_Gons_. Sir-- _Man_. Nay, good, no thanks; I cannot stay-- [_Exit MANUEL_. _Gons_. There's something more than ordinary in this; Go, Amideo, quickly follow him, And bring me word which way he takes. _Amid_. I go, sir. [_Exit AMID. JULIA kneels_. _Gons_. Madam, when you implore the powers divine, You have no prayers in which I will not join, Though made against myself. [_Kneels with her_. _Jul_. In vain I sue, Unless my vows may be conveyed by you. _Gons_. Conveyed by me! My ill success in love Shews me, too sure, I have few friends above. How can you fear your just desires to want? When the gods pray, they both request and grant. _Jul_. Heaven has resigned my fortune to your hand, If you, like heaven, the afflicted understand. _Gons_. The language of the afflicted is not new; Too well I learned it, when I first saw you. _Jul_. In spite of me, you now command my fate; And yet the vanquished seeks the victor's hate; Even in this low submission, I declare, That, had I power, I would renew the war. I'm forced to stoop, and 'twere too great a blow To bend my pride, and to deny me too. _Gons_. You have my heart; dispose it to your will; If not, you know the way to use it ill. _Jul_. Cruel to me, though kind to your desert, My brother gives my person, not my heart; And I have left no other means to sue, But to you only, to be freed from you. _Gons_. From such a suit how can you hope success, Which, given, destroys the giver's happiness? _Jul_. You think it equal you should not resign That power you have, yet will not leave me mine; Yet on my will I have the power alone, And, since you cannot move it, move your own. Your worth and virtue my esteem may win, But women's passions from themselves begin; Merit may be, but force still is, in vain. _Gons_. I would but love you, not your love constrain; And though your brother left me to command, He placed his thunder in a gentle hand. _Jul_. Your favour from constraint has set me free, But that secures not my felicity; Slaves, who, before, did cruel masters serve, May fly to deserts, and in freedom starve. The noblest part of liberty they lose, Who can but shun, and want the power to chuse. _Gons_. O whither would your fatal reasons move! You court my kindness, to destroy my love. _Jul_. You have the power to make my happiness, By giving that, which you can ne'er possess. _Gons_. Give you to Roderick? there wanted yet That curse, to make my miseries complete. _Jul_. Departing misers bear a nobler mind; They, when they can enjoy no more, are kind; You, when your love is dying in despair, Yet want the charity to make an heir. _Gons_. Though hope be dying, yet it is not dead; And dying people with small food are fed. _Jul_. The greatest kindness dying friends can have, Is to dispatch them, when we cannot save.