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Fondly to mark upon its varied disk, Some little spot that might her dwelling be; My fond, my fixed heart would still adore And own no other Love. Away, away! How canst thou say to one who loves like me, Thou hast no hope?

Ros. But with such hope, my friend, how stand thy fears? Are they so well refin'd? How wilt thou bear Ere long to hear that some high, favour'd prince Has won her heart, her hand, has married her? Tho' now unshackled, will it always be?

Bas. By heav'n thou dost contrive but to torment! And hast a pleasure in the pain thou giv'st. There is malignity in what thou say'st.

Ros. No, not malignity, but kindness, Basil, That fain would save thee from the yawning gulph, To which blind passion guides thy heedless steps.

Bas. Go, rather save thyself From the weak passion which has seiz'd thy breast, T' assume authority with sage-like brow, And shape my actions by thine own caprice. I can direct myself—

Ros.Yes, do thyself, And let no artful woman do it for thee.

Bas. I scorn thy thought: it is beneath my scorn; It is of meanness sprung—an artful woman! O! she has all the loveliness of heav'n, And all its goodness too!