Am.  Nay, Madam, do not think of dying yet:  There is a way, if we could think of it.

Gal.  Aminta, when will thou this Humour lose?

Am.  Faith, never, if I might my Humour chuse.

Gal.  Methinks thou now should’st blush to bid me live.

Am.  Madam, ’tis the best counsel I can give.

Gal.  Thy Counsel!  Prithee, what dost counsel now?

Am.  What I would take my self I counsel you.

Gal.  You must my Wounds and my Misfortunes bear
Before you can become my Counsellor. 
You cannot guess the Torments I endure: 
Not knowing the Disease you’ll miss the Cure.

Am.  Physicians, Madam, can the Patient heal
Although the Malady they ne’er did feel;
But your Disease is epidemical,
Nor can I that evade that conquers all. 
I lov’d, and never did like pleasure know,
Which Passion did with time less vigorous grow.

Gal.  Why, hast thou lost it?

Am.  It, and half a score.

Gal.  Losing the first, sure thou couldst love no more.

Am.  With more facility, than when the Dart
Arm’d with resistless fire first seiz’d my Heart;
’Twas long then e’er the Boy could entrance get,
And make his little Victory compleat;
And now he’as got the knack on’t, ’tis with ease
He domineers, and enters when he please.

Gal.  My Heart, Aminta, is not like to thine.

Am.  Faith, Madam, try, you’ll find it just like mine. 
The first I lov’d was Philocles, and then
Made Protestations ne’er to love again,
Yet after left him for a faithless crime;
But then I languisht even to death for him;
—­But Love who suffer’d me to take no rest,
New fire-balls threw, the old scarce dispossest;
And by the greater flame the lesser light,
Like Candles in the Sun extinguished quite,
And left no power Alcander to resist,
Who took, and keeps possession of my breast.

Gal.  Art thou a Lover then, and look’st so gay, But thou hast ne’er a Father to obey. [Sighing.

Am.  Why, if I had I would obey him too.

Gal.  And live?

Am.  And live.

Gal.  ’Tis more than I can do.

    Enter Erminia weeping.

—­Thy Eyes, Erminia, do declare thy Heart
          [Gal. meets her, embraces her, and weeps. 
Has nothing but Despairs and Death t’impart,
And I alas, no Comfort can apply,
But I as well as you can weep and die.

Er.  I’ll not reproach my Fortune, since in you
Grief does the noblest of your Sex subdue;
When your great Soul a sorrow can admit,
I ought to suffer from the sense of it;
Your cause of grief too much like mine appears,
Not to oblige my Eyes to double tears;
And had my heart no sentiments at home,
My part in yours had doubtless fill’d the room. 
But mine will no addition more receive,
Fate has bestow’d the worst she had to give;
Your mighty Soul can all its rage oppose,
Whilst mine must perish by more feeble blows.