 | The Fatal Constancy |  |
SCENE V.
Hesione sola.Omphales Breast is Stranger to such Baseness!
When Nature form'd him, she forgot 'twas Man,
And made him up of Virtues!—this his Friend?
The boasted, happy Sharer of his Heart?
My Mind informs me wrong, or he's deceiv'd.
This looks like Treach'ry—something I cou'd dread!
But what, alas! have Wretches left to fear—
Yes! to another's Arms I may be forc'd:
But then I know my Vow, and will prepare.
Oh my Omphales! whither art thou fled
From the lov'd Haven where thy Soul might rest!
Like some poor Turtle widow'd of her Love,
Anxious, I sought thee long thro' ev'ry Grove:
But oh! the restless, fond Pursuit is vain;
Pensive, I find my sad Retreat again,
Brood o'er my Care, and murmur out my Pain.
[Exit.
| The Fatal Constancy | |