356 THE POEMS OP ANNE �To let it out to Liberty and Ease, 70 �Will you not hate me for my Father's Guilt? �Aristor. By the soft Fires of Love, that fill my Breast, And dart through all the Horrors of my Soul, Like Heaven's bright Flashes in a Night of Shadows, I will not hate, or e'er reproach thee more : Yet let me breathe so gently one Complaint, So gently, that it may not break thy Peace, Tho' it for ever has discarded mine, And ask, why you thus cruelly wou'd use me, Why, have me seiz'd, and bound with frantick Fetters, 80 Snatch'd from my Duty by a Woman's wile, And here confin'd, whilst my great Father perish'd ? �Amal. 'Twas none of mine, by your dear self I swear; It was the Fates design and Phila's action ; She saw you thus disguis'd amongst the Croud, And, ere she would acquaint me with your Danger, Follow'd to watch the means how to prevent it. �Aristor. I will believe you to my Heart's relief, Which must have broke, had your Consent been with her. But, Amalintha, now my Rage is gone, 90 �And Love thro' this mistake has forc'd his way, It spreads before my Thoughts the gaudy Scene Of those Delights, which have been once allow'd it ; Brings to my Phancy in their softest Dress The gentle Hours, that told our private Meetings ; Shews me the Grove, where, by the Moon's pale Light We've breath'd out tender Sighs, 'till coming Day Has drawn them deeper, warning us to part, Which ne'er we did, 'till some new Time was set For the return of those transporting Pleasures. 100 �Amal. And so again, Aristor, we'll contrive, And so again, we'll meet, and sigh, and love. �Aristor. Oh! O', O', Amalintha! ��� �
