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"I burn and am consumed with hopeless Love; those Beams in whose soft temperate warmth I wanton'd heretofore, now flash destruction to my Soul, my Treacherous greedy Eyes have suck'd the glaring Light, they have united all its Rays, and, like a burning-Glass, Convey'd the pointed Meteor to-my Heart."

— Congreve, William (1670-1729)

Author

Congreve, William (1670-1729)

Work Title

Incognita: or, Love and Duty Reconcil'd. A Novel.

Place of Publication

London

Publisher

Printed for Peter Buck

Date

Licens'd Decemb. 22. 1691

Metaphor

"I burn and am consumed with hopeless Love; those Beams in whose soft temperate warmth I wanton'd heretofore, now flash destruction to my Soul, my Treacherous greedy Eyes have suck'd the glaring Light, they have united all its Rays, and, like a burning-Glass, Convey'd the pointed Meteor to-my Heart."

Metaphor in Context

'Unhappy Leonora (said she) how is thy poor unwary Heart misled? Whither am I come? The false deluding Lights of an imaginary Flame, have led me, a poor benighted Victim, to a real Fire. I burn and am consumed with hopeless Love; those Beams in whose soft temperate warmth I wanton'd heretofore, now flash destruction to my Soul, my Treacherous greedy Eyes have suck'd the glaring Light, they have united all its Rays, and, like a burning-Glass, Convey'd the pointed Meteor to-my Heart--Ah! Aurelian, how quickly hast thou Conquer'd, and, how quickly mine thou Forsake.--Oh Happy (to me unfortunately Happy) Juliana!--I am to be the Subject of thy Triumph --To thee Aurelian comes laden with the Tribute of my Heart and Glories in the Oblation of his broken Vows.--What then is Aurelian False!--False! alass, I know not what I say; How can he be False, or True, or any Thing to me? What Promises did he ere make or I receive? Sure I dream, or I am mad, and fansie it to be Love; Foolish Girl, recal thy banish'd Reason.--Ah! would it were no more, would I could rave, sure that would give me Ease, and rob me of the Sense of Pain; at least, among my wandring Thoughts, I should at sometime light upon Aurelian, and fansie him to be mine; kind Madness would flatter my poor feeble Wishes, and sometimes tell me Aurelian is not lost--not irrecoverably--not for ever lost.'
(pp. 113-4)