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Which argues over-just, and self displeas'd
SAM. His pardon I implore ; but as for life,
540 Cho Desire of wine and all delicious drinks, Which many a famous warrior overturns, Thou could'st repress, nor did the dancing ruby
Sparkling, out-pour’d, the flavor, or the smell, Or taste that cheers the heart of gods and men, Allure thee from the cool crystallin stream.
SAM. Wherever fountain or fresh current flow'd Against the eastern ray, translucent pure With touch ethereal of Heav'n's fiery rod I drank, from the clear inilky juice allaying 550 Thirst, and refresh'd ; nor envy'd them the grape Whose beads that turbulent liquor fills with fumes.
Chor.O madness to think use of strongest wines And strongest drinks our chief support of health, When God with these forbidden made choice to rear His mighty champion, strong above compare, Whose drink was only from the liquid brook. '
Sam. But what avail'd this temp’ranee, not comAgainst another object more enticing ? [plete What boots it at one gate to make defence, 560 And at another to let in the foe, Effeminately vanquish'd ? by which means, Now blind, dishearten’d, sham’d, dishonor'd, To what can I be useful, wherein serve [quell'd, My nation, and the work from Heav'n impos’d, But to sit idle on the household hearth, A burd’nous drone ; to visitants a gaze, Or pity'd object, these redundant locks Robustious to no purpose clust'ring down, Vain monument of strength ; till length of years 570 And sedentary numness craze my limbs Ha a copropriptible old age obscure ? Here rather to me drudge and earn my bread,
Till vermin, or the draff of servile food
Sam. All otherwise to me my thoughts portend, That these dark orbs no more shall treat with light, Nor th’ other light of life continue long, But yield to double darkness nigh at hand : So much I feel my genial spirits droop, My hopes all flat, Nature within me seems In all her functions weary of herself, My race of glory run, and race of shame, And I shall shortly be with them that rest.
Man.Believe not these suggestions which proceed From anguish of the mind and humours black 600 That mingle with thy fancy. I however, Must not omit a father's timely care
To prosecute the means of thy deliverance
SAM. O that Torment should not be confin'd
610 To th' inmost mind, There exercise all his fierce accidents, And her purest spirits prey, As on entrails, joints, and limbs, With answerable pains, but more intense, Though void of corporal sense. My griefs not only pain me As a ling'ring disease, But finding no redress, ferment and
rage, Nor less than wounds immedicable
620 Rankle, and fester, and grangrene, To black mortification. Thoughts my tormentors arm’d with deadly stings Mangle my apprehensive tenderest parts, Exasperate, exulcerate, and raise Dire inflammation, which no cooling herb Or medicinal liquor can asswage, Nor breath of vernal air from snowy Alp. Sleep hath forsook and giv'n me o'er To death benumming opium as my only cure : 630 Thence faintings, swoonings of despair, And sense of Heav'n's desertion.
I was his nursling once and choice delight, His distin'd from the womb, Promis'd by heav'nly message twice descending. Under his special eye Abstemious I grew up and thriv'd amain ; He led me on to mightiest deeds Above the nerve of mortal arm Against th’uncircumcis'd, our enemies : 640 But now hath cast me off as never known, And to those cruel enemies, Whom I by his appointment had provok’d, Left me all helpless with th' irreparable loss Of sight, reserv'd alive to be repeated The subject of their cruelty and scorn. Nor am I in the list of them that hope ; Hopeless are all my evils, all remediless ; This one pray'r yet remains, might I be heard, No long petition, speedy death,
650 The close of all my miseries, and the balm.
CHOR. Many are the sayings of the wise In ancient and in modern books inrolld, Extolling patience as the truest fortitude : And to the bearing well of all calamities, All chances incident to man's frail life, Consolitaries writ With study'dargument, and much persuasion sought Lenient of grief and anxious thought : Rut with th' afflicted in his pangs their sound 660 Little prevails, or rather seems a tune Harsh, and of dissonant mood from his complaint