_Amint_. This earth of mine doth tremble, and I feel A stark affrighted motion in my blood; My soul grows weary of her house, and I All over am a trouble to my self; There is some hidden power in these dead things That calls my flesh into'em; I am cold; Be resolute, and bear'em company: There's something yet which I am loth to leave. There's man enough in me to meet the fears That death can bring, and yet would it were done; I can find nothing in the whole discourse Of death, I durst not meet the boldest way; Yet still betwixt the reason and the act, The wrong I to _Aspatia_ did stands up, I have not such a fault to answer, Though she may justly arm with scorn And hate of me, my soul will part less troubled, When I have paid to her in tears my sorrow: I will not leave this act unsatisfied, If all that's left in me can answer it. _Asp_. Was it a dream? there stands _Amintor_ still: Or I dream still. _Amint_. How dost thou? speak, receive my love, and help: Thy blood climbs up to his old place again: There's hope of thy recovery. _Asp_. Did you not name _Aspatia_? _Amint_. I did. _Asp_. And talkt of tears and sorrow unto her? _Amint_. 'Tis true, and till these happy signs in thee Did stay my course, 'twas thither I was going. _Asp_. Th'art there already, and these wounds are hers: Those threats I brought with me, sought not revenge, But came to fetch this blessing from thy hand, I am _Aspatia_ yet. _Amint_. Dare my soul ever look abroad agen? _Asp_. I shall live _Amintor_; I am well: A kind of healthful joy wanders within me. _Amint_. The world wants lines to excuse thy loss: Come let me bear thee to some place of help. _Asp_. _Amintor_ thou must stay, I must rest here, My strength begins to disobey my will. How dost thou my best soul? I would fain live, Now if I could: would'st thou have loved me then? _Amint_. Alas! all that I am's not worth a hair from thee. _Asp_. Give me thy hand, mine hands grope up and down, And cannot find thee; I am wondrous sick: Have I thy hand _Amintor_? _Amint_. Thou greatest blessing of the world, thou hast. _Asp_. I do believe thee better than my sense. Oh! I must go, farewell.