AMICO ROSA INIMICO SPINA   portrait of Sir William Lower   

THREE New Plays, VIZ. 

The Noble Ingratitude A Pastoral-Tragi-Comedy.  
The Enchanted Lovers. A Pastoral.  
The Amorous Fantasme. A Tragicomedy.    
All written by Sir Wil Lower Knight.  Amico Rosa, Inimico Spina. 
LONDON: Printed for F. Kirkman at the john Fletcher's Head over against the Angel-Inn on the backside of St. Clement's without Temple-Bar, 1661.   

The Noble INGRATITUDE.  
A Pastoral-Tragi-Comedy.  
By Sir William Lower Knight.  
Amico Rosa, Inimico Spina.  
LONDON: Printed for Fr. Kirkman at the john Fletcher's Head over against the Angel-Inn on the backside of St. Clement's without Temple-Bar, 1661.   

To her MAJESTY THE QUEEN OF BOHEMIA.  
MADAM,  
Were I not fully persuaded that this Dramatic Piece in the Original is one of the best that hath been presented upon the French Stage, I should not have presumed to offer the Copy to the best of Queens, and indeed the most Judicious of Women: If I have failed in my judgement of the Authors work, I am indisputably right in the Character of my Patroness: Your Majesty's goodness in pardoning this presumption, and in approving the Plot and Language of the Play in my Version hath begotten this future ambition in me, to publish it under the favour of your Royal protection, which will secure it indubitably from the malevolent censures of any ignorant, arrogant, or malignant person whatsoever. If in the intervals of your high contemplations your serious thoughts shall descend to divert them a little, as before, so now after the Dedication and Impression, in reading those Scenes, I must ever esteem it an unparalleled honour to me, who am,  
MADAM, Your Majesty's most humble, most obedient, and most faithful Servant William Lower.   

PROLOGUE.  
BEfore I entered, I was told what now  
I see deciphered upon every brow;  
A sullen sadness, and close murmurs say,  The Title is enough to damn the Play The Bill condemns before the Action, Pox Upon the Poet with his Paradox, Noble ingratitude, o barbarous sound! Virtue will die to see that Monster crowned: 
Strange voices these, strange censures from the wits,  
For such he takes you, every one that si●s  
Spectator here usurps a privilege,  
Which is unjust, before he hears, to judge.  
Wise, and just juries, who in every cause  
Strictly observe the custom of the Laws,  
The bottom sound, and ne'er their verdicts bring  
Upon the superficies of a thing;  
They weigh the ground of matters well, and ne'er  
Proceed to sentence till they see all clear;  
Have patience then a little, and suspend  
Your judgements till you see us at the end  
Of the fifth Act; three hours will soon be passed,  
In Scenes and Songs the minutes fly too fast;  
Then if we don't maintain our Paradox,  
Let me be shamed, and sit three hours' 〈◊〉 stocks  
For punishing your patience; if the crime  
Deserves more rigour, let a longer time  
Of penance be prescrib'd me there; but I  
Hope from your judgements, justice, clemency▪  
A nobler sentence, and that you'll allow  
Me next a Laurel wreath to crown my brow.   

ACTORS.  

ZELINDA, Daughter to Lindarache, disguised like a man under the name of Ormin, in the habit of a Slave.  
ZEGRY, Master to Zelinda, and Lover of Fatima.  
ALABEZ, Second Slave to Zegry.  
CHARIFA, Woman-Slave to Fatima.  
FATIMA, Mistress to Zegry, and in Love with Adibar.  
ABENCERAGE, under the name of Almansor, Brother to Zelinda.  
ZAIDA, Sister to Zegry.  
MEDINA, Woman-Slave to Zaida.  
ADIBAR, Lover of Zaida.  
GAZUL, Slave to Abencerage.  
GOMELLA, Father to Fatima.  
LINDARACHE, Mother to Zelinda, and to Abencerage.   
The Scene is in the Forest of Argier.   

THE NOBLE INGRATITUDE. A Tragicomedy.  

ACT. I.  

SCENE ay▪  ORMIN alone. 
CHarming abode, delightful solitude,  
Fair places where I first received my life  
And love, old trees, clear brooks, whose shade and murmur  
Speak pity for my sorrowful adventure,  
Sweet Zephirs, Echo, rocks, and silent forests,  
Be witnesses all of my secret griefs:  
I am no more now that Zelinda sometime  
Adored by the worthiest Lovers of  
The country round about; alas! I serve  
Under the habit of a Slave, a traitor  
With an unparralelded fidelity,  
Traitor in Love, I mean, not otherwise,  
A Hero, but ingrateful, one who slatters me  
In my extreme misfortune, yet would hate me,  
If he knew that I Love him. Gentle trees,  
Happy are you, although the rigorous Winter  
Useth you hardly, for when the fair Spring  
Maketh the cold to cease, you suddenly  
Resume your ancient verdure, and at harvest▪  
Upon your branches we see fruits, where formerly  
Hung Icicles: my fortune's not so good;  
Each of the seasons have twice changed, since Love  
Resolved to afflict me, all which time  
I've languished continually, and could not  
Ptetend to the repose my heart hath lost:  
He whom I love with so much constancy  
●s false and fleeting; o Gods! here he comes   

SCENE. II.  ZEGRY, ORMIN. ZEGRY. 
Ormin▪ I sought thee.  ORMIN. 
Sir, I sought you also.  ZEGRY. 
Know that to morrow we will depart hence.  ORMIN. 
What! will you leave so soon your native country,  
These cottages, these woods and these fair meadows?  ZEGRY. 
I have not hid from thee that in those places  
I love the sweet Fatima, a rich Masterpiece  
Of Heaven, and hoped to see that Beauty here  
So cherished and adored; but I have learned  
That she is now at Tunis with her Father;  
And though this happy residence may be said  
To be a second Paradise, I cannot  
See any fair thing here, since she is absent.  ORMIN. 
How happy is Fatima, and how miserable  
Am I!— aside.  ZEGRY. 
How grievous is her absence to  
My amorous soul! to render me by her,  
To morrow by the break of day we'll take  
Our way for Tunis, I shall be too happy,  
If ● ma● see her, and I do believe  
That she will bear some part too in my joy;  
She had no little trouble, I perceived,  
For my departure last, and without doubt  
I'm not indifferent to her.  ORMIN. 
Certainly  
Her flame will not be quenched.  ZEGRY. 
That's all my hope.  ORMIN. 
And that is all my fear— aside.   

SCENE III.  ALABEZ, ZEGRY, ORMIN. ALABEZ. 
Cheer up, cheer up,  
Smother your sighs, I have a counter poison  
For all your sorrows.  ZEGRY. 
Speak it then without  
Holding us long in trouble.  ALABEZ. 
Give me leave.  
First, if you please, to take a little breath.  ZEGRY. 
Speak then?  ALABEZ. 
I'm not disposed yet.  ZEGRY. 
Oh thou mak'st me.  
Suffer too much? tell it unto us quickly.  ALABEZ. 
You might die with it.  ZEGRY. 
Is't then some misfortune  
Sent me by destiny?  ALABEZ. 
I say agiane.  
You might die with it, but 'twould be with joy;  
Fatima yesterday late in the evening  
Arrived in these quarters.  ZEGRY. 
Is it possible,  
Fatima?  ALABEZ. 
Yes, assure you, I have seen her.  ZEGRY. 
Perhaps thou art deceived.  ALABEZ. 
I am no ass.  
I did observe her well, and knew her perfectly.  
Her Slave, who was my Mistress formerly,  
Entered just now with her into that wood.  ZEGRY. 
Good Gods? do I not see her?  ALABEZ. 
Yes, that's she  
Which passeth by.  ZEGRY. 
What lustre hath her eye,  
What grace her gate?  ORMIN. 
Alas?  ZEGRY. 
I see a thousand new charms there.  ALABEZ. 
Are you besotted? will you not salute her?  ZEGRY. 
No, to perform that compliment, I'll give her  
A visit, when I shall have without doubt  
My soul less in disorder.  ALABEZ. 
For my part,  
Who do not love so daintily, I will,  
Without deferring it, make my address.  ZEGRY. 
Without discovering ourselves, we may  
From hence know by the usage of the servant,  
In what esteem the Master is at present.   

SCENE IU.  ALABEZ, CHARIFA, FATIMA, ZEGRY, ORMIN. ALABEZ. 
SWeet Beauties welcome, from what quarters come you?  CHARIFA. 
What means this insolent? Go on your way  ALABEZ. 
How's this? instead of kisses and embraces,  
As I expected, I am quarreled with:  
Charifa, whence this change?  CHARIFA. 
Begun, and leave us.  ALABEZ. 
Thou actest well the scornful.  FATIMA. 
What's that follow  
Which follows us?  CHARIFA. 
'tis an impertinent,  
Whom I know not.  ALABEZ. 
I am much changed then  
Since this last voyage; but thy soul is changed  
And not my visage, without doubt thy Mistress  
Hath better eyes, and more wit; she will know  
An old, and a familiar acquaintance.  FATIMA. 
who are you then?  ALABEZ. 
My Master's Slave.  FATIMA. 
What Master?  ALABEZ. 
Should you not know him neither?  
Is his name razed out of your memory?  FATIMA. 
Assuredly, Charifa, this man's mad.  ALABEZ. 
How, Madam, is it possible you can  
Forget the valiant Zegry?  FATIMA. 
Zegry?  ZEGRY. 
Heaven?  
What strange inconstancy is this? who ever  
Could have imagined it?— aside.  ALABEZ. 
That noble and illustrious successor  
Of those brave warriors who even in Spain  
Have gathered Laurels, and brought home fair spoils,  
Madam, your faithful Lover, Zaida's brother.  FATIMA. 
Oh! I remember him.  ZEGRY. 
False, and Ingrateful!  ALABEZ. 
You ask not how he doth.  FATIMA. 
What interest  
Have I in his sweet person? happily  
He's dead.  ALABEZ. 
He is indeed.  FATIMA. 
We are all mortal;  
The Prophet hath his soul.  CHARIFA. 
A faith full servant  
Would have accompanied his Master; why  
Art thou not dead too?  ALABEZ. 
Only to enrage thee.  Zegry discovering himself. ZEGRY. 
The Prophet hath his soul, o false Fatima!  
Is't thus you do express your goodness to me?  
Deceitful object, my return, I see,  
Displeaseth you, who would despise me dead,  
Must hate me living, I disturb with pleasure  
That faithless joy which the delightful news  
Of my feigned death procured you: I live still  
Ingrateful, but I live no more for you:  
My passion is transformed all into fury:  
As much as I loved you, I now despise you:  
My heart shakes of so rigorous a yoke:  
Love raiseth no more sighs, nor fires within me,  
Only I sigh that I used so much care  
To please you, and if I burn yet, it is  
With anger, not with love.  ORMIN. 
Oh this success  
Answereth my wishes fully?— aside.  FATIMA. 
This confession  
Surpriseth, but no way afflicteth me;  
My first discourse should make you understand  
That I'm not very tender hearted to you,  
And, me thinks, after such a clear contempt  
As was expressed there you might believe  
Nothing should trouble me that comes from you,  
Unless your amorous address: I have  
A thousand other Lovers braver far  
Than you, and therefore I deign not to put you  
In the rank of my conquests.  ZEGRY. 
Sure, your pride  
Is greater than your beauty, the charm is  
Dissolved wherein I formerly was held;  
'tis true, I sometime thought you beautiful;  
But I was amorous, and therefore not  
To be believed, having now my spirit  
No more disordered, you cease to be fair  
And I to be abused, whereas you  
Pleased me formerly, it was because  
It is impossible for me, when I  
Am loved, to be insensible.  FATIMA. 
I love you?  
Heaven! what a strange opinion is this?  
I never had but strong aversion for you.  
All your endeavours served but to displease me;  
But though I hated you, I loved your Sister,  
And it was for her sake that I feigned to have  
Some pity for your passions; her prayer  
A hundred times restained my hate, you swore  
That your days did depend upon my sight,  
And yielding unto her desites I did  
Enforce mine eyes to smile, when my heart frowned,  
To the end not to be cause of your death.  ZEGRY. 
Your eyes have never made a mortal wound.  FATIMA. 
Take heed that your do not revive again,  
One Only of my looks darted more gently.  
Can change this violent anger into love;  
But I am very nice of such a look,  
It is too rich a price, Sir, for your conquest  
I limit my desires to see you never,  
Adieu, become wise, and leave me in peace.  — Exit Fatima.  

