Amin. This earth of mine doth tremble, and I feel
A stark affrighted motion in my blood:
My soul grows weary of her house, and I
All over am a trouble to myself.
There is some hidden power in these dead things,
That calls my flesh unto ’em: I am cold!
Be resolute, and bear ’em company.
There’s something, yet, which I am loth to leave.
There’s man enough in me to meet the fears
That death can bring; and yet, ’would it were done!
I can find nothing in the whole discourse
Of death, I durst not meet the boldest way;
Yet still, betwixt the reason and the act,
The wrong I to Aspatia did stands up:
I have not such another fault to answer.
Though she may justly arm herself with scorn
And hate of me, my soul will part less troubled,
When I have paid to her in tears my sorrow.
I will not leave this act unsatisfied,
If all that’s left in me can answer it.

Asp. Was it a dream? There stands Amintor still;
Or I dream still.

Amin. How dost thou? Speak! receive my love and help.
Thy blood climbs up to his old place again:
There’s hope of thy recovery.

Asp. Did you not name Aspatia?

Amin. I did.

Asp. And talk’d of tears and sorrow unto her?

Amin. ’Tis true; and till these happy signs in thee
Did stay my course, ’twas thither I was going.

Asp. Thou art there already, and these wounds are hers:
Those threats I brought with me sought not revenge;
But came to fetch this blessing from thy hand.
I am Aspatia yet.

Amin. Dare my soul ever look abroad again?

Asp. I shall surely live, Amintor; I am well:
A kind of healthful joy wanders within me.

Amin. The world wants lives to excuse thy loss!
Come, let me bear thee to some place of help.

Asp. Amintor, thou must stay; I must rest here;
My strength begins to disobey my will.
How dost thou, my best soul? I would fain live
Now, if I could: Wouldst thou have loved me then?

Amin. Alas?
All that I am’s not worth a hair from thee.

Asp. Give me thy hand; my hands grope up and down,
And cannot find thee: I am wondrous sick:
Have I thy hand, Amintor?

Amin. Thou greatest blessing of the world, thou hast.

Asp. I do believe thee better than my sense.
Oh! I must go. Farewell!

[Dies.

Amin. She swoons! Aspatia!—Help! for Heaven’s sake, water!
Such as may chain life ever to this frame.—
Aspatia, speak!—What, no help yet? I fool!
I’ll chafe her temples: Yet there’s nothing stirs;
Some hidden power tell her, Amintor calls,
And let her answer me!—Aspatia, speak!—
I have heard, if there be any life, but bow
The body thus, and it will show itself.
Oh, she is gone! I will not leave her yet.
Since out of justice we must challenge nothing,
I’ll call it mercy, if you’ll pity me,
Ye heavenly powers! and lend, for some few years,
The blessed soul to this fair seat again.
No comfort comes; the gods deny me too!
I’ll bow the body once again.—Aspatia!—
The soul is fled for ever; and I wrong
Myself, so long to lose her company.
Must I talk now? Here’s to be with thee, love!

[Stabs himself.