From the instant that on me,
As a sudden beam might dart,
Flashed that form which Phidian art
Could not reach, I 've known no rest.--
Babylon is in my breast--
Troy is burning in my heart.

ESCARPIN.
Strange that I should feel as you,
That one thought should fire us two,
I too, sir, have lost my senses
Since I saw that lady.

CHRYSANTHUS.
Who,
Madman! fool! do you speak of? you!
Dare to feel those griefs of mine!--

ESCARPIN.
No, sir, yours I quite resign,
Would I could my own ones too!--

CHRYSANTHUS.
Leave me, or my wrath you 'll rue;
Hence! buffoon: by heaven I swear it,
I will kill you else.

ESCARPIN.
I go:--
For if you address her, oh!