_Lyndar._ Almanzor, do not cheat yourself, nor me; Your love is not refined to that degree: For, since you have desires, and those not blest, Your love's uneasy, and at little rest. _Almanz._ 'Tis true, my own unhappiness I see; But who, alas, can my physician be? Love, like a lazy ague, I endure, Which fears the water, and abhors the cure. _Lyndar._ 'Tis a consumption, which your life does waste, Still flattering you with hope, till help be past; But, since of cure from her you now despair, You, like consumptive men, should change your air: Love somewhere else; 'tis a hard remedy, But yet you owe yourself so much, to try. _Almanz._ My love's now grown so much a part of me, That life would, in the cure, endangered be: At least, it like a limb cut off would show; And better die than like a cripple go. _Lyndar._ You must be brought like madmen to their cure, And darkness first, and next new bonds endure: Do you dark absence to yourself ordain, And I, in charity, will find the chain. _Almanz._ Love is that madness which all lovers have; But yet 'tis sweet and pleasing so to rave: 'Tis an enchantment, where the reason's bound; But Paradise is in the enchanted ground; A palace, void of envy, cares and strife, Where gentle hours delude so much of life. To take those charms away, and set me free, Is but to send me into misery; And prudence, of whose cure so much you boast, Restores those pains, which that sweet folly lost. _Lyndar._ I would not, like philosophers, remove, But show you a more pleasing shape of love. You a sad, sullen, froward love did see; I'll show him kind, and full of gaiety. In short, Almanzor, it shall be my care To show you love; for you but saw despair. _Almanz._ I, in the shape of love, despair did see; You, in his shape, would show inconstancy. _Lyndar._ There's no such thing as constancy you call; Faith ties not hearts; 'tis inclination all. Some wit deformed, or beauty much decayed, First constancy in love a virtue made. From friendship they that land-mark did remove, And falsely placed it on the bounds of love. Let the effects of change be only tried; Court me, in jest, and call me Almahide: But this is only counsel I impart, For I, perhaps, should not receive your heart. _Almanz._ Fair though you are As summer mornings, and your eyes more bright Than stars that twinkle in a winter's night; Though you have eloquence to warm and move Cold age, and praying hermits, into love; Though Almahide with scorn rewards my care,-- Yet, than to change, 'tis nobler to despair. My love's my soul; and that from fate is free; 'Tis that unchanged and deathless part of me. _Lyndar._ The fate of constancy your love pursue! Still to be faithful to what's false to you. [_Turns from him, and goes off angrily._