404 THE POEMS OF ANNE �And none wou'd I permit to bind the Wound, Till to thy gentle Hand I cou'd reveal it. The Blood uncheck'd shall now profusely flow, And Art be scorn'd, that cou'd but half restore me. �Amal. Oh ! let me plead in Death against that Purpose, Employ my Hand, yet warm, to close the Wound, 250 �And with my suppling Tears disperse the Anguish. Your Country asks your stay, and more your Father: This Blood is his, ally'd to all his Virtues, By him more priz'd, than what supports his Frame, Nor shou'd be lavish'd thus without his Licence. Oh ! Aristomenes haste to preserve it, Since Life from me departs, and Love is useless Aristor [She Dies. �Aristor. Her fleeting Breath has borne far hence my �Name: �But soon my following Spirit shall o'ertake her. 260 �My Godlike Father gave her to my Arms, And then resign'd to her more powerful Claim This purple Stream, which wafts me to possess her. May every Power, that shields paternal Goodness, Enfold his Person, and support his Sway: His dear remembrance take these parting drops, \He weeps. And then be free, my Soul, for ties more lasting, Eternal Love, the faithful Lovers due, In those blest Fields, which stand display'd before me. My Amalintha [He takes her in his Arms and dies. 270 �Enter Phila. �Phila. I shou'd have come, and urg'd his Preservation, If when I saw her fall my Strength had served me: But all my Cares departed with her Life, And mine I hope is now for ever going. �[She falls in a swoon at Amalintha's feet. ��� �
