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The REVENGE.
We call on Wit to argue it away:A plainer Man would not feel half your Pains;But some have too much Wisdom to be happy.
Car.Had I known this before, it had been well:I had not then sollicited your FatherTo add to my Distress; as you behave,Your Father's Kindness stabs me to the Heart.Give me your Hand—Nay, give it, Leonora,You give it not—nay; yet you give it not———I ravish it.———
Zan.I pray, my Lord, no more.
Car.Ah, why so sad? You know each Sign does shake me;Sighs there are Tempests here.———I've heard bad Men would be unblest in Heav'n:What is my Guilt, that makes me so with you?Have I not languish'd prostrate at thy Feet?Have I not liv'd whole Days upon thy Sight?Have I not seen thee where thou hast not been?And mad with the Idea, clasp'd the Wind,And doated upon Nothing?
Leon.Court me not,Good Carlos, by recounting of my Faults,And telling how ungrateful I have been.Alas! My Lord, if talking wou'd prevail,I cou'd suggest much better Arguments,Than those Regards you threw away on me;Your Valour, Honour, Wisdom, prais'd by all.But bid Physicians talk our Veins to Temper,And with an Argument new-set a Pulse;Then, think, my Lord, of reasoning into Love.
Car.Must I despair then? Do not shake me thus:My Tempest-beaten Heart is cold to Death.Ah! turn, and let me warm me in thy Beauties.Heav'ns! what a Proof I gave but two Nights pastOf matchless Love! To fling me at thy Feet,I slighted Friendship, and I flew from Fame;Nor heard the Summons of the next Day's Battel:But darting headlong to thy Arms, I left

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