SCENE. V.  ZEGRY; ALABEZ, ORMIN. ZEGRY. 
YEs false Fatima, I will become wise,  
Thy contempt is unjust, but mine is lawful:  
Since thou pretendest but to make thee hated,  
I will obey thee, thy unworthy trophy,  
My heart shall be no more, his charms are broken,  
His flames are quenched; Alabez, follow her  
Close at the heels, even unto her house;  
But have a care not to discover thee.  ORMIN. 
Her pride's unjust, and not to be endured;  
Your change herein is but too equitable,  
O how well should you do to free your heart  
From the imperious captivity  
Of such a cruel conqueror, you are  
Born with too many fair advantages,  
To obtain nothing but eternal wrongs;  
There are Sir, other beauties in the world  
Which would be glad to share their flame with yours,  
To imitate your sighs, and which would tell you  
That the resplendent honour of a crown  
Is beneath that to be beloved of  
An object that one loves Contempt in love  
Deserves to be repaid with contempt,  
And who refuseth, is not worthy of,  
For the most part, the person that's refused.  ZEGRY. 
How great my griefs are, and how grievous is  
This proud contempt? o light, and wavering Sex!  
O black ingratitude! since love began  
To trouble Lovers, was there ever torment  
Equal to mine? I feel my heart infected  
With all imaginary griefs.  ORMIN. 
Oh? Sir,  
Believe me, I know some that are much more  
To be lamented, and if what I know  
Were revealed to you, you should have great cause  
Of comfort by it.  ZEGRY. 
Oh speak, and divert  
The grief which doth oppress me. oftentimes  
A wretch is pleased in his misery  
When he sees that he suffers not alone.  ORMIN. 
O love, I pray thee make his heart grow tender  
At the recital of the evil which he  
Hath caused me, oh make him Sensible  
Of my sad sufferings?— aside.  
A young Beauty, Sir,  
Whose name and birth, if you please I'll conceal  
Through decency, only thus much I'I tell you,  
That she was near to me and loved me dear,  
Scarce yet attained to the fifteenth year,  
When love and marriage was proposed to her,  
And she commanded to expect for husband  
A man too lovely, and to much beloved;  
And who for his part was so far from being  
Warmed with a mutual flame, that he unlawfully  
Took an affection for another object:  
His faithful Lover with grief understood it  
But yet a worse misfortune afterward  
Surprised her, th' ingrateful brak th' accord  
Of the approaching marriage, and departed  
For a long voyage without seeing her;  
I can assure you that her grief was quick,  
And anger ardent after this affront;  
But yet her anger was less than her love:  
Although, th' inconstant left her, she retained him  
Still in her soul, and valuing not her sex,  
Nor fearing death, i th' habit of a man  
She followed his steps.  Zegry meditating ZEGRY. 
O barbarous rigour!  
O lamentable passion!  ORMIN. 
You will be  
More touched when you shall know the rest: scarce was she  
Embarked on the sea, when by a new,  
And worse misfortune certain infamous rovers  
Surprised her vessel, and not long time after  
They sold her unto that ingrateful man,  
Who falsely and unworthly forsook her:  
And so at last it happened that Fortune  
Aswell as Love would put her into chains:  
But she still without changing heart, or habit.  
Found sweetness in this double slavery;  
Far from desiring to be free, she followed  
Her faithless friend into his native country,  
And fearing not to be discovered,  
Served this deceitful Master without hope,  
Endeavoured to please him, and therein  
Prospered so well, that he esteemed her zeal,  
And concealed nothing from her; but this kindness  
Was not a cure, but corrosive to her grief,  
Because it made her privy to the happiness  
Her Rival did enjoy in the affection  
Of him she loved, who every day protested  
Unto her, that rather than lose her love,  
He'd lose his life.  Zegry still meditating. ZEGRY. 
Unparalleled punishment!  
Cruel injustice!  ORMIN. 
Gods! he groweth tender,  
Love be propitious to me,— aside.  
Sir, what lay you,  
Is not she more than you to be lamented?  
Compared to her torments, your afflictions  
Are sweet. You answer not.  ZEGRY. 
Yes, yes, I grant it  
I ought to hate her, but I've too much weakness:  
Oh fair Fatima!  ORMIN. 
Oh my hard misfortune!  ZEGRY. 
Ormin, What charms she hath?  ORMIN. 
You answer nothing  
To what I said.  ZEGRY. 
What spak'st thou to me of?  ORMIN. 
Of a young maid  
Oppressed and injured in love.  ZEGRY. 
My thoughts  
Were otherwise employed, and troubled,  
I heard thee not, at least I have forgotten.  ORMIN. 
You seemed to compassionate her grief,  
And her misfortune very much.  ZEGRY, 
Alas!  
I only thought upon my proper grief.  ORMIN, 
What! shall th'ingrateful and cruel Fatima  
Although she quits your heart thus, have the glory  
To live still in your memory? oh no,  
Banish her thence; but if you'll think of her,  
To ease your evils a little▪ employ your thought  
Only to think of her defects; remember  
That she's too proud, and fancy to yourself  
That she's not fair enough, to hold so noble  
And such a faithful Lover as you are▪  
That there is nothing charming in her eyes,  
Nor in her cheeks, that her proportion,  
Her posture, stature, gate, and carriage  
Have nothing commendable, that her wit—  ZEGRY 
Ormin, no more, I cannot suffer yet  
She should be injured; that ingrateful Beauty,  
Who laughs with scorn at my sad languishment,  
Hath no defect at all but her fierce rigour;  
And I fear that in spite of this defect,  
My violent love will triumph o'er mine anger.  ORMIN. 
What, shall Fatima be so proud, and you  
So humble? shall she be composed of Ice,  
And you of fire? must you persist to love her,  
When she despiseth you? oh fall no more  
Into that fatal error. It belongs, Sir  
But to low spirits to suffer without hate,  
Such a contempt; to leave what flieth us,  
Is little trouble, and when hope is quenched,  
Love should be querched also.  ZEGRI. 
What thou sayst,  
Ormin, is very true, I should indeed  
Follow Fatima in her lightness to me,  
I should in her unkindness trace her steps,  
I should be as insensible as she's  
Severe and rigorous, my flam'es an error,  
I do confess it, but I love this error,  
Thy faithful counsels are not seasonable,  
Love hath not yet given place unto my reason,  
I'm born to languish, and to die for her;  
Although she be ingrateful she is not  
The less fair for it.  ORMIN. 
The false hope that flattered me  
Fled in a moment; miserable Lover,  
And too unjust!— aside   

SCENE VI.  ALMANSOR, ZEGRY, ORMIN. ALMANSOR. 
FRiend, I am very joyful  
To meet thee.  ZEGRY. 
My content is still complete,  
When I behold thy face, as in thy absence,  
Nothing seems sweet unto me: Now I see  
thouart habited like us, this garment is  
Well made.  ALMANSOR. 
I took it just now in th'apartment  
I have in thy abode.  ZEGRY. 
This Shepherd's habit  
Becomes thee rarely; but for an Almansor,  
It is too much abasement.  ALMANSOR. 
Sure the habit  
Takes nothing from the lustre of the merit,  
In imitating thee, I cannot err;  
Thee, whose heart is as noble as thy race▪  
And unto whose aid in an eminent danger  
I owe my life.  ZEGRY. 
The Shepherds of this wood  
And fair Campania, are descended from  
Those Heros, who in time passed conquered Spain  
From those renowned Moors, whose great exploits  
Made the Kings of a hundred Christian people  
Tremble for fear, and who seeing Tunis conquered  
By Charles the fifth, conserve here in these places  
Their glory and their freedom, secretly  
Dispose the hearts of the most Zealous Kings  
To drive the Christians from this desolate country,  
And are in readiness to join themselves,  
And to increase the first fair levies which  
Shall be employed on such an expedition.  ALMANSOR. 
I know that this fair deserts like a Court:  
But hast thou heard yet that Gomella is  
Returned here? suffer me at present, Zegry,  
To leave thee, he is my familiar friend,  
And I owe him a visit.  ZEGRY. 
Then thou knowst  
Fatima.  ALMANSOR. 
Yes, that Beauty hath received  
The light from brave Gomella; friend adieu  
I will return to thee with speed, excuse me  
At present, I must speak with him upon  
A business of importance— Exit Almansor.   

SCENE VII.  ZEGRY ORMIN. ZEGRY. 
A business of importance? oh that word  
Redoubleth my affliction; to marry  
Fatima, without doubt, is his design:  
Oh Heaven? hast thou ordained that, to make up  
The full proportion of my misery,  
my dearest friend should rob me of my Mistress?  
Alas! if this be true, grief, fure will kill me;  
fear Ormin, let us use our best endeavour  
〈◊〉 hinder this misfortune; I expect  
〈◊〉 only remedy from thy advice.  
the most resplendent wit yieldeth to thine  
〈◊〉 point of knowledge, I have observed in thee  
something that's great, and extraordinary;  
Thy judgement charms me, and thy care surpriseth me.  ORMIN. 
〈◊〉, I'm your Slave, and glory to be so.  ZEGRY. 
〈◊〉 no, I make thee free, henceforth be thou  
thy Master's friend.  ORMIN. 
the sweetest liberty  
ceaseth my fancy less than the chains which  
fear for you.  ZEGRY 
his zeal so little common,  
makes me grow tender, and amazeth me.  
〈◊〉, quit thy fetters, Ormin, I command it,  
〈◊〉 free.  ORMIN 
Since 'tis your pleasure, I obey;  
Alas! what have I said, Love, can I be  
〈◊〉 liberty, when my heart is not free?   
The end of the first Act.   

ACT II.  

SCENE I.  FATIMA, ZAIDA, CHARIFA, MEDINA FATIMA. 
ENter again, sweet Zaida, ceremony  
Between us should be banished, where will you  
Trouble yourself unnecessarily?  ZAIDA. 
Since you will have it so, I'll go no further  FATIMA. 
I may assure myself then ere we part,  
That Adibar shall have no free admittance  
To your society, I have already  
Told you, that formerly he loved me;  
But now I know that you give laws to 〈◊〉  
And I have cause to hope that, if you scorn 〈◊〉  
He may return unto his first subjection.  ZAIDA. 
Fatima, be assured than he shall be  
Repulsed, his love will be but troublesome  
But if you love me, forget not to feign  
Some kindness for my brother; I beseech  
For my sake give him cause to hope a little  FATIMA. 
Adieu, I promise you that at next meeting  
I will receive him better.— Exit 〈◊〉   

SCENE II.  ZAIDA, MEDINA. ZAIDA. 
WHat think'st thou  
Of fair Fatima, and of her request?  MEDINA. 
● think that Adibar is not a person  
to be despised.  ZAIDA. 
True, but I am too proud  
T'accept a heart that hath been conquered  
By any other, and would now be mine  
Trough an inconstancy, but if I durst  
To love—  MEDINA. 
Why stop you, Madam?  ZAIDA. 
Oh Medina!  
I must not speak the rest.  MEDINA. 
but I divine it;  
You are in love, and I have cause to judge  
that it is with Almansor, that fair stranger  ZAIDA. 
Who, I in love with him?  MEDINA. 
Why not, I pray you,  
Is that a crime?  ZAIDA. 
Oh do not name that love,  
which is no other but a fair esteem.  MEDINA. 
There is so little difference between  
Esteem and love, that oftentimes we take th●  
One for the other, and are so deceived.  ZAIDA. 
I cannot but remember that my brother  
In his last voyage did conclude my marriage  
In Argier, that he who's designed to be  
My husband, is here shortly to arrive,  
And that my heart ought to reserve itself  
Wholly for him. Besides in thy opinion.  
Would it not argue a great weakness in me  
To love this stranger, though my broth●● friend.  
Who hath not been above a month among  
And whose desert as yet's unknown unto  MEDINA. 
Seeing this Stranger, who's not of the vul●  
Deserves to be caressed of your brother,  
There's reason to believe that he deserves  
To be your Lover, and I can't conceive  
Why your mouth will conceal the fl●● which is  
So clearly for him in your eyes and countenance.  
As often as he cometh with your brother  
To visit you, your looks seem to be fixed  
Wholly one him, and at the same time also  
I observed often that the stranger eyed you  
With the same ardour.  ZAIDA. 
Prithee, speak in earnest,  
Didst see him to behold me oftentimes?  MEDINA. 
You ask it me with very much impress me  
I do believe in less time than an hour,  
That you have questioned me upon this 〈◊〉  
More than a hundred times; your curiosity  
Gives me a full assurance that his looks  
Displease you not, nor wound your modesty  ZAIDA. 
Alas! can one in justice be offended,  
To be beloved?  MEDINA. 
If his love pleaseth you, I think his person  
Will please you equally.  ZAIDA. 
I consider him  
Without interpreter; but perhaps, he loves  
Elsewhere, and I may be unpleasing to him.  MEDINA. 
Madam, although you fain would cover it,  
This fond suspicion publisheth your flame,  
jealousy always is daughter of love.  ZAIDA. 
would it pleased Heaven, that he were free, and that  
He thought me fair, But I see him come forth  
Gomella's house, I'll satisfy myself  
In sounding of his soul, upon this bank  
I will repose myself, and feign to sleep.  MEDINA. 
what's your design? I cannot comprehend it.  ZAIDA. 
Withdraw, anon thou'lt understand it better.   

