_Cel_. Now--I am well--pardon me, lovely Creature,
If I betray a Passion, I'm too young
To've learnt the Art of hiding;
--I cannot hear you say that he was kind.

_Dia_. Kind! yes, as Blasts to Flow'rs, or early Fruit;
All gay I met him full of youthful Heat:
But like a Damp, he dasht my kindled Flame,
And all his Reason was--he lov'd another,
A Maid he call'd _Celinda_.

_Cel_. Oh blessed Man!

_Dia_. How, Sir?

_Cel_. To leave thee free, to leave thee yet a Virgin.

_Dia_. Yes, I have vow'd he never shall possess me.

_Cel_. Oh, how you bless me--but you still are married,
And whilst you are so--I must languish--

_Dia_. Oh, how his Softness moves me! [_Aside_.
--But can all this Disorder spring from Love?

_Cel_. Or may I still prove wretched.

_Dia_. And can you think there are no ways
For me to gratify that Love?
What ways am I constrain'd to use to work out my Revenge! [_Aside_.