the cause, grow jealous of me, till by new oaths, new arguments, I
confirm them; then they smile all, and cry I am in love; and this they
would believe, but that they see all women that I meet or converse
with are indifferent to me, and so can fix it no where; for none can
guess it _Sylvia_; thus while I dare not tell my soul, no not even to
_Cesario_, the stifled flame burns inward, and torments me so, that
(unlike the thing I was) I fear _Sylvia_ will lose her love, and lover
too; for those few charms she said I had, will fade, and this fatal
distance will destroy both soul and body too; my very reason will
abandon me, and I shall rave to see thee; restore me, oh restore me
then to _Bellfont_, happy _Bellfont_, still blest with _Sylvia_'s
presence! permit me, oh permit me into those sacred shades, where I
have been so often (too innocently) blest! Let me survey again the
dear character of _Sylvia_ on the smooth birch; oh when shall I sit
beneath those boughs, gazing on the young goddess of the grove,
hearing her sigh for love, touching her glowing small white hands,
beholding her killing eyes languish, and her charming bosom rise and
fall with short-breath'd uncertain breath; breath as soft and sweet as
the restoring breeze that glides o'er the new-blown flowers: But oh
what is it? What heaven of perfumes, when it inclines to the ravish'd
_Philander_, and whispers love it dares not name aloud?

What power with-holds me then from rushing on thee, from pressing thee
with kisses; folding thee in my transported arms, and following all
the dictates of love without respect or awe! What is it, oh my
_Sylvia_, can detain a love so violent and raving, and so wild; admit
me, sacred maid, admit me again to those soft delights, that I may
find, if possible, what divinity (envious of my bliss) checks my eager
joys, my raging flame; while you too make an experiment (worth the
trial) what 'tis makes _Sylvia_ deny her