SCENE III.  ALMANSOR ZAIDA. ALMANSOR. 
Gomella is expecting his return.  
In visit, here I may conveniently  
Dream of my new love: Heaven! do I not see  
Under that flourishing shade the beauteous subject  
Of my sad sufferings? Love in this encounter  
Seemeth to flatter me sufficiently;  
It is the lovely Zaida without doubt:  
How sweetly, and with what tranquillity  
Doth that fair one repose, whilst wretched  
Languish with the disease which she procures me  
Surely she cannot hear me now, I may  
Speak at this present unto her of love,  
And not offend her; but alas! the rigour  
Of my sad destiny is great, when I  
Presume to speak, I fear that she may hear me  
You that have taught me the true use of sighs▪  
Dear object of my joy and of my griefs;  
Suffer my amorous and silent soul  
T●expresse its secret passion before you,  
And to complain here of a thousand evils  
Which you have made me suffer, yet unknown  
Unto yourself: and you resplendent sources  
Of all my fires, from whence I have derived  
Such violent heats, fair charming eyes, the authors  
Of my captivity, enjoy the rest,  
Which your have taken from me: If I see  
The poppies which shut up your lids, be not  
Offended that you lose your lights, the Sun  
Is subject to the same eclipse, and can  
No more than you, dispense himself thereof.  Zaida feigning herself in a dream ZAID. 
Almansor.  ALM. 
Sure, she dreams.  ZAIDA. 
Oh! rigorous torment!  
To burn, to languish, and not dare to speak it,  
Alas!  ALMANSOR. 
O Heaven! what hear I?  ZAIDA 
We resent  
One and the same heat.  ALMANSOR. 
Oh! that it were true!  ZAIDA. 
My modesty, excuse me.  ALMANSOR. 
O favourable sleep●  ZAIDA. 
Cruel constraints!  
When shall we be content, when shall our plaints  
Have end?  ALMANSOR. 
In this great ecstasy of joy,  
All my respects are vain; to give her thanks  
I'll kiss her fair hands.— He kisseth her hands.  ZAIDA. 
Hold, insolent; whence doth proceed this boldness?— feigning to awake,  ALMANSOR. 
What have I done?— aside.  
I came to give you thanks.  ZAIDA. 
For what?  ALMANSOR. 
'tis for your goodness.  ZAIDA. 
How, I know not:  
I'm sure I never gave you any matter  
For this acknowledgement, who ever will  
Consult th' appearance of the thing, shall find  
That I have much indifference for you;  
But though I had less, was it fit to trouble  
My rest, in making your acknowledgement  ALMANZOR. 
Excuse my transport, beauteous Shepherdess▪  
If I had less loved, I had been less guilty;  
In this occasion a Wary Lover  
Would have expressed little love in showing  
Too much respect; and whatsoer my crime be  
It would be pardoned, if you slept still;  
But, alas! my good fortune is soon changed,  
I find that you awake but to afflict me,  
Your eyes in taking unto them again  
Their grace and lustre, take unto them also  
At the same time their usual cruelty.  
And that most charming hope which I so little  
Enjoyed, vanished with your sleep.  ZAIDA. 
This is  
An ill expression of yourself, that word  
Of hope gives me astonishment, I never  
Gave it, nor took it yet from any person.  ALMANZOR. 
If I might dare to credit your discourse,  
At least you had not an aversion for me,  
Nothing would be equal to my good fortune  
You would not find my presence trouble so me,  
I should be used better, I should be  
Esteemed and possibly—  ZAIDA. 
Proceed.  ALMANZOR. 
I might be  
Beloved.  ZAIDA. 
Beloved! of whom; if you magine  
Of me, you are mistaken.  ALMAZOR. 
Notwithstanding  
You honoured me so much to tell me so:  
If I may but believe your voice, I have  
Place in your heart, you are my wltnesse and  
My judge both at one time; oh disavow not  
That favourable sentence, that fair Oracle  
proceeding from an adorable mouth.  
Those words so full of charms pronounced in sleep,  
Which promised me blessings so soon vanished  ZAIDA. 
I dreamt, Almanser, and you are not ignorant  
That a dream oftentimes is a deceiver,  
And still a lie.  ALMANSOR. 
True, a dream is my glory;  
But I have passions which are real truths,  
The flame with in mine eyes hath appeared to you  
Too clear, to be concealed, and the coldness  
Which you express unto me, quencheth not  
My love, although it ruineth my hope.  ZAIDA. 
This love comes very late, and really  
I'm troubled at it, you know well that I  
Am otherwise engaged.  ALMANSOR. 
Alas! I cannot  
Deny but I have heard say that a Lover  
Favoured of Heaven is to come sho●●l here  
To take you from mine eyes, I know you love him  
Before you see him, therefore I'll not trouble  
Your pleasures, nor his joy: how great soever  
His happiness be, I do intend to suffer it  
Without complaining of you, but withal  
I do intend to die. As soon as you  
Shall depart hence upon the fatal voyage  
Ordained, where your happy marriage  
Must be accomplished, Know, at the same time,  
That you shall see me in my griefs excess  
Depart to go unto the grave, where those  
Remains of fire which sparkle in my bosom,  
After my death shall still yet warm my ashes.  ZAID: 
Fortune doth owe you, Sir, a happier lot  ALM: 
My good or evil lot depends on you.  
All other favours would be troublesome:  
Lastly I do adore you, and not fortune.  ZAIDA. 
What expect you from me in the condition  
Wherein I am?  ALMANSOR. 
Immortal heats and torments;  
I still must love without hope to be loved.  ZAIDA. 
Who loves much, may hope to be loved likewise.  ALMANSOR. 
What may I hope one day for better usage?  ZAIDA. 
Consult with your fidelity upon it.  ALM: 
Your soul appeareth too insensible  
To love.  ZAID: 
A constant Lover may do much;  
The first refusal ought not to astonish  
Any one that hath love enough to give it.  ALMANSOR 
Oh this is plain enough to my glad sense!  ZAIDA. 
The blood strikes up unto my brow; alas!  
I've said too much, and now I blush for shame on't.  ALM: 
This glorious confession rendereth me  
Too happy and content.  ZAID: 
Dreams sometimes are not  
Without effect; but the Sun hath already  
Finished his career, let us go in  
Yet further to discourse upon this matter  
I fear that troublesome.   

SCENE IU.  ADIBAR, ZAIDA, ALMANSOR, ADIBAR. 
Without too much ambition may I hope  
The honour to take you by the fair hand  
The one is free, may I presume to kiss it?  ZAIDA. 
I have no need, Sir, of your services.  ADIBAR. 
They may be worth a Strangers, notwithstanding  
Your scorn of me.  ZAIDA. 
In thinking to oblige me,  
You may displease me, by this odd expression.  ADIBAR. 
The Prophet, who knows how I reverence you,  
Knows also how far forth I fear your anger,  
And the cares which I take, should well assure you,  
That I come here but for to honour you:  
May I aside declare a secret to you  
Of some importance?  ZAIDA. 
Nothing ' is so important  
As decency, which in th' opinion  
Of every one, allows we not the Liberty  
To hear the secrets of such as you are.  ADIBAR. 
I desire nothing of you what another  
Doth not obtain▪  ZAIDA. 
His discourse pleaseth me,  
And yours I hate.  ALMANSOR. 
You take an unfit time  
To tell your secrets, to the indiscreet  
Love seldom is propitious; th' incivility  
Which your pride doth express, is an ill means  
To gain esteem.  ADIBAR. 
I am not here to take  
Lessons from you.  ALMANSOR. 
I give them to your equals  
To all intents and purposes.  ADIBAR. 
This passion.  
Which carries you away, convicteth you,  
And doth excuse me of the incivility  
Wherewith your error charged me; a man  
Better instructed, to avoid suspicion,  
Would have retired himself out of respect;  
You are too gross; but as you are a Stranger,  
I ought to bear a little with your ignorance.  ZAIDA. 
You have the faults which you condemn in him;  
This Stranger doth oblige me, and you trouble me.  ADIBAR. 
Yet you should take away your hand from him— to Zaida.  ALMANSOR. 
If she should do it, you would be in danger.  ADIBAR. 
In quitting her, you might run to your death.  ALMNASOR. 
I respect Zaida, you I do despise.  ADIBAR. 
If by the same respect I were not stopped,  
In my revenge, your punishment should soon  
Follow your insolence.  Zaida quitting, Almansors hand. ZAIDA. 
These hasty motions  
Are sorry passtimes for me; by this violence  
I know that neither of you doth respect me,  
But both offend me.  ALMMANSOR. 
Do you take  
Your hand from me to answer his desires?  
My Rival will become too proud at this:  
Should you affronted me wit design to please him?  ZAIDA. 
By what right also am I bound to give  
You satisfaction?  ADIBAR. 
Madam, I beseech you,  
Use no constraint to your free inclination  
In my behalf, I know which of us two  
Pleaseth you best, I yield to him in fortune,  
And perhaps too in merit, his discourse  
Is acceptable, mine is hateful to you;  
Of this truth I cannot be ignorant;  
Therefore to th'end I may not trouble you,  
I will retire me, my respect for you  
Is stronger than the jealousy, wherewith  
My amorous soul is justly seized now,  
And I will force all my resentiments for you,  
Yea even to hate myself, if you should hate me.  
Let here my happy Rival without trouble  
Discourse with you, establish, if you please,  
His happiness at the expense of mine;  
But take this into your consideration  
That Adibar, who quits you with regret,  
Though the least loved, is not the least discreet.  ZAIDA. 
Where go you Adibar? come back again.  ADIBAR. 
My absence will oblige you.  ZAIDA. 
No, once more  
I say come back again; if you esteem me,  
You will return, to take away suspicions  
Opposed to my glory, lend me, pray you,  
Your hand, and lead me back.— he gives her his hand.  ALMANSOR. 
Oh! I cannot  
Suffer this cruel injury.  ZAIDA. 
Almansor,  
Stay I command you, on pain of my hate.  ALMANSOR. 
Hear me a word or two,  ZAIDA. 
I can 't be moved.  
Reason I hear, and duty is my guide.  Exeunt Zaida and Adibar.  

SCENE V.  ALMANZOR. 
What unexpected clap of thunder's this,  
Which ruineth my joy thus with my hope?  
Reason I hear, and duty is my guide;  
My constancy, at these words giveth place  
To my despair; and duty is my guide  
No, cruel Zaida in following Adibar,  
'tis Love that guides you: but what! I may be  
Too rash in censuring her so; perhaps  
She doth enforce herself in quitting me▪  
And doth prefer my Rival here before me,  
To take off all suspicion of our love.  
She loves, she loves me; oh▪ what say I, fool?  
without doubt she hath left me through contempt.  
Love, like to fickle Fortune is in constant.  
His Empire, doth resemble his who doth  
Command the sea, where nothing is secure,  
To day a calm, to morrow a sad storm,  
And every minute, the most fortunate  
Upon that element, may fear a change.  
Even in the Port, We often suffer Shipwreck:  
These are sad truths, whereof I need not doubt:  
But what maketh my Slave so hastily  
T'address his steps unto me?   

SCENE VI.  ALMANSOR, GAZUL▪ ALMANZOR. 
Hast thou found  
Gomella?  GAZUL. 
Yes, Sir and I think that he  
Advanceth here with large steps to embrace you  ALMANSOR. 
'tis that which my care should prevent.  GAZUL. 
Must I  
Withdraw whilst you discourse?  ALMANSOR. 
Yes, and be sure  
Thou fail not to prepare for me a consort  
Of Music.  GAZUL. 
How a consort, Sir, so late?  ALMANSOR.  

