COUNTESS OF WINCHILSEA 355 �Canst thou too fondly think, that Love's soft Bands, �His gentle Cords of Hyacinths and Roses, �Wove in the dewy Spring, when Storms are silent, �Can tye these Hands, provok'd by horrid Murther! 40 �Oh ! do not trust it �But fly this Ground, while I have Power to bid thee. �Amal. Aristor, no; my Flight shall not preserve me: The Life, I've kept but to indulge your Love, Now to this loud, mistaken Rage I offer. Take it, Oh ! take it ; Means cannot be wanting, Altho' no Instrument of Death be near you: This Hair, these flatter'd Locks, these once-lov'd Tresses Round my sad Neck thus knit will soon perform it; Or, on these trembling Lips your Hand but prest 50 �Will send the rising Breath down to my Heart, And break it, telling who deny'd it Passage. �Aristor. Tryal beyond the Strength of Man and Lover ! �Amal. Or, if you wou'd be quicker in Dispatch, Speak but a few such Words, as now you utter' d, And my poor hov'ring Soul will fly before 'em. Farewel Aristor, see ! the Work is done: I did but think I heard their killing Sound, And the bare Fancy saves you farther Study. �[She faints, he catches her in his Arms. �Aristor. Oh! stop the glorious Fugitive a moment; 60 And I will whisper to it such Repentance, Such Love, such Fondness, such unheard-of Passion, As shall confine it to it's beauteous Mansion. Thus let me hug, and press thee into Life, And lend thee Motion from my beating Heart, To set again the Springs of thine in working. �Amal. I hear your Summons, and my Life returns: But tell me, ere again so firm 'tis fixt That it must cost an Agony like this, ������ �
