia!
Can you have so much mercy to forgive?
I do not ask it with design to live,
But in my death to have my torments cease:
Death is not death, when it can bring no peace.
_Oraz_. I both forgive, and pity;--
_Aca_. O, say no more, lest words less kind destroy
What these have raised in me of peace and joy:
You said, you did both pity and forgive;
You would do neither, should Acacis live.
By death alone the certain way appears,
Thus to hope mercy, and deserve your tears.
[_Stabs himself_.
_Zemp_. O, my Acacis!
What cruel cause could urge this fatal deed?--
[_Weeps_.
He faints!--help, help! some help! or he will bleed
His life, and mine, away!--
Some water there!--Not one stirs from his place!
I'll use my tears to sprinkle on his face.
_Aca_. Orazia,--
_Zemp_. Fond child! why dost thou call upon her name?
I am thy mother.
_Aca_. No, you are my shame.
That blood is shed that you had title in,
And with your title may it end your sin!--
Unhappy prince, you may forgive me now,
Thus bleeding for my mother's cruel vow.


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