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Updated: May 24, 2025
Oh, thou false but wondrous fair creature! Tell me, thou charming hypocrite, why hast thou thus deluded me? Why? oh, why was I made the miserable object of thy fatal vow-breach? What have I done, thou lovely, fickle maid, that thou shouldst be my murderer?
A little room for Life but such a Life As Hell it self shall wonder at I'll have a care To do no one good deed in the whole course on't, Lest that shou'd save my Soul in spite of Vow-breach. I will not die that Peace my Sins deserve not. I'll live and let my Tyrant Uncle see The sad effects of Perjury, and forc'd Marriage. Sir Tim.
Sad as death, I am going towards the meadow, in order to my approach towards Sylvia, the world affording no repose to me, but when I am where the dear charmer is. To Philander in the Meadow. And can you be jealous of me, Philander? I mean so poorly jealous as to believe me capable of falsehood, of vow-breach, and what is worse, of loving any thing but the adorable Philander?
He immediately sat down, and wrote this: * OCTAVIO to SYLVIA. Have a care, my charming fair, how you play with vows; and however you are forced, for that religious end of saving your honour, to deceive the poor old lover, whom, by heaven I pity; yet rather let me die than know you can be guilty of vow-breach, though made in jest.
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