SCENE V.
Manent
Omphales,
and
Ammon.
She's gone! And never to return to me!
Hide thee, Omphales, hide thee from thy self,
Nor dare inquire how wretched thou art grown!
Ammon.
I've found a Stratagem shall make her thine,
Yet thou shalt hope! Thy Ammon bids thee Hope,
Omphales.
Oh, Ammon, I am curs'd beyond all Hope!
Lead me to some yet unfrequented Shade,
Which Nature in Despight of Joy has made;
The melancholy Mansion of Despair,
Gloomy, and horrid as the Fate I bear;
Where hollow Winds, where Springs invite to mourn,
And Echoes sadly every Sigh return:
There I'll grow wild thro' the Excess of Grief,
And in Distraction only find Relief!
[
Exeunt.
