Enter ALMANZOR; seeing ALMAHIDE approach him, he speaks.

Almanz. So Venus moves, when to the Thunderer,
In smiles or tears, she would some suit prefer;
When with her cestus girt,
And drawn by doves, she cuts the liquid skies,
And kindles gentle fires where’er she flies: 
To every eye a goddess is confest,
By all the heavenly nation she is blest,
And each with secret joy admits her to his breast.—­
Madam your new commands I come to know,
If yet you can have any where I go. [To her bowing.
If to the regions of the dead they be,
You take the speediest course to send by me.

Almah. Heaven has not destined you so soon to rest:  Heroes must live to succour the distrest.

Almanz. To serve such beauty all mankind should live;
And, in our service, our reward you give. 
But stay me not in torture, to behold
And ne’er enjoy.  As from another’s gold
The miser hastens, in his own defence,
And shuns the sight of tempting excellence;
So, having seen you once so killing fair,
A second sight were but to move despair. 
I take my eyes from what too much would please,
As men in fevers famish their disease.

Almah. No; you may find your cure an easier way,
If you are pleased to seek it,—­in your stay. 
All objects lose by too familiar view,
When that great charm is gone, of being new;
By often seeing me, you soon will find
Defects so many, in my face and mind,
That to be freed from love you need not doubt;
And, as you looked it in, you’ll look it out.

Almanz. I rather, like weak armies, should retreat,
And so prevent my more entire defeat. 
For your own sake in quiet let me go;
Press not too far on a despairing foe: 
I may turn back, and armed against you move,
With all the furious train of hopeless love.

Almah. Your honour cannot to ill thoughts give way, And mine can run no hazard by your stay.

Almanz. Do you then think I can with patience see
That sovereign good possessed, and not by me? 
No; I all day shall languish at the sight,
And rave on what I do not see all night;
My quick imagination will present
The scenes and images of your content.

Almah. These are the day-dreams which wild fancy yields,
Empty as shadows are, that fly o’er fields. 
Oh, whither would this boundless fancy move! 
’Tis but the raging calenture of love. 
Like a distracted passenger you stand,
And see, in seas, imaginary land,
Cool groves, and flowery meads; and while you think
To walk, plunge in, and wonder that you sink.

Almanz. Love’s calenture too well I understand;
But sure your beauty is no fairy-land! 
Of your own form a judge you cannot be;
For, glow-worm like, you shine, and do not see.