_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._ _The passion you pretended, Was only to obtain; But when the charm is ended, The charmer you disdain. Your love by ours we measure, Till we have lost our treasure; But dying is a pleasure, When living is a pain._ _Re-enter_ TORRISMOND. _Tor._ Still she is here, and still I cannot speak; But wander, like some discontented ghost, That oft appears, but is forbid to talk. [_Going again._ _Leo._ O, Torrismond, if you resolve my death, You need no more, but to go hence again; Will you not speak? _Tor._ I cannot. _Leo._ Speak! oh, speak! Your anger would be kinder than your silence. _Tor._ Oh!-- _Leo._ Do not sigh, or tell me why you sigh. _Tor._ Why do I live, ye powers! _Leo._ Why do I live to hear you speak that word? Some black-mouthed villain has defamed my virtue. _Tor._ No, no! Pray, let me go. _Leo._ [_Kneeling._] You shall not go! By all the pleasures of our nuptial bed, If ever I was loved, though now I'm not, By these true tears, which, from my wounded heart, Bleed at my eyes-- _Tor._ Rise. _Leo._ I will never rise; I cannot chuse a better place to die. _Tor._ Oh! I would speak, but cannot. _Leo._ [_Rising._] Guilt keeps you silent then; you love me not: What have I done, ye powers, what have I done, To see my youth, my beauty, and my love, No sooner gained, but slighted and betrayed; And, like a rose, just gathered from the stalk, But only smelt, and cheaply thrown aside, To wither on the ground. _Ter._ For heaven's sake, madam, moderate your passion!