Almah. I will not leave you till the cause be known:  My knowledge of the ill may bring relief.

Boab. Thank ye; you never fail to cure my grief!  Trouble me not, my grief concerns not you.

Almah. While I have life, I will your steps pursue.

Boab. I’m out of humour now; you must not stay.

Almah. I fear it is that scarf I gave away.

Boab. No, ’tis not that; but speak of it no more:  Go hence!  I am not what I was before.

Almah. Then I will make you so; give me your hand!  Can you this pressing and these tears withstand?

Boab. Oh heaven, were she but mine, or mine alone!
                                   [Sighing, and going off from her.
Ah, why are not the hearts of women known! 
False women to new joys unseen can move;
There are no prints left in the paths of love,
All goods besides by public marks are known;
But what we most desire to keep, has none.

Almah. Why will you in your breast your passion crowd,
          
                                         [Approaching him.
Like unborn thunder rolling in a cloud? 
Torment not your poor heart, but set it free,
And rather let its fury break on me. 
I am not married to a god; I know,
Men must have passions, and can bear from you. 
I fear the unlucky present I have made!

Boab. O power of guilt! how conscience can upbraid! 
It forces her not only to reveal,
But to repeat what she would most conceal!

Almah. Can such a toy, and given in public too—­

Boab. False woman, you contrived it should be so. 
That public gift in private was designed
The emblem of the love you meant to bind. 
Hence from my sight, ungrateful as thou art! 
And, when I can, I’ll banish thee my heart. [She weeps.

  To them ALMANZOR wearing the Scarf.  He sees her weep.

Almanz. What precious drops are those,
Which silently each other’s track pursue,
Bright as young diamonds in their infant dew? 
Your lustre you should free from tears maintain,
Like Egypt, rich without the help of rain. 
Now cursed be he who gave this cause of grief;
And double cursed, who does not give relief!

Almah. Our common fears, and public miseries, Have drawn these tears from my afflicted eyes.

Almanz. Madam, I cannot easily believe
It is for any public cause you grieve. 
On your fair face the marks of sorrow lie;
But I read fury in your husband’s eye: 
And, in that passion, I too plainly find
That you’re unhappy, and that he’s unkind.

Almah. Not new-made mothers greater love express
Than he, when with first looks their babes they bless;
Not Heaven is more to dying martyrs kind,
Nor guardian angels to their charge assigned.