Arim. _I ask not heaven my freedom to restore_--[Reading. _But only for your sake_--I'll read no more. And yet I must-- _Less for my own, than for your sorrow sad_--[Reading. Another line like this, would make me mad-- Heav'n! she goes on--yet more--and yet more kind! [--_As reading_. Each sentence is a dagger to my mind. _See me this night_--[Reading. _Thank fortune who did such a friend provide; For faithful Arimant shall be your guide_. Not only to be made an instrument, But pre-engaged without my own consent! _Ind_. Unknown to engage you still augments my score, And gives you scope of meriting the more. _Arim_. The best of men Some int'rest in their actions must confess; None merit, but in hope they may possess: The fatal paper rather let me tear, Than, like Bellerophon, my own sentence hear. _Ind_. You may; but 'twill not be your best advice: 'Twill only give me pains of writing twice. You know you must obey me, soon or late: Why should you vainly struggle with your fate? _Arim_. I thank thee, heav'n! thou hast been wondrous kind! Why am I thus to slavery design'd, And yet am cheated with a free-born mind! Or make thy orders with my reason suit, Or let me live by sense, a glorious brute--[_She frowns_. You frown, and I obey with speed, before That dreadful sentence comes, _See me no more_. In this scene, every circumstance concurs to turn tragedy to farce. The wild absurdity of the expedient; the contemptible subjection of the lover; the folly of obliging him to read the letter, only because it ought to have been concealed from him; the frequent interruptions of amorous impatience; the faint expostulations of a voluntary slave; the imperious haughtiness of a tyrant without power; the deep reflection of the yielding rebel upon fate and free-will; and his wise wish to lose his reason as soon as he finds himself about to do what he cannot persuade his reason to approve, are sufficient to awaken the most torpid risibility.