SCENE VII.  GOMELLA, ALMANSOR. GOMELLA. 
Oh! Sir,  
How glad am I to see you here again?  ALMANSOR. 
My joy in seeing you is no less great:  
But speak we of my mother.  GOMELLA. 
Stay her coming;  
To morrow without fail she arrives here  
Unknown.  ALMANSOR. 
Unknown! and why dares she not to be se●  GOMELLA. 
The secret only you must know from her,  ALMANSOR. 
Comes not my Sister?  GOMELLA. 
You must not expect her.  ALMANSOR. 
Where is her residence?  GOMELLA. 
I cannot tell you.  ALMANSOR. 
How's this, Gomella, what can I imagine  
In the uncertainty wherein you leave me?  
I am astonished at this proceeding;  
Your obscure language is a clear presage  
Of a conceal d misfortune: Oh! my Sister  
Is dead, I need not doubt it.  GOMELLA. 
Her death is not  
The evil which should attrist you.  ALMANSOR. 
What, is't then  
Happened unto her?  GOMELLA. 
No, but something worse.  ALMANSOR. 
That word is not sufficient to clear me:  
Shall I not know why I received an order  
To depart from Tremissa where I was  
Brought up, to come with all speed to these quarters,  
T●addresse myself to you with confidence,  
To change my true name of Abencerage  
Into that of Almansor, and to have  
A care not to reveal my family?  GOMELLA 
Upon this point I must shut up my mouth:  
Y m not allowed to say more unto you.  
It is you Mothers absolute injunction,  
And request to me; have but patience  
Until to morrow, when you shall be satisfied  
From her own mouth; but the Sun, I perceive,  
Already groweth pale before the Moon.  
Enter into my cot, and take with me  
A poor repast.  ALMANSOR. 
I do desire to be  
Dispensed thereof now, if it pleaseth you.  GOMELLA. 
Where will you go?  ALMANSOR. 
Zegry expecteth me  
On my engagement at his house to night.  GOMELLA. 
Zegry, what say you, what charm doth oblige you  
To answer so ill to Abencerage name,  
To that debate, which for a thousand reasons  
Is, between your two houses, as it were,  
Hereditary?  ALMANSOR. 
A far juster duty  
Inviteth me to love him: but for him,  
I'd lost my life in Cairo, treacherous enemies  
Encompassed me round, and had he not  
Succoured me speedily, I had been murdered:  
His name, which I knew well without discovering  
Mine own, disturbed my new born amity;  
But his goodness for me, his cares, his kindness,  
Soon dissipated all those old resentements;  
And so in order to the friendship which  
Conjoined us, at last we came together  
Into this country, where I was obliged  
By the same friendship to lodge no where else  
But at home with him.  GOM: 
Oh Heaven! but proceed.  ALMANSOR. 
You know his Sister: at first sight of her,  
I was her servant: by a powerful charm  
Whose art she only knows, her fair eyes paid  
But one look for the purchase of my heart;  
And if the God of marriage.—  GOMELLA. 
Soft, hold there.  
Take heed you flatter not yourself with such  
A fatal hope, destroy your passions,  
Or you destroy your honour.  ALMANSOR. 
How, my honour?  GOMELLA. 
Yes, Sir, your honour, what! doth this discourse  
Surprise and trouble you?  ALMANSOR. 
I fear the name  
Of an ingrateful person.  GOMELLA. 
Fear that also  
Of a low spirited one; these shameful motions  
Do wound your duty.  ALMANSOR. 
May I not know how?  GOMELLA. 
To morrow, when you see your Mother here,  
You shall be satisfied, in the mean time,  
Hate both the Sister, and the brother.  ALM: 
Hate them?  
I who have been so much obliged unto them?  
No, no, I swear—  GOM: 
Swear not but let us entet;  
Your mind will change, when you have heard th'adventure.   
The end of the Second Act.   

ACT III,  

SCENE I.  ZEGRY, ORMIN. ZEGRY. 
THe night approacheth, it is time to put  
This letter with my hope into thy hands:  
Work on her Slave, and act discreetly, that  
She take this diamond from thee, afterward  
Use all the skill thou hast to know the secrets  
Of her disdainful Mistress, and consider  
That I expect at thy return to hear  
The sentence of my life▪ or of my death.  ORMIN. 
Cruel commandment, whereunto I see  
My felfreduced!— aside.  
One word, Sir, ere I go.  
Think well upon it yet, what hope have you?  
Your importunities will increase her anger,  
And you should do much better, If I durst  
To tell you so, henceforth to free yourself  
Of this unworthy Empire; as love is  
The price of love, so hate should always be  
The recompense of hate, and of contempt.  
Your soul's are too ill suited to unite,  
Love loseth his power in Antipathies,  
And 'tis an equal crime, Sir, in a contrary  
Effect, to hate who Loves us, or to love  
Who hates us.  ZEGRY. 
Oh! speak no more on't unto me:  
My evill's invincible, and my soul feels  
Too sensibly the charms which do destroy me;  
To overcome my griefs, which have no equal  
I seek some gentle succour, and not counsel,  
My chain, alas! is too strong, and my heart  
Too weak, as not to yield unto the torrent  
which carries me away.  ORMIN. 
O rigorous Fate!— aside.  
But if all your endeavours ate in vain,  
If fierce Fatima still persist in her  
Former disdains—  ZEGRY. 
what pleasure dost thou take  
T'increase my troubles? hide her rigours to me  
And speak but of her charms: my heart is tried  
By torments great enough, it need not be  
afflicted with an evil not yet arrived.  
flatter my weakness, though therein thou show  
Thyself less faithful, if thou dost desire  
To interest thyself in my misfortunes.  ORMIN. 
Sir, if your eyes could penetrate into  
The secrets of my heart, you would soon find  
How great an interest I take in them,  
And that if your lot lay within my power,  
Your pleasures should soon pass your hope, I call  
The Prophet, so much honoured amongst us,  
To witness that I feel the counterstroa●s  
Of all your troubles, that I'm grieved for them  
as much as you, and tremble in like manner,  
Lastly that you are dearer to me far  
Then you imagine, that my happiness  
Depends on the success of your amours,  
And that it is for you alone my heart  
Makes its devotions.  ZEGRY. 
Grant it gracious Heaven  
That thy zeal happily succeed in touching  
In my behalf the soul of that ingrateful:  
My sister hath already been with her,  
And I believe she hath not failed to speak  
To her for me, their friendship flatters me;  
And gives me leave to hope that who esteem  
The sister, may in time cherish the brother.  
Adieu, perform thy duty, and return  
With speed to calm the tempests of my spirit  — Exit Zegry ORMIN. 
I will endeavour with permission of  
The holy Prophet, to hear such success  
As I desire.   

SCENE II.  ORMIM alone. 
WHereto shall I resolve me in this sad  
Extremity? shall I solicit now  
My Rival 'gainst myself in the behalf  
Of an ingrateful Master that doth wrong me  
And though he appears blind to my disadvantage,  
Shall I approve myself so more than he?  
What shall I press th'effect of what I fear?  
Shall I give him content at my sad cost,  
By a constraint so cruel? and shall I  
Become myself the faithful Minister  
Of the injustices which he doth do me?  
No, no, let us not serve with so much heat  
To trouble us yet with a new misfortune,  
A person who cost me so many tears:  
If I must die, at least let me not give  
Arms for to pierce my heart; o'th' contrary,  
Let me act so, that he may hope for nothing  
From fair Fatima, let me without scruple  
Betray this false one, and deprive him of  
A good which would become so fa'tal to me.  
I should ground all the hope that's left unto me  
Upon the loss of his. But how is this,  
That at these words I tremble with affright?  
I find my heart already riseth up  
Against me in behalf of this false Master.  
Alas! how cruel and perfidious  
Soer he be, I cannot fail of faith  
To wards him, but must love, and serve him truly.  
'Tis so resolved, my anger must give place  
Unto the love that reigneth in my bosom:  
An ill example never justifies  
A crime: let us deliberate no more;  
But what's the noise I hear? it is Fatima  
That passeth, and Charifa follows her.   

SCENE III.  FATIMA, CHARIFA, ORMIN FATIMA. 
THis foul contemps which Zaida offers me  
Provokes me highly, so far was this false one  
From hindering Adibar to visit her,  
(As she engaged herself in promise to me)  
That she accepted kindly of his hand,  
To disoblige me; 'tis an injury  
Of such a nature as requires revenge.  CHARIFA. 
The affront is known unto yourself, you saw it  
With your own eyes, and to speak truly Madam,  
The injustice is extreme.  FATIMA. 
Know that my anget  
Is so too; let us enter, it is late,  
This night shall give us counsel.  ORMIN. 
I'll go one,  
And stay no longer, 'las! I dare not open  
My mouth, nor keep it shut. Love, I beseech thee,  
Mingle at least some good in the great mass.  
Of my misfortunes, grant that in demanding  
All things of her, she grant me nothing for him.— aside.  
Madame, shall I find so much goodness from you  
As to allow me the sweet liberty  
To leave this letter here in your fair hands?  
It cometh from a Lover the most passionate  
Of all those which the Lustre of your eyes.  
Hath made slaves; and who, not withstanding all  
The love wherewith his soul is seized, hath griven you  
Some cause of plaint.  FATIMA. 
Of plaint! ist Adibar  
That writes unto me? Softly to Charifa.  CHARIFA. 
Wtihout doubt 'tis he,  
My heart doth tell me so.  FATIMA. 
What would that false one  
Desire of me?  ORMIN. 
How cruel is this sweetness  
To me?— aside.  
The end of his desires is to  
Appear before you, highly to detest  
His insolent crime, he would express the trouble  
Wherewirh his soul is pressed, to the Divinity  
justly offended, and receive in making  
His fault worthy to be forgot, a pardon.  
Or death at your fair feet.  FATIMA. 
I desire not  
His death; but I would have him live and hope▪  
How late soever his repentance comes,  
I love it, and 't is welcome. My heart is  
Already pacified by thy discourse.  ORMIN. 
I have for my misfortune, too well sped.— aside.  FATIMA. 
Let's see with what, air, in this letter he  
Utters his thought, we will go in to read it▪  
And to give answer; since he is no longer  
Obstinate in his coldness, I will send  
His pardon signed and sealed.  ORMIN. 
How full of joy  
Will Zegry be at my return?  FATIMA. 
What say you?  
Zegry.  ORMIN. 
'tis he that sends me, he will kiss  
The words where with you've flattered him.  Fatima tearing his letter. FATIMA. 
This is  
My answer, go, and carry it unto him.— Exit Fatima.   

SCENE IU.  ORMIN, CHARIFA. ORMIN. 
THis in equality astonisheth  
And puzleth me,— Charifa!  CHARIFA. 
No, good night.  ORMIN. 
Hear me, I pray thee.  CHARIFA. 
I take no delight  
To talk with fools  ORMIN. 
Stay yet a little.  CHARIFA. 
I have not the leisure.  
Adieu, fair prater!  ORMIN. 
Be not so ungentle.  
My hand shall speak gold, to supply my mouth  CHARIFA. 
I don't believe thee.  ORMIN. 
Believe the event.  
From Zegry take this diamond.  CHARIFA. 
To betray,  
And sell my Mistress? God defend, I will not  
Receive it-  ORMIN. 
Be not such a simple creature.  CHARIFA. 
I take it then to please thee, but accept it  
Unto a good intent: the stone's not false,  
At least I think so.  ORMIN. 
Thou mayst be assured on't,  
'tis very fair, and perfect.  CHARIFA. 
Pardon me,  
My words might seem t'imply a doubt, that I  
Suspected thee, but I am innocent.  ORMIN. 
Wilt thou not tell me by what fatal error  
Thy mistress humour changed so suddenly?  
And how it came, that only at the name  
Of Zegry her heart presently grew cold,  
Although inflamed with my discourse before?  CHARIFA. 
I love thee but too well; and if rhou wilt  
Be secret, I'll discover unto thee  
This secret of importance, this hid mystery.  ORMIN. 
Thou wilt oblige me much, speak, I'm discreet.  
And will concea'lt as closely as thyself.  CHARIFA. 
Fatima then loves Adibar as much  
Ass she doth hate thy Master; but for her,  
Adibar by a pleasant fair return  
Hath no, less coldness than thy master love.  
Thou know'st that thou art not yet known of her,  
And that love oftentimes troubleth the brain:  
Hence was it, that at first she did believe  
That Adibar sent thee to speak to her;  
But since she knew her error, she was mad;  
I hear a noise, let us speak soft I fear  
We should be heard.   

SCENE. V.  ALABEZ, ORMIN, CHARIFA ALABEZ. 
THe Devil! where thinks my Master  
That I should meet with Ormin? it is night  
And I can't find my way.  CHARIFA. 
Prithee be still.  ORMIN. 
Let me alone▪ thy honour is not much  
In danger with me.  CHARIFA. 
Foh! my diamond  
Is fallen from my finger.  ORMIN. 
Without doubt  
The grass conceals it from our sight.  CHARIFA. 
We may  
Seek it a good while ere we find it here.  ORMIN. 
Yes in this manner, I'll go fetch a light▪  Exit Ormin.  

