Leo. No:  there’s the grief, Teresa:  Oh, Teresa! 
Fain would I tell thee what I feel within,
But shame and modesty have tied my tongue! 
Yet, I will tell, that thou may’st weep with me.—­
How dear, how sweet his first embraces were! 
With what a zeal he joined his lips to mine! 
And sucked my breath at every word I spoke,
As if he drew his inspiration hence: 
While both our souls came upward to our mouths,
As neighbouring monarchs at their borders meet;
I thought—­Oh, no; ’tis false!  I could not think;
’Twas neither life nor death, but both in one.

Ter. Then, sure his transports were not less than yours.

Leo. More, more! for, by the high-hung tapers’ light,
I could discern his cheeks were glowing red,
His very eyeballs trembled with his love,
And sparkled through their casements humid fires;
He sighed, and kissed; breathed short, and would have spoke,
But was too fierce to throw away the time;
All he could say was—­love and Leonora.

Ter. How then can you suspect him lost so soon?

Leo. Last night he flew not with a bridegroom’s haste,
Which eagerly prevents the appointed hour: 
I told the clocks, and watched the wasting light,
And listened to each softly-treading step,
In hope ’twas he; but still it was not he. 
At last he came, but with such altered looks,
So wild, so ghastly, as if some ghost had met him: 
All pale, and speechless, he surveyed me round;
Then, with a groan, he threw himself a-bed,
But, far from me, as far as he could move,
And sighed and tossed, and turned, but still from me.

Ter. What, all the night?

Leo. Even all the livelong night. 
At last, (for, blushing, I must tell thee all,)
I pressed his hand, and laid me by his side;
He pulled it back, as if he touched a serpent. 
With that I burst into a flood of tears,
And asked him how I had offended him? 
He answered nothing, but with sighs and groans;
So, restless, past the night; and, at the dawn,
Leapt from the bed, and vanished.

Ter. Sighs and groans, Paleness and trembling, all are signs of love; He only fears to make you share his sorrows.

Leo. I wish ’twere so; but love still doubts the worst;
My heavy heart, the prophetess of woes,
Forebodes some ill at hand:  to sooth my sadness,
Sing me the song, which poor Olympia made,
When false Bireno left her.

          SONG.

  Farewell, ungrateful traitor! 
    Farewell, my perjured swain! 
  Let never injured creature
    Believe a man again. 
  The pleasure of possessing
  Surpasses all expressing,
  But ’tis too short a blessing,
    And love too long a pain.

  ’Tis easy to deceive us,
    In pity of your pain;
  But when we love, you leave us,
    To rail at you in vain. 
  Before we have descried it,
  There is no bliss beside it;
  But she, that once has tried it,
    Will never love again.