AGL. My sister, there are sorrows which are rendered greater by
keeping them to ourselves; let us speak freely of our joint distress,
and give vent in our conversations to the poignant grief which fills
our hearts. We are sisters in misfortune, and your heart and mine have
so much in common that we can unite them, and in our just complaints
murmur, with a common lament, against the cruelty of our fate. My
sister, what secret fatality makes the whole world bow before our
younger sister's charms? and how is it that, amongst so many different
princes who are brought by fortune to this place, not one has any love
for us? What! must we see them on all sides pressing forward to lay
their hearts at her feet, whilst they pass our charms slightingly by?
What spell has heaven cast over our eyes? What have they done to the
gods that they are thus left without homage amidst all the glorious
tribute of which others proudly boast? Can there be for us, my sister,
any greater trial than to see how all hearts disdain our beauty, and
how the fortunate Psyche insolently reigns with full sway over the
crowd of lovers who ever attend her?

CID. Ah! my sister, our fate is enough to bereave one of reason, and
all the ills of nature are nothing in comparison.

AGL. At times I can almost shed tears over it; it takes away my
happiness and my rest; my constancy finds itself powerless against
such a misfortune; my mind is for ever dwelling over it, and the ill
success of our charms and the triumph of Psyche are ever before my
eyes. At night, unceasingly, comes to me the remembrance of it, and
nothing can banish the cruel picture. As soon as sweet slumber comes
to deliver me from it, it is immediately recalled to my memory by some
dream which startles me from my sleep.