Page:A Series of Plays on the Passions Volume 1.pdf/89

Rh

As though it were the place that gave you birth; As tho' you had around these strangers' walls Your infant gambols play'd.

Bas. The sight of what may be but little priz'd, Doth cause a solemn sadness in the mind, When view'd as that we ne'er shall see again.

Ros. No, not a whit to wand'ring men like us, No, not a whit! what custom hath endear'd We part with sadly, tho' we prize it not; But what is new some pow'rful charm must own, Thus to affect the mind.

''Bas. hastily.'' Yes, what is new, but—No, thou art impatient; We'll let it pass—It hath no consequence.

Ros. I'm not impatient. 'Faith, I only wish Some other route our destin'd march had been, That still thou mightst thy glorious course pursue With an untroubled mind.

Bas. O! wish it, wish it not! bless'd be that route! What we have seen to-day I must remember— I should be brutish if I could forget it. Oft in the watchful post, or weary march, Oft in the nightly silence of my tent, My fixed mind shall gaze upon it still; But it will pass before my fancy's eye, Like some delightful vision of the soul, To soothe, not trouble it.

Ros. What, midst the dangers of eventful war, Still let thy mind be haunted by a woman? Who would, perhaps, hear of thy fall in battle,