 | Demophoon |  |
SCENE XII.
Creusaalone.
Could'st thou, my dear Cherinthus, know what pain
This rigour, that offends thee, gives Creusa,
I should not seem the tyrant thou hast thought me.
'Tis true I have not yet espous'd Timanthes:
The change is easy; on myself alone
Depends the choice—but let me think—I came
To wed the kingdom's heir; and shall I yield
To live a subject where I thought to reign?
No, virtue, glory, pride forbid such weakness.
124
Happy, happy age of gold!
Lovely innocence of old,
When our pleasures uncontroll'd,
Ne'er their foes in virtue found.
Now we groan beneath the weight
Of slavish forms and galling state,
While ourselves our pains create,
And forge the chains with which we're bound.
Lovely innocence of old,
When our pleasures uncontroll'd,
Ne'er their foes in virtue found.
Now we groan beneath the weight
Of slavish forms and galling state,
While ourselves our pains create,
And forge the chains with which we're bound.
[Exit.
| Demophoon | |