SCENE VI.  ALABEZ, CHARIFA. CHARIFA. 
Return I've found it.— taking him for Ormin.  ALABEZ. 
I should know that voice;  
It is Charifa, strange! what might she do  
So late here in these woods? I will approach  
A little nearer.— aside.  CHARIFA. 
Thou but jests with me,  
Kiss me no more, if thou dost, I'll retire.  ALABEZ: 
A rare piece this! I must hear all.  CHARIFA. 
Yes really,  
Promise me to be quiet, or I'll leave thee.  
This is a little too much liberty  
At first, I am a maid that stands upon  
My reputation, and fear evil tongues,  
I hold my honour very precious to me.  ALABEZ. 
Thou seekest to lose it, and invitest him  
To take it from thee.— aside.  CHARIFA. 
What! thou speakest not  
A word unto me.  ALABEZ. 
Excellent adventure!  CHARIFA. 
How doth thy heart sigh, and thy close mouth murmur?  
Those liberties, for all what I have said,  
May be excused, if thou will marry me;  
Thou knowst that one must marry, to love well  
And if I please thee.—  ALABEZ. 
Oh? what impudence?  CHARIFA. 
What sayest thou?  ALABEZ. 
I am much surprised, by Heaven.  CHARIFA. 
What! answerest thou nothing? should this be  
Through a contempt? I think that I'm not yet  
So torn by time, as not to be thought worthy  
To be considered; thou knowest well  
Alabez, if I would have had that fellow.  
My marriage with him had been already  
Concluded, but that is a lout, and hath not  
The art to please me as thou hast, his faults  
Are more considered by me, than his services.  ALABEZ. 
The impudent jeers at me to my face.  CHARIFA. 
That troublesome never did any thing  
Which pleased me, he hath a sottish spirit,  
And silly carriage; if the fool should marry me  
I would not pass my word that he should not  
Be one of those which every one points at  
With ' finger, which permit their neighbours to  
Think their wives fair, and which we commonly  
Call cuckoulds.   

SCENE VII.  ORMIN, CHARIFA, ALABEZ. ORMIN. 
SEe here, I have brought you light.  CHARIFA. 
What have I done? this is a gross mistake.  ALABEZ. 
What think'st thou; have not I much cause to be  
Well satisfied? I have done nothing then  
That ever pleased thee, I've a sottish spirit  
And silly carriage. Thou shouldst die with shame.  CHARIFA. 
Why? prithee? I have uttered but a truth.  ALABEZ. 
But a truth, traitress, o thou brazen face!  
What! If I married thee, thou dangerous beast  
I should be of the number of those people  
Which we call cuckoulds? thy impertinent tongue  
Lied a hundred times, I'd rather choose  
A rope then such a bed fellow:  ORMIN. 
Whence springs  
Your quarrel?  ALABEZ: 
Peace a while, I shall in good time  
Talk with you, friend, companion of iil luck  Ormin putting out the candle. ORMIN. 
We must be gone, there's nothing to be gotten  
But blows here by a fool.— Exeunt Ormin and Charifa.   

SCENE VIII.  ALMANSOR, GASUL, ALABEZ▪ ADIBAR. ALMANSOR. 
Go see whence comes this noise.  ALABEZ. 
Oh have I met thee,— giving Gasul a buffet.  
precious Apostle?  GASUL. 
How base traitor!  ALABEZ. 
Pardon me,  
I took thee for another, in good faith:  
I sought a rascal that escaped me,  
To whom I did intend that injury  
But I shall soon o'er take him without running.  Exit Alabe. ALMANSOR. 
Hast learned the cause of those confused rumours▪  GASUL. 
No, but I have been beaten by a person,  
Who afterward made me excuses for't-  ALMANSOR. 
The house is not far of, give order to  
The voices to advance, and bid them sing  
Near to that Little wood.  Adibar appearing on the other side: ADIAAR. 
See, friends, the place  
Where Zasda dwells, if you are ready now,  
Begin immediately.  

The first song.  

YE deserts, and dark cells  
Where night and silence dwells  
You whom I trust with my sad cares.   GASUL. 
This voice belongs not to our company.  ALMANSOR. 
This Stanza finished, let us be prepared  
To sing forthwith the air which I composed.  

Ye deserts and dark cells,  
Where night and silence dwells,  
You whom I trust with my sad cares,  
With all my deaths, and my despairs,  
Rocks, forests, and thick Shades,  
Which the Sun ne'er invades,  
You in whose bosoms I enclose  
My love, my sighs, my plaints, and woes:  
Alas! when will you be  
Keepers of my felicity?    

Second Song.  

Ye brooks, and Zephirs sweet,  
Which here in Springtime meet  
To water and perfume these plains   ADIBAR. 

What insolent voice troubles our comfort here?  
Th'affront shall not pass without punishment   

Ye Brooks, and Zephirs sweet,  
Which here in Springtime meet  
To water and perfume these plains  
Frequented by the amorous Swains  
Favour me not to flow  
Oblige me not to blow,  
Until my tears their course have spent,  
And my sighs given my griefs full vent,  
Then in your Channels glide,  
And winds breathe, as before, in pride.    ADIBAR. 
Who art thou that dar'st here to trouble me?  ALMANSOR. 
My name is too well known to be concealed.  
I'm called Almansor.  ADIBAR. 
Fear, fear then mine anger.  
I'm Adibar, thy greatest Enemy  
Who to meet thee, have made some weary steps  
Unto no purpose; now when least I sought thee  
I've found thee; tell me, how comes it that thou  
Takest a licence to besiege my Mistress  
With so much insolence? dost visit her,  
As friend unto her brother, or as Lover  
And servant unto her?  ALMANSOR, 
Content thyself  
To understand that as the brother's friend,  
The Sister doth accept my services,  
And that I reverence her: assure thyself  
That if I were so happy as to be  
Her Lover, I should be discreet enough,  
Not to acquaint thee with it.  ADIBAR. 
These refinings,  
And juggle which thou usest to defend thee,  
Cannot withdraw thee from my just revenge,  
Thou shalt die.— Draws  ALMANSOR. 
Rather fear that my sword here— draws.  
Piercing thy heart, quench thy love in thy blood.   

SCENE IX.  ZEGRY, ADIBAR, ALMANSOR. ZEGRY. 
FOr bear, and moderate this barbarous fury,  
What means this, friends?  ADIBAR. 
Nothing, since we are parted.  ZEGRY. 
Oh, ist you Adibar?  ALMANSOR. 
This is not the Song  
Which I desire.  ADIBAR. 
Zegry, thou dost me wrong.  ZEGRY. 
What cause, dear friend, could animate thee so?  
Permit me, I beseech you having parted you,  
To reconcile you too at the same time:  
I take an interest in your debats:  
Let me know therefore what your differnce is.  ADIBAR. 
Zegry in vain you interpose your self  
To hinder the proceeding, my revengt  
Is just, and your cares but prolong his life  
For some few minures.— Exit. Adibar.   

SCENE. X.  ZEGRY, ALMANSOR. ZEGRY. 
Dear Almansor tell me  
Whence comes so strong a hate between you two?  
Relate the cause on't,  ALMANSOR. 
'tis not worth the labour;  
This petty difference which troubles thee,  
Should be determined ere known.  ZEGRY. 
In vain  
Thou dost persist to hide this secret from me:  
Almansor, I guess at it; sure, some Beauty  
Embroils you; I've heard here two different consorts.  
The rest I do divine.  ALMANSOR. 
Friend, I confess it;  
We both at one time gave our Evening Music  
To one and the same Mistress.  ZEGRY. 
May not I  
Know her name, Friend?  ALMANSOR. 
Heavens how am I put to t●?  
Should I tell him that I adore his sister?- aside.  ZEGRY. 
Friend, this reservedness suits not that name,  
I did not hide my amours for Fatima  
From thee.  ALMANSOR. 
He hath already promised  
His sister; In confounded; if I dare  
To name her, what will he not say?— aside.  ZEGRY. 
This confused silence should sufficiently  
Instruct me that he doth adore Fatima,  
And dares not tell it me— aside.  
What! shall I not  
Know then what object hath subjected thee?  ALMANSOR. 
Her fair name uttered would make us enemies,  
Instead of doing thee a courtesy  
I should do thee an injury; adieu;  
Dispense me to say more on't.  ZEGRY. 
How is this!  
Wilt thou not go unto my house?  ALMANSOR 
Excuse me,  
This night I am engaged by promise to  
Lodge at Gomella's.  ZEGRY. 
How! Gomella's, sayst thou?  ALMANSOR. 
Yes, I fear that he stays for me, adieu,  
I've promised him, and I can't fail my word.  Exit Almansor. Zegry alone. ZEGRY 
The traitor Loves Fatima: and intends  
To marry her: to judge on't otherwife,  
Is to abuse myself; yes owing me,  
His life, he makes use of it to destroy me;  
But he that could save it, can also ruin it;  
And his death loudly shall proclaim to all  
That the same arm which serves the innocent,  
Can punish the ingrateful insolent.   
The End of the third Act.   

ACT IU.  

SCENE I.  ALMANSOR, GOMELLA ALMANSOR. 
YOu shall not go alone to meet my mother,  
I I follow you, Gomella.  GOMELLA 
That needs not  
Her order doth oblige you to expect her  
Here at my house.  ALMANSOR. 
But nature doth impose  
A stronger law upon me.  GOMELLA. 
Sir she hath not  
Understood of your coming yet, your sight  
Will be too sudden a surprise, for bear  
Till I acquaint her with it.  ALMANSOR 
I expect  
No blame in this encounter; If I should  
Surprise her, it would be delightfully:  GOMELLA. 
Seeing you will, let's go together then.  ALMANSOR. 
I do but what I ought.  GOMELLA. 
I speak my thoughts.  ALMANSOR. 
Zegry comes forth his house; before I go,  
I must embrace him.  GOMELLA. 
Stay, you may not do it.  ALMANSOR. 
Constraint's unjust, as much as it is cruel:  
Ought I to fly a friend so dear, so faithful?  
Suffer me to speak to him, and I'll follow you  
Immediately.  GOMELLA. 
I cannot, for I have an express order  
Unto the contrary.— Exeunt.   

SCENE II.  ZEGRY, ORMIN. ZEGRY. 
ORmin, didst thou observe how carefully  
That traitor shun'd me assoon as he saw me?  
Didst mark how he was troubled at first,  
How he advanced, a step or two to Wards me,  
And then went back again, how he resigned  
The place unto me in confusion,  
Pressed with the stings of his ingratitude?  ORMIN. 
What ever I observed, it can never  
Enter into my thought Almansor should  
Be guilty of so base and black a crime;  
And though in show I find him culpable,  
I esteem him incapable to commit  
Any base act; he still appeared unto me  
A person of much honour, and too jealous  
Thereof, so ill t'imploy the life which he  
Holdeth of you: besides I find within me  
A certain secret instinct which I  
Can●t comprehend, that when I should accuse him,  
Forceth me to defend him.  ZEGRY. 
Seeing me  
To cheris'h that too much beloved Ingrateful,  
Thou art accustomed also to caresse him.  
I can't believe, neither that he betrays me,  
Nor can I doubt on't, that's my punishment.  
And those sweet motions, which I scarce can banish,  
Aggravate his offence, instead of lessening it:  
judge then how much I am to be lamented  
In this condition, the only good  
That rests to me, is to fear nothing more.  
Fortune would not afflict me here by halfs;  
I lose a Mistress, and a friend together:  
Both injure me, and I have so much weakness,  
That I can't hate the Mistress, nor the Friend;  
But couldst thou yesterday learn from Charifa  
Why fair Fatima hath so much contempt  
Within her bosom for me? thou hast told me  
That Adibar doth charm her, but thou hast not  
Told me from whence her hatred doth proceed.  ORMIN. 
Fatima, if I may believe what hath  
Been told me, always did abhor you for  
Vnfaithfullnes, she hath some reason to  
Believe you false, and this is that as far  
As I can understand, which doth oblige her  
To be so cruel to you.  ZEGRY. 
False, sayst thou?  
I never was so.  ORMIN. 
She hath understood though,  
That a maid called Zelinda, fair enough,  
Very young, and of an illustrious family,  
And who received sometime many services  
From you, being almost on the point to see you  
Her husband, and when all things were disposed  
And ready for the marriage was foully  
For saken by you and despised; it seems  
That this example toucheth, and doth teach her  
That who can once, can change a thousand times,  ZEGRY. 
Ormin, this change is no inconstancy.  ORMIN. 
It would be very hard to prove it innocent:  ZEGRY. 
Without doubt this pretended marriage  
Made a great noise; but I will tell thee all  ORMIN. 
What will th'ingrateful say? — aside  ZEGRY: 
Before that marriage was concluded which  
Was to unite us to Abencerage blood,  
And by that means at last to quench the heat  
Of an old hatred, fair Fatima was  
Already Mistress of my heart; to make me  
Take a new chain, Zelinda, whom they offered me  
In my opinion, was not fair enough:  
So that I saw her without loving her:  
Her feeble Beauty could not shake the fetters  
Which tied me, yet I endeavoured  
To have some kindness for her, but her eyes  
Or my heart were not strong enoug to work it;  
And if I did her any services,  
It was but in design to please my parents:  
Fatima there fore is to blame to think  
That I am false: since I had never love  
For any but for her.  ORMIN. 
Alas! I need not  
Doubt more of his contempt! I was inquisitive  
To know too much, and now I do repent it.  — aside. ZEGRY. 
This is a truth, which easily can be ptoved?  
But how comes it my sister, s up so soon?   

