Two, two such,
(Oh! there's no further name), two such to me,
To me, who lock'd my soul within your breast,
Had no desire, no joy, no life, but you.
————————————I had no use,
No fruit of all, but you;—a friend and mistress
Was all the world could give. Oh!—
————how could you betray
This tender heart, which, with an instant fondness,
Lay lull'd between your bosom, and there slept
Secure of injur'd faith. I can forgive
A foe, but not a mistress and a friend;
Treason is there in its most horrid shape
Where trust is greatest, and the soul resign'd
Is stabb'd by her own guards.
"I could only restrain myself till the narrative was concluded. The tempest in my bosom then broke forth, and, rushing into the next room, with the gripe, the fury of a lion, I seized the narrator, and bid him, as he valued his existence, instantly prove or disprove the truth of his assertions."
'By what right (cried he), do you desire this?'
