For I wish what I hope not to win:
From without, my desire
Has no food to its fire;
But it burns and consumes me within.

SHE. Yet, at least, 'tis a pleasure to know
That you are not unhappy alone:
For the nymph you adore
Is as wretched, and more;
And counts all your sufferings her own.

HE. O ye gods, let me suffer for both;
At the feet of my Phyllis I'll lie:
I'll resign up my breath,
And take pleasure in death,
To be pitied by her when I die.

SHE. What her honour denied you in life,
In her death she will give to your love.
Such a flame as is true
After fate will renew,
For the souls to meet closer above.

* * * * *



XIV.

SONG OF THE SEA-FIGHT, IN AMBOYNA.