SCENE III.  ZAIDA, MEDINA, ZEGRY, ORMIN. ZAIDA, 
Brother, have you received th' intelligence  
Is given me of the death of him which was  
Designed for my husband?  ZEGRY. 
Yes, I've heard it;  
It is too true, he died in Argier  
O'th' spotted fever.  
I'm unhappy by it;  
But you are near your joy, and may discourse  
Of marriage and love.  ZEGRY. 
Oh, Sister, rather  
Say that I must no longer now discourse  
Of love nor Marriage: say that I must punish  
A base and an ingrateful spirit with death  
One that hath wickedly betrayed my friendship:  
Fury alone presides now in my soul,  
And I must think nor speak of any thing  
But of destroying a perfidious wretch.  ZAIDA. 
Who is that traitor? let me know, I pray you,  
What signal crime provoketh you so highly.  ZEGRY. 
Thou knowst too well the Author of my injury  
His name's Almansor, his love is his crime,  ZAIDA. 
His Love! What hear I?  ZEGRY. 
Sister, 'tis too true,  
His insolent love hath stirred up mine anger.  ZAIDA, 
He knoweth that Almansor loveth me,  
And that is it enrageth him. — aside.  ZEGRY. 
His death,  
Is just, add he shall die, base, and ingrateful!  ZAIDA. 
Brother, you should examine without passion  
All that which might be of a friend suspected,  
And we should never judge of his offence  
But with much care and much indulgence: always  
Almansor l●tth appcared too generous  
To mingle any foul or unjust thing  
In his affections; and he oweth you  
Too much, to have a thought to wrong a friend  
That saved his life  ZEGRY. 
Sister, thou dost oblige me;  
Thy arguments with little contradiction  
Disarm all my resentments quite; Almansor  
Is so dear to me, that how ere he wrongs me,  
Thou wilt do me a couttesie, to stop  
My anger.  ZAIDA. 
Perhaps, you have accused him unjustly.  ZEGRY. 
Would that it pleased Heaven I were abused!  
But alas! my suspicion is too just,  
I'll tell't thee now; he loveth  ZAIDA. 
Who?  ZEGRY. 
Fatima:  ZAIDA. 
How! should he love Fatima? really  
That crime is black:  ZEGRY. 
The better to assure thee on't, 'tis best  
Thou go to visit her, I do believe  
Thou'lt understand from her that he adores her,  
And that he's false to me.  ZAIDA. 
Traitor! Inconstant!  
Pernicious Spirit!  ZEGRY. 
But, Sister, Why appear you  
So troubled in your eyes and countenance?  ZAIDA. 
The trouble of mine eyes clearly denotes  
That my heart feels the evils which your friend doth you,  
Your friend, what hay I said that name suits ill  
With his condition, if he be your Rival,  
He's not your friend. Go persently to quench  
His life and Love, and wash away the crimes  
Of his soul in his blood.  ZEGRY. 
No, Sister, no;  
We should examine without passion  
All that which might be of a friend suspected,  
And one should never judge of his offence  
But with much care and much indulgence; always  
Almansor hath appeared too generous,  
To mingle any foul, or unjust thing  
In his affections; and he oweth me  
Too much, to have a thought to wrong a friend  
That sau" d his life.  ZAIDA. 
In what an error are you?  ZEGRY. 
If I am in an error, I received it  
From you: these were your sentiments, good Sister,  
And shall be mine.  ZAIDA. 
Then knew I not his crime;  
But now that it is plain, take your revenge,  
I will no more restrain you.  ZEGRY. 
Stop me rather;  
Condemn my anger, not my amity.  
In favour of Almansor I would be  
Abused; I will accuse him, but I would  
That others should excuse him, I speak of  
Revenge, but seek it not, and threaten only  
But to the end to have my arm restrained.  
His passion, perhaps, may be condemned  
Unjustly: possibly it might be born.  
Before our friendship, and, perhaps Fatima  
Answereth unto it, and that to unite them,  
Gomellas' orders do invite him here;  
If it be so, to free myself from crime,  
Sister, 'tis just I yield Fatima to him:  
I'll break my chains, and with a settled heart  
Will make the pleasures of my friend mine own.  ZAIDA, 
what strange abuse, what secret charm thus softens  
Your heart in the behalf of an Ingrateful:  
He owes his life unto you: ought he not  
T'acquit himself to wards you by all possible  
Endeavours? if he be our Rival, can you  
Without much weakness tamely give him up  
Your Mistress? if he be your friend, as you  
Esteem him, ought he not to give you up  
The object which you love.  ZEGRY. 
Without reply  
Go presently to visit fair Fatima:  
And fail not fully to inform yourself  
Of their intelligence.— Exit Zegry.  MEDINA ZAIDA. MEDINA. 
YOu astonish me;  
I can't conceive how one can love a man,  
And press his death.  ZAIDA. 
Oh! say not that I love  
Such an ingrateful and inconstant wreteh:  
Believe that if I have fires, they are fires  
Of rage, and that my heart will ne'er be quiet  
Till this perfidious Lover be a sacrifice  
To my just anger.  MEDINA. 
But you weep, Madam.  ZAIDA. 
True, I weep, Medina:  
If that false one should perish, I should die;  
I feel that rage and tenderness, hate and love  
Triumph by Turns within me: I▪ m his Enemy,  
And yet I am his Lover, when my anger  
Increaseth, th'other Kinder passion springs:  
And though that he be lovely, and hath falsely  
Betrayed me, I can neither love, nor hate him  MEDINA. 
Madam, speak softer, you will else be heard.  
Adibar comes towards us.  ZAIDA. 
I'll not stay.   

SCENE V.  ADIBAR, ZAIDA, MEDINA. ADIBAR. 
Zaida, where go you with my heart!  ZAIDA. 
I pray you,  
Leave me alone, and do not trouble me,  
Adieu.  ADIBAR. 
Receive my services.  ZAIDA. 
I have  
No need of them.  ADIBAR. 
I do beseech you, hear me.  ZAIDA. 
You must excuse me, I have other business.  ADIBAR. 
With a look only, consolate my griefs;  
'tis you I seek.  ZAIDA. 
And 'tis you that I fly.  ADIBAR. 
How! treat you such a faithful Lover so?  ZAIDA. 
Fatima there will be less cruel to you.  ADIBAR. 
Mock not at her, Fatima is as fair,  
Although less proud than you.   

SCENE VI.  FATIMA, ZAIDA, ADIBAR, CHARIFA, MEDINA. FATIMA. 
What Adibar  
Still with this scornful? my revenge is just,  
'Tis time that it break forth. Zaida, I find you  
In such a black and heavy melancholy,  
That I lose the design whIch brought me hither:  
Shall I dare speak of dances, revels, feasts,  
And of a marriage in the condition  
Wherein your are?  ZAIDA. 
What say you, of a marriage?  FATIMA. 
Since you press me,  
You shall know all; know that my Father hath  
Provided one for me.  ZAIDA. 
For you, Fatima?  FATIMA. 
Yes, Zaida, and she bu●imes is well forward.  ZAIDA. 
In your contents I claim an interest:  
I should be glad to know your Lover's name,  FATIMA. 
He's an accomplished man, noble, and brave  
And of a charming presence, and rare merit:  
I doubt not but you will approve the choice  
My Father hath made of him.  ZAIDA. 
How she makes me  
Languish to meet death?— aside.  
Well, who is the man?  FATIMA. 
You know him very well;  
He made long time his ordinary residence  
At home with you▪ your brother Zegrys friend  
Have I yet said enough?  ZAIDA. 
Tell me his name too.  FATIMA, 
Divine you not that he is called Almansor!  ZAIDA. 
I can no more, but faint and die.— aside.  FATIMA 
How she  
Is changed, she feels my pain, and I'm revenged  ADIBAR. 
I have much interest in this event.  ZAIDA. 
This match without doubt cannot choose but please you.  FATIMA- 
True, I am not of those who through a maxim  
Of I know not, what modesty, blush at marriage  
As if it were a crime, feign to sigh at it,  
And yet in secret are sad at the heart,  
If it should not be consummate. I assure you.  
Upon this point I not dissemble with you:  
I no way hate the Lover that's designed me,  
I prise his love, his services, his merit  
At a high rate, and if he loves me much,  
He is no less beloved.  ZAIDA. 
It seemeth then,  
He loves you very much.  FATIMA. 
I can't express it:  
He lives but for me, breatheth but for me:  
I am the sole original of his good  
Or evil fortune: when he sees me not,  
He is in torments, and when hazard brings me  
Unto his sight, again, I have great cause  
To fear that he might die with sudden joy;  
Lastly if any truth be in his oaths,  
All other beauties are contemptible to him.  ZAIDA. 
Oh Heaven! what hear I, where am I? Oh traitor!  
Ingrateful wretch! — aside.  
But could you so soon love him  
Before you knew him?  FATIMA. 
I cannot be blamed  
For this quick love, I saw in him at first  
All things that might induce a maid to love:  
Besides herein I execute the order  
My Father doth ordain, I willingly  
Obey his will; and since he hath chosen him  
For son in law and for support, I think  
That he is worthy of it, and conform  
Myself unto him.  ZAIDA. 
But what are your thoughts  
Of Adibar?  ADIBAR. 
I dare not to pretend  
To her passed goodness more.  FATIMA. 
He deserved not  
The honour of my love; he changed first,  
And I change at my turn.  ZAIDA. 
He was not always  
Unworthy to please you; can you forget him?  FATIMA. 
Yes, and with much justice, and reason too,  
He is to me the most ingrateful person  
Upon the earth; his contempt was unjust,  
But mine is not so. Let us cease to speak  
Of that inconstant Lover; I will pay him  
Hatred for hatred, contempt for contempt.  
Let us again talk of our marriage,  
And let me know if I may have the honour  
To see you there,  ZAIDA. 
Excuse me, I'm oppressed  
With a great pain, which is redoubled  
Since your discourse, so that I'm rendered  
Incapable to be present there, and am  
Enforced to quit you at this very instant.  ADIBAR. 
I wait you; suffer me to pay the service  
I owe you.— He leads her by the arm?  ZAIDA. 
I am forced through my weakness  
To accept your support.— Exeunt Zaida & Adibar   

SCENE VII.  FATIMA, CHARIFA. FATIMA. 
ZAida feels my discase, but Adibar  
Flies me; herein my revenge is complete,  
Though my hope be destroyed.  CHARIFA. 
You have lost nothing  
By that, Almansor's worth a thousand of him  FATIMA. 
judge better of my plaint, what I have said  
Is but a fiction; I perceive Medina  
And thou are intimate, she could not choose  
But tell thee that Almansor's very dear  
To the ingrateful Zaida, this I heard  
From thy own mouth.  CHARIFA. 
Well.  FATIMA. 
This devise of mine,  
In feigning that Almansor was to marry me,  
Is to revenge me of her for admitting,  
Contrary to her promise, my false Lover  
To address courtship to her, and to punish her  
For the evils which she hath procured me.  CHARIFA. 
How cunning are you! this deccit is notable.   

SCENE VIII.  ADIBAR FATIMA FATIMA. 
HOw! quit so soon the object of your heart?  ADIBAR. 
I studied more her rest then my content.  FATIMA. 
You appear seized with an extreme sadness.  ADIBAR. 
I cannot see that suffer which I love,  
Without grief:  FATIMA. 
Zaida sure, repulsed you.  ADIBAR. 
My respect only put me of, and not  
Her cruelty,  FATIMA. 
If she were just, or generous  
She would despise a lover that's unfaithful.  ADIBAR. 
I were to blame, if I should complain of her.  FATIMA. 
Almansers' fortune is more sweet with me  ADIBAR. 
I'm to well satisfied, to be jealous of it.  FATIMA. 
You do but flatter you with a vain hope,  
Zaida hath but disdain, and hate for you.  ADIBAR. 
Her hate and her disdain are ended now;  
And our hearts speedily shall be united  
By marriage.  FATIMA. 
But Sir, you may be mistaken  
In your account, and hope; do you not know  
That Zaida's promised?  ADIBAR. 
Rather you may be  
Deceived in this point: perhaps you know not  
That he who was to marry her, is dead.  FATIMA. 
How is he dead?  ADIBAR. 
Yes Madam, and fair Zaida  
Propitious at last, will render justice  
To my devout affection, and did  
Assure me when I took my leave of her  
That she would marry me, if I could get  
Her brother to consent unto 't; adieu;  
To obtain this so dear and precious Beauty,  
I must address me to her brother, and  
Solicit my best friends.— Exit Adibar.   

SCENE IX.  FATIMA, CHARIFA. FATIMA. 
WHat have I done?  
Alas! my fiction hath only served  
To dispose Zaida to deprive me of  
My Lover.  CHARIFA. 
Madam.—  FATIMA. 
Leave me; in a fate  
So sad as this, every thing hurts, destroys,  
And makes me desperate.  CHARIFA. 
Will you not hear me?  FATIMA. 
No, I hear nothing but the fury which  
Reigns in my confufed spirits, grief seizeth me  
And anger doth transport me.  CHARIFA. 
Madam, comfort you.  FATIMA. 
Oh that I were dead! cease to comfort me  
In such a just despair put me to bed,  
Or in my grave there to lie buried.   
The End of the fourth Act.   

ACT V.  

SCENE I.  GOMELLA, LINDARACHE, ALMANSOR. GOMELLA. 
YOu see the cote where I make my abode.  LINDARACHE. 
Sir, if you please, I shall desire to be  
Private a while here with my son, and presently  
I'm yours.  ALMANSOR. 
Oh Madam, oh dear Mother,  
In this blessed time shall I obtain the honour  
Of your embracements?  LINDERACHE. 
Stay, Abencerage,  
Know our dishonour first, and show thyself  
My son before I embrace thee, I was mother  
Of two fair children, when a Ravisher  
Stole away both my Daughter, and thy Sister.  ALMANSOR. 
Good God what do you tell me?  LINDARACHE 
That thy Sister  
Is ravished.  ALMANSOR. 
Name but the Ravisher▪  
And he is dead.  LINDERACHE. 
Come, now embrace me, Son, this saying makes me  
Believe that Heaven hath given thee me for to  
Revenge me.  ALMANSOR. 
Let me know his name, I swear  
By th' holy Prophet, that his blood shall wash  
The injury, and that this arm of mine  
Shall sacrifice him instantly unto you.  LINDARACHE 
Thou shall know all, harken, and let me speak:  
Thou art not ignorant of the enmity  
Which reigned for many ages 'twixt the houses  
O'th' Zegries, and of the Abencerages:  
Now thou must know that on th' opinion  
Conceived that a marriage would put end  
To this contention, my daughter was  
Designed for wife to Zegry; every thing  
Was ready, and the day appointed, when  
Through an aversion, or rather through  
Contempt, the treacherous Zegry flying our  
Alliance, hastily embark'ed himself  
For Argser; and to add unto our griefs,  
Assoon as this report was spread, my daughter  
Was seen no more.  ALMANSOR. 
O Heaven! who should be cause  
Of this misfortune?  LINDERACHE. 
Read this letter here,  
It will inform thee fully  Almansor reads the Letter. 
LETTER.  
YOu, from whom, I received my breath,  
Know that a sad fate worse than death  
Is happened to me, all our name  
In my loss bear an equal shame:  
The false and cruel Zegry is  
The Author of my miseries;  
For he it it that by his charms  
Hath taken me out of your arms,  
Zelinda.  ALMANSOR 
What have I heard!  LINDERACHE. 
Abominable truths.  ALMANLOR. 
Zegry her ravisher! oh fatal news!  LINDERACHE. 
In this misfortune I had so much judgement  
To hide this our dishonour, and her rape:  
By the advice of the illustrious,  
And wise Gomella, I spread every where  
The rumour of her death, and sent thee order  
At the same time to depart from Tremissa  
And to come here: lastly in Tunis staying  
Thy coming, I passed an unknown life  
In tears and lamentation: and seeing  
The time of thy return to be at hand,  
I came here to this fatal residence:  
I find thee, and my grief is charmed already,  
To see my just rage in thy soul imprinted,  
And thy brave arm disposed to take revenge,  
And to deprive that wretch of life, who hath  
Deprived us of honour.  ALMAOSOR. 
Oh how many  
Afflictions seize! my heart!  LINDARACHE. 
'tis time to punish,  
Not to deplore, in such a fatal fortune  
Express thy grief by bloody brave effects  
Of rage and courage, vain regrets, and sighs  
Suit with my sex, revenge belongs to thee.  
Thou knowest the offender, go repair  
Th'▪ offence: I would not have reserved for thee  
Th' Employment, if I could revenge myself  
Without thee; and I had already seen  
The punishment of Zegry, If I would  
Have used Gomellas' service; thy arm only  
Must wash the stam of from tby brow; take all  
The revenge to thee, as th' affront's all thine:  
Seem no more until thou hast revenged  
Thy Sister, Go, seek, find and punish fully  
Her barbarous ravisher; adieu, perform  
Thy duty, and make thyself to appear  
A worthy branch of that illustrious stock  
Of Heros, from whose loins thou art descended;  
To end our common miseries and fears,  
Go thou to shed blood, I go to shed tears.—  Exit Lindarache.  

SCENE II.  ALMANSOR alone. ALMANSOR. 
OH heard extremities! oh cruel violence!  
Alas! the friend that doth oblige me, is  
The enemy that wrongs me; I owe then  
My safety unto him that robs me of  
My honour, and the man that saved the brother  
Hath ruined the Sister! in this case  
What counsel should I take? shall I become  
Ingrateful, or be infamous, shall I  
Break the bond of a holy amity?  
Shall I let forth the blood which preserved mine▪  
That blood in which love will that I have Interest?  
And to say all, the blood of my fair Mistress?  
She comes forth, and without doubt aimeth here  
Honour will that I fly, but Love restrains me:   

SCENE III.  ALMANSOR, ZAIDA, MEDINA. ZAIDA. 
HE dares not to advance, his crime intimidates him.  
We will pass by the traitor, without speaking  
A word.  ALMANSOR. 
Dear object of all my affections,  
Charm of my Spirits!  ZAIDA. 
Surely, you are mistaken.  
You would speak to some other.  ALMANSOR. 
Suffer me  
T'express my passion unto your fair eyes▪  
Love,—  ZAIDA. 
You take me without doubt for Fatima.  ALMANSOR. 
How for Fatima; this word doth acquaint me  
Confusedly with the unjust suspicion▪  
From whence this change springs: possibly you have  
Believed that I seck to please her, seeing  
The league that it between me, and her Father;  
But Heaven, and Love my conqueror, be witness,  
That your fair Image wholly doth possess  
My heart, that to remove you thence, Fatima▪  
Is altogether incapable, that I look on  
All that is lovely in her without love  
And that as sensible only of the darts  
Of your rare beauties, I confine my thoughts  
And actions to civilities for her.  ZAIDA. 
How do you look upon Fatima then  
With an indifference?— Let me see how far  
His impudence will go— aside.  ALMANSOR. 
Can you doubt of it? you that have tied all  
My senses with such sweet and pressing bonds?  
Can you suspect with any justice, Madam  
My heart of treachery, my oaths of falsehood,  
And believe that my soul hath so much blackness,  
As to betray my Mistress, my friend,  
And my Deliverer? could you imagine,  
Without being deceived, that having once  
Beheld you, one could love elsewhere? oh no:  
For me to be inflamed with a new fire  
You are too charming, and I'm too much charmed.  ZAIDA▪ 
Too much charmed, monster of perfidiousness?  
Wilt thou abuse me then after thou hast  
Betrayed me, and with an unworthy love  
Carried away, wilt thou join impudence  
To infidelity?  ALMANSOR▪ 
To infidelity,  
What say you, Zaida? this discourse confounds me.  ZAIDA. 
I see it plainly, wretch; were't thou less wicked.  
Thou wouldst be less confounded; an ingrateful  
Still blusheth at reproaches.  ALMANSOR. 
An ingrateful?  ZAIDA. 
Doth that word trouble thee? and fearest thou  
The name of an ingrateful person more  
Than foul ingratitude itself?  ALMANSOR. 
I know not  
The cause of this your anger, should I never  
So much examine me, I still should find  
My conscience innocent.  ZAIDA. 
In thy account then  
'tis nothing to deceive a maid, to wrong  
Thy friend, to fail thy faith, to love Fatima,  
Lastly  ALMANSOR, 
ay, say you?  ZAIDA. 
Yes, thee  ALMANSOR. 
Oh ● believe me,  
I love her not.  ZAIDA. 
Dar'st thou to say it yet?  
Dost thou not love her when thou dost adore her?  
Thy false equivocations cannot here  
Abuse me, I know that thou art to morrow  
To marry her.  ALMANSOR. 
To matry her! o Heaven, believe it not,  
I swear.  ZAIDA, 
No, no, forbear, I believe not  
The oaths of one that's perjured, every one,  
Knows of this marriage▪  ALMANSOR. 
Who told it you?  ZAIDA. 
A certain person.  ALMANSOR 
Whosoever it be,  
That certain person lied. Tell me his name,  
And my just anger presently shall carry him  
The reward of his false intelligence.  ZAIDA, 
Go punish then Fatima, it was she  
Herself that told it me.  ALMANSOR 
Oh give less credit,  
Adorni able Wonder, to such false discourses.  ZAIDA. 
Good God who ever saw such impudence?  ALMANSOR. 
The marriage which she hath forged, is  
A falsity; bear witness thou dread Master  
Of Heaven that this I speak is truth; but if  
I lie, let thy hand with a thunderbolt  
Strike me unto the centre of the earth:  
Let my name be forever odious,  
If the fire which I feel proceedeth not  
wholly from your fair eyes, and if my heart  
Ever conceived for Fatima any thing  
Beyond a weak esteem.  ZAIDA. 
I must sift yet:  
This brazen face more throughly. — aside.  
How wilt thou prove  
The truth of thy assertion?  ALMANSOR, 
I can produce.  
A hundred proofs to disabuse you presently.  ZAIDA. 
I'll have but one, and that too very easy;  
To put an end to the suspicions,  
Which I've conceived of thee, give me forthwith  
Both thy hand and thy faith.  ALMANSOR. 
I give it you  
With an excess of you.— but what would I,  
Give her a hand that must destroy her brother,  
And plung itself in his most noble blood?—  aside ZAIDA. 
What dost thou answer me so ill for such  
Rare bounties? dost thou murmur to thyself,  
Grow pale and study, as if thou resent'st ill  
What I propose.  ALMANSOR. 
Madam, clean contrary  
I was raped with th'unexpected honour,  
And happiness wherewith I saw me filled,  
And th'excess of my joy transported me:  
I fear through my obedience to betray you,  
To make detraction to speak against you,  
And to treat Zegry too unciviliy  
In giving without his consent my hand  
And faith; but this weak fear yields to my flame  
Duty prevails not now upon my soul,  
And cannot take from me the glorious purpose  
Of giving you my heart and hand together.  ZAIDA. 
Thou thinkest on't too late, my mind is changed,  
And ne'er shall change again, know that I feigned,  
Only to try thee, that excess of goodness,  
And thy fires for Fatima presently  
Burst forth.  ALMANSOR. 
Oh! I had never any for her!  ZAIDA. 
Thy deceit's plain enough, I'm very well  
Assured of this fatal marriage:  
When I pressed thee to pass thy faith unto me,  
I faw that thy remorses for Fatima  
Accused thee, and thy confusion  
Confirmed me in my belieft that she  
Received the faith which I demanded of thee.  ALMANSOR. 
I offer it unto you.  ZAIDA. 
No thou caused not  
Dispose of it. Thou hast already given it,  
And wilt abuse me.  ALMANSOR. 
You abuse yourself  
With too much wariness.  ZAIDA. 
Hast thou the boldness  
To reply yet? Go, go to thy Fatima,  
To morrow is your marriage day, I know it.  
She hath affections for thee, since thou hast  
Refused me.  ALMANSOR. 
Hear me, I do beseech you.  ZAIDA, 
No, no? that were too great a weakness in me:  
Know that I leave thee, ne'er too see thee more.  
A secret poison's hid in the discourse  
Of an Ingrateful person, and each word  
A traitor speaks, destroys worse than the sword.  Exit Zaida.  

SCENE IU.  ALMANSOR, alone. ALMANSOR. 
STrange success, this! How is my soul possessed  
Still with new troubles? must I suffer then  
The punishment of a fault which I have not  
Committed? when revenge doth press me to  
Destroy a friend, must I at the same time  
Destroy a Mistress too? must I lose Zaida?  
Yes my heart, I must lose her presently,  
Since in depriving her of a dear brother,  
My arm will draw her hate and anger on me:  
I should hence forth no longer be so soft,  
'tis time to think of Zegrys' death, he must  
Pay his blood to repair the honout which  
He robs me of. This Enemy so dear  
Must die, and I must sacrifice him to me;  
He comes: at his approach some tender motions  
Oppose my just resentments, and indeed  
Render them weak, my friendship combateth  
The anger that possesseth me, my tenderness  
Is less weak, and my fury is less strong.  
He saved my life, he ravished my Sister;  
Shall I go to embrace him, or to kill him?   

