as thine,
Still gives as great occasions to exert them.
If thou wast form'd so noble, great, and gen'rous,
'Twas to surmount the passions which enslave
The gross of human-kind.--Then think, O think,
She, whom thou once didst love, is now another's.

_Per._ Go on--and tell me that that other's Douglas.

_Elw._ Whate'er his name, he claims respect from me:
His honour's in my keeping, and I hold
The trust so pure, its sanctity is hurt
E'en by thy presence.

_Per._ Thou again hast conquer'd.
Celestial virtue, like the angel spirit,
Whose flaming sword defended Paradise,
Stands guard on every charm,--Elwina, yes,
To triumph over Douglas, we'll be virtuous.

_Elw._ 'Tis not enough to be,--we must appear so:
Great souls disdain the shadow of offence,
Nor must their whiteness wear the stain of guilt.

_Per._ I shall retract--I dare not gaze upon thee;
My feeble virtue staggers, and again
The fiends of jealousy torment and haunt me.
They tear my heart-strings.----Oh!

_Elw._ No more;
But spare my injur'd honour the affront
To vindicate itself.

_Per._ But, love!

_Elw._ But, glory!

_Per._ Enough! a ray of thy sublimer spirit
Has warm'd my dying honour to a flame!
One effort and 'tis done. The world shall say,
When they shall speak of my disastrous love,
Percy deserv'd Elwina though he lost her.
Fond tears, blind me not yet! a little longer,
Let my sad eyes a little longer gaze,
And leave their last beams here.

_Elw._ [_turns from him._] I do not weep.

_Per._ Not weep? then why those eyes avoiding mine?
And why that broken voice? those trembling accents?
That sigh which rends my soul?

_Elw._ No more, no more.

_Per._ That pang decides it. Come--I'll die at once;
Thou Power supreme! take all the length of days,
And all the blessings kept in store for me,
And add to her account.--Yet turn once more,
One little look, one last, short glimpse of day,
And then a long dark night.--Hold, hold, my heart,
O break not yet, while I behold her sweetness;
For after this dear, mournful, tender moment,
I shall have nothing more to do with life.

_Elw._ I do conjure thee, go.

_Per._ 'Tis terrible to nature!
With pangs like these the soul and body part!
And thus, but oh, with far less agony,
The poor departing wretch still grasps at being,
Thus clings to life, thus dreads the dark unknown,
Thus struggles to the last to keep his hold;
And when the dire convulsive groan of death
Dislodges the sad spirit--thu