_Alcm._ See how he doubles, like a hunted hare: A jest, and then a trial, and a bait; All stuff, and daubing! _Jup._ Think me jealous, then. _Alcm._ O that I could! for that's a noble crime, And which a lover can with ease forgive; 'Tis the high pulse of passion in a fever; A sickly draught, but shews a burning thirst: Thine was a surfeit, not a jealousy; And in that loathing of thy full-gorged love, Thou saw'st the nauseous object with disdain. _Jup._ O think not that! for you are ever new: Your fruits of love are like eternal spring, In happy climes, where some are in the bud, Some green, and ripening some, while others fall. _Alcm._ Ay, now you tell me this, When roused desires, and fresh recruits of force, Enable languished love to take the field: But never hope to be received again; You would again deny you were received, And brand my spotless fame. _Jup._ I will not dare to justify my crime, But only point you where to lay the blame; Impute it to the husband, not the lover. _Alcm._ How vainly would the sophister divide, And make the husband and the lover two! _Jup._ Yes, 'tis the husband is the guilty wretch; His insolence forgot the sweets of love, And, deeming them his due, despised the feast. Not so the famished lover could forget; He knew he had been there, and had been blest With all that hope could wish, or sense can bear. _Alcm._ Husband and lover, both alike I hate. _Jup._ And I confess I have deserved that hate. Too charming fair, I kneel for your forgiveness: [_Kneeling._ I beg, by those fair eyes Which gave me wounds, that time can never cure, Receive my sorrows, and restore my joys. _Alcm._ Unkind, and cruel! I can speak no more. _Jup._ O give it vent, Alcmena, give it vent; I merit your reproach, I would be cursed; Let your tongue curse me, while your heart forgives. _Alcm._ Can I forget such usage? _Jup._ Can you hate me? _Alcm._ I'll do my best; for sure I ought to hate you. _Jup._ That word was only hatched upon your tongue, It came not from your heart. But try again, And if, once more, you can but say,--I hate you, My sword shall do you justice. _Alcm._ Then--I hate you. _Jup._ Then you pronounce the sentence of my death. _Alcm._ I hate you much, but yet--I love you more. _Jup._ To prove that love, then say, that you forgive me; For there remains but this alternative,-- Resolve to pardon, or to punish me. _Alcm._ Alas! what I resolve appears too plain; In saying that I cannot hate, I pardon. _Jup._ But what's a pardon worth without a seal? Permit me, in this transport of my joy---- [_Kisses her hand._ _Alcm._ Forbear; I am offended with myself, [_Putting him gently away with her hand._