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Dryden, John, 1631-1700

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

--
Odmar, of all this presence does contain,
Give her your wreath, whom you esteem most fair.
_Odm_. Above the rest I judge one beauty rare,
And may that beauty prove as kind to me,
[_He gives_ ALIBECH _the wreath_.
As I am sure fair Alibech is she.
_Mont_. You, Guyomar, must next perform your part.
_Guy_. I want a garland, but I'll give a heart:
My brother's pardon I must first implore,
Since I with him fair Alibech adore.
_Odm_. That all should Alibech adore, 'tis true;
But some respect is to my birthright due.
My claim to her by eldership I prove.
_Guy_. Age is a plea in empire, not in love.
_Odm_. I long have staid for this solemnity,
To make my passion public.
_Guy_. So have I.
_Odm_. But from her birth my soul has been her slave;
My heart received the first wounds which she save:
I watched the early glories of her eyes,
As men for daybreak watch the eastern skies.
_Guy_. It seems my soul then moved the quicker pace;
Yours first set out, mine reached her in the race.
_Mont_. Odmar, your choice I cannot disapprove;
Nor justly, Guyomar, can blame your love.
To Alibech alone refer your suit,
And let her sentence finish your dispute.
_Alib_. You think me, sir, a mistress quickly won.
So soon to finish what is scarce begun:
In this surprise should I a judgment make,
'Tis answering riddles ere I'm well awake:
If you oblige me suddenly to chuse,
The choice is made, for I must both refuse:
For to myself I owe this due regard,
Not to make love my gift, but my reward.


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