_Sos._ Why, how should I enter? unless I were a spirit, to glide by him, and shoot myself through locks, and bolts, and two-inch boards. _Amph._ O coward! Didst thou not attempt to pass? _Sos._ Yes, and was repulsed and beaten for my pains. _Amph._ Who beat thee? _Sos._ I beat me. _Amph._ Didst thou beat thyself? _Sos._ I don't mean _I_, here: but the absent _Me_ beat me here present. _Amph._ There's no end of this intricate piece of nonsense. _Sos._ 'Tis only nonsense, because I speak it, who am a poor fellow; but it would be sense, and substantial sense, if a great man said it, that was backed with a title, and the eloquence of ten thousand pounds a-year. _Amph._ No more; but let us enter:--Hold! my Alcmena is coming out, and has prevented me: how strangely will she be surprised to see me here so unexpectedly! _Enter_ ALCMENA _and_ PHÆDRA. _Alcm._ [_To_ PHÆD.] Make haste after me to the temple; that we may thank the gods for this glorious success, which Amphitryon has had against the rebels--O heaven! [_Seeing him._ _Amph._ Those heavens, and all the blessed inhabitants, [_Saluting her._ Grant, that the sweet rewarder of my pains May still be kind, as on our nuptial night! _Alcm._ So soon returned! _Amph._ So soon returned! Is this thy welcome home? [_Stepping back._ So soon returned, says I am come unwished. This is no language of desiring love: Love reckons hours for months, and days for years; And every little absence is an age. _Alcm._ What says my lord? _Amph._ No, my Alcmena, no: True love by its impatience measures time, And the dear object never comes too soon. _Alcm._ Nor ever came you so, nor ever shall; But you yourself are changed from what you were, Palled in desires, and surfeited of bliss. Not so I met you at your last return; When yesternight I flew into your arms, And melted in your warm embrace. _Amph._ How's this? _Alcm._ Did not my soul even sparkle at my eyes, And shoot itself into your much-loved bosom? Did I not tremble with excess of joy? Nay agonize with pleasure at your sight, With such inimitable proofs of passion, As no false love could feign? _Amph._ What's this you tell me? _Alcm._ Far short of truth, by heaven! And you returned those proofs with usury; And left me, with a sigh, at break of day. Have you forgot? _Amph._ Or have you dreamt, Alcmena? Perhaps some kind, revealing deity Has whispered, in your sleep, the pleasing news Of my return, and you believed it real; Perhaps too, in your dream, you used me kindly; And my preventing image reaped the joys You meant, awake, to me.