SCENE V.  ZEGRY, ORMIN, ALMANSOR. ZEGRY. 
AT last I've met with him that wrongeth me,  
Ormin leave us alone.  ORMIN. 
I will retire me.  
Into this thicket secretly to see  
What passeth, I doubt there will be a quarrel: — aside.  ALMANSOR. 
You appear troubled.  ZEGRY. 
I've much cause to be so.  ALMANSOR. 
What troubles you so much?  ZEGRY. 
A wretch, a Traitor,  
Whose crime gives me an infinite regret,  
And doth deserve more than a single death  
To punish it.  ALMANSOR. 
May I serve you herem?  ZEGRY. 
Yes, I can't finish my revenge without thee.  ALMANSOR. 
Zegry, you can dispose of all my blood.  ZEGRY. 
It is an offer which I can't refuse.  ALMANSOR. 
Who is th'affronter?  ZEGRY. 
Thou art extreme bold:  
Know'st thou not, traitor, that it is thyself?  ALMANSOR. 
I?  ZEGRY, 
Thou; ne'er seem to wonder at the thing.  
Only defend thyself.  ALMANSOR embracing him. ALMANSOR. 
How much am I.  
Indebted to thee for this sudden passion,  
'tis now the chief point of thy amity:  
Thy anger doth oblige me, though it wrongs me.  
I had already in my heart resolved  
The design of thy death, and justly too:  
My arm was ready for it, when inspite  
Of all my fury, at thy first approach  
My heart grew tender, and had been reduced  
To balance the fierce darts which I had levelled  
Against thee, if thy furious transport  
Had not called home my choler unto me,  
And banished my tenderness.  ZEGRY. 
I'll hear  
No more discourse, once again guard thyself  ALMANSOR. 
So fierce a fight can't but be sweet unto me  
Honour solicits me more justly to it  
Then thee, but let me know at least the cause  
That doth provoke thee; I will make it plainly  
appear that thou complainest wrongfully,  
And justify myself in Killing thee.  ZEGRY. 
How! feignst thou to be ignorant, and instead  
Of making a confession, dost thou threaten me?  
Thy base crime groweth greater by thy boldness.  ALMANSOR. 
Let me at jast know what that base crime is.  ZEGRY. 
Consult thy conscience, and thou shalt know it,  
It will instruct thee that with a false heart  
In recompense of all my kindness to thee  
Thou robbest me of my Mistress, and that  
Through treacheries which cannot be excused,  
Thou art to marry her to morrow privately.  ALMANSOR. 
If I am criminal, assure thyself,  
It is not in this point: I never did  
Look on Fatima with desires of love;  
Only thou mayst reproach my heart for having  
Sight for thy Sister without thy consent.  ZEGRY. 
How! dost thou love her?  ALMANSOR. 
No, no, it would be  
An extreme error, I say, I adore her,  
I dare not say I love her. That which I  
Resent now for her beauties doth surpass  
The thing that s called Love.  ZEGRY. 
By this confession,  
Dear friend, thou hast restored life unto me.  
My griefs and troubles now are waited on  
By an excess of pleasure; Zaida is  
Too happy, and her thoughts could never hope  
A more illustrious husband: she is free.  
The Lover unto whom I gave my word,  
Hath seen his destiny determined  
By death, and my repose shall fully be  
Settled to meet a brother in the person  
Of my most dear friend.  ALMANSOR. 
What thou offerest me  
Should be most dear unto me; but dost thou  
Know him whom thou mak'st choice of for thy brother?  ZEGRY. 
I think, I do; thy country is Tremissa,  
Thy name, Almansor, and thy family  
Is noble and illustrious; and if I  
May believe thee, thy greatest glory is  
To be my friend.  ALMANSOR. 
Thou know'st me but by half yet;  
I was born here, and born thy enemy,  
More than one just and honest motive doth  
Engage me to thy ruin; not to hold thee  
Long in suspense, I am Abencerage.  ZEGRY. 
Abencerage.  ORMIN. 
O Heaven!— aside.  ALMANSOR. 
That wotd doth tell thee.  
Our difference, and my duty.  ZEGRY. 
I aswell  
Know as thyself the mutual hatred which  
In our two houses seems almost as 'twere  
To be immortal; but thy blood which now  
Thou owest to my succour, should for me  
Stop the course of it in thy soul; and though  
My friendship seems to stagger on this point,  
I will content myself to hate thy name,  
And love thy person. Yes, pursue thy love  
Unto my Sister; by a marriage  
We may be tied with new knots, and by  
That holy flame, the irreligious heat  
Of that so old, and fatal enmity,  
Will be extinct.  ALMANSOR. 
This marriage would be sweet,  
But I can't think of it till by thy death  
I have revenged myself upon thee.  ZEGRY. 
How!  ALMANLOR. 
It is not that which thou believest provokes me,  
Thy name I hate not, but I hate thy person,  
And I cannot but in thy blood repair  
The wrong which thou hast done me.  ZEGRY. 
I?  ALMANSOR. 
Yes, Thou.  
How ill thou actest the astonished,  
Thy base crime groweth greater by thy boldness.  ZEGRY. 
Let me at last know what that base crime is.  ALMANSOR. 
Consult this letter, read, and thou shalt know it.  ZEGRY reads. 
YOu, from whom I derive my birth,  
Know that a sad fate worse than death  
Is happen'd to me; all our name  
If my loss bear an equal shame;  
The false and cruel Zegry is  
The Author of my miseries,  
For he it is that by his charms  
Hath taken me out of your arms.  
Zelinda.  ORMIN. 
Without doubt they will both mistake themselves.  ZEGRY. 
I cannot comprehend this dark Aenigma.  ALMANSOR. 
It is too plain to me here that my sister  
Zelinda giveth us to understand  
That thou art her base ravisher.  ZEGRY. 
Canst thou  
Suspect me of so foul an action?  ALMANSOR. 
Canst thou deny it, traitor? and can I  
Believe it?  ZEGRY. 
Hear me but a word or two.  ALMANSOR. 
It would be to no purpose, guard thyself,  
I'll hear no more.  ZEGRY. 
How! dares the man that ow● me  
His life, to assault mine?  ALMANSOR. 
That obligation  
Cannot divert me from my just revenge:  
Thou wroughtst my safety, and my sister's rape,  
And so much as life is less dear than honour,  
So much an affront which reflects upon it,  
Carries it in my soul upon a benefit,  
And I am less afraid to be ingrateful,  
Then to be infamous; but let us leave  
Discourse, and come to action.  ZEGRY. 
Stay, Ingrateful,  
Stay yet a little.  ORMIN. 
Help, oh help;   

SCENE VI And the last.  ADIBAR, ZAIDA, MEDINA, ALABEZ, LINDARACHE, GOMELLA, FATIMA, CHARIFA, ALMANSOR, ZEGRY, ORMIN, GASUL. ZAIDA. 
WHat noise  
Is this I hear?  LINDARACHE. 
What rumour is raised up?  ADIBER. 
Hold, hold!  LINDARACHE. 
No, no, go on,  
My son, finish thy work.  GOMELLA. 
Their quarrel, Adibar,  
Cannot be taken up, therefore let's leave it  
To be decided.  ADIBER. 
No, such a third person  
As I, shall never suffer them to fight,  
And to look on.  GOMELLA. 
Well then, defend yourself.  
We 't fight all four.  Ormin to Almansor. ORMIN. 
Oh! brother rather lift  
Your arm up against me, I'in guilty only,  
Zegry is innocent,  LINDARACHE. 
Whom do I see?  ORMIN. 
you see Zelinda your unfortunate Daughter,  
Who left your family to follow Zegry;  
And who in changing fate and habit only,  
Could not enforce her soul to the least change:  
My heart which was pleased in slavery  
By him, forgot itself in following.  
Somewhat too constantly this fleeting Lover;  
But having known him to be taken with  
Another Object▪ I feared in discovering  
Myself, to draw upon me his contempt,  
And would still suffer the same violence,  
If his own interest broke not my silence.  LINDERACHE. 
Oh, Daughter!  ALMANSOR. 
Oh! my Sister!  ZEGRY. 
Fair Zelinda,  
Revenge yourself, I mourn you, I accuse  
Myself, and yield my bosom to your stroke▪  ORMIN. 
Zegry, You need not to fear any thing  
From my resentments, if you pity me,  
I am not to be pitied.  ZEGRY. 
I blush  
That after so much goodness as you have  
Expressed to me, I have but one soul  
Too give you; and if the consent of your  
Parents and friends will be propitious to us,  
There's nothing can impede our marriage.  LINDARACHE 
This marriage is the chief of all my wishes.  ALMANSOR. 
Friend, thou canst make me happy too, thy Sister  
Dependeth on thee, thou knowst, I adore her.  ZEGRY. 
I offered her unto thee, a while since,  
And now I do again with height of joy.  ZAIDA. 
All my suspicions are extinguished,  
And you must know that following my duty,  
I follow my desires; but Adibar  
Will complain of it.  ADIBAR. 
Madam, you're deceived,  
When I lose all hope, I lose all my flame:  
And to express unto you that I do not  
Resent it, I will sacrifice my heart  
In flames of love to that fair Saint, for whom  
I burned formerly; Gomella. may I  
Hope your incomparable Daughter?  GOMELLA. 
Adibar,  
My family is honoured by your choice.  
Fatima, take your husband from my hand.  FATIMA. 
Such pleasing orders I shall willingly  
Obey.  ZEGRY. 
Come, let us go unto the Mosquè  
Together, to give thanks unto the goodness  
Of Heaven that set an end to our misfortunes,  
And made appear by this happy success,  
That one may be ingrate, yet generous.    
FINIS.   

EPILOGUE  
THe Prologue promised something for the Play  
Under a penalty, I come to pay  
What he engaged for, not to beg applause,  
But, if we have transgressed the Comic laws,  
To suffer punishment; Beauties, to you  
First I address me for the Poets due;  
He seeks but justice from your Ivory hands,  
As you like or dislike ho falls or stands:  
Smile on the piece, and no man dares to frown,  
Your vote sways both the Cavalier and Clown:  
Yours are the leading voices, in your looks  
We read our fortune better than in books;  
Y are pleased, for Heaven's displayed in smiles, so them  
I need say nothing to you,, gentlemans.   

ERRAA.  
Page the 8. last Line, for comet, read comes. Page the 13. Line the 2. for follow, read fellow. Page the 21 Line the 7. for unworthly. read unworthily. Page the 24. Line the 11th, for querched, read quenched. Page the 29. Line the 8. for trough read through. Page the 39 Line the 16. for wit read with. Page the 74 Line the 6. for she, read the.   

  

THE ENCHANTED LOVERS: A Pastoral.  
By Sir William Lower Knight.  
Amico Rosa, Inimico Spina.  
LONDON: Printed for Fr. Kirkman at the john Fletcher's Head over against the Angel-Inn on the backside of St. Clement's without Temple-Bar, 1661.   

THE ENCHANTED LOVERS: A PASTORAL By Sr. WILLIAM LOWER Knight.  
Amico Rosa, Inimco Spina.  
HAGE: Printed by ADRIAN VLACK. 1658.   

ACTORS.  
Thersander. 
A Cavalier disguised in the habit of a Shepherd in love with Diana.  Thimantes. 
Disguised also in the habit of a Shepherd in love with Ismenia.  Clidamant. 
Disguised also in the habit of a Shepherd in love with Parthenia.  Melnitus. 
A Shepherd of the Island in love with Diana.  Mercator. 
— A Merchant of Sevil.  Diana. 
A young La● disguised in the habit of a shepherdess.  Parthenia. 
Niece to the Princess, in love with Clidamant.  Ismenia. 
A young Lady disguised in the habit of a Shepherdess.  Molissa. 
The Princess of the Island, and Inchantress, in love with Thersander.  The Goddess Diana. 
   
The Scene is in the Island of Erithréa in Portugal.   

THE ENCHANTED LOVERS. A PASTORAL.  

ACTUS I.  

SCENE I.  MERCATOR, MELINTUS. MERCATOR. 
IF you have any service to command me  
At Sevil, honour me with your Commission,  
To morrow I embark, and leave the I'll,  
Until you Mart returns, and games renew.  MELINTUS. 
But first you'll kiss the fair hands of the Nymph,  
And take her passport with you?  MERCATOR. 
That's a duty  
I dare not fail in, though my interest  
Were not concerned in't. I intent this day  
To carry her my casket of my richest  
And choicest merchandise; when she hath bought  
What best pleaseth her fancy