AMYNTAS.
135
The arm thou springest which inflicts the blow.
SYLVIA.
How thine, and how my own reproaches rack me!
I'm galled to think how rigid I was to him;
Yet that severity proceeded not
From any pleasure in barbarity;
But from the delicacy of my virtue.
Now of that delicacy the excess
I know, and shall repent it while I live.
How thine, and how my own reproaches rack me!
I'm galled to think how rigid I was to him;
Yet that severity proceeded not
From any pleasure in barbarity;
But from the delicacy of my virtue.
Now of that delicacy the excess
I know, and shall repent it while I live.
DAPHNE.
Good Heavens! with what new language you surprize me!
Dost thou begin to grow compassionate?
Say from it's hardness does thy heart relent?
Are my eyes just? and dost thou really weep?
Whence flow those tears? are they the tears of love?
Good Heavens! with what new language you surprize me!
Dost thou begin to grow compassionate?
Say from it's hardness does thy heart relent?
Are my eyes just? and dost thou really weep?
Whence flow those tears? are they the tears of love?
SYLVIA.
No—not the tears of love; but tears of pity.
No—not the tears of love; but tears of pity.
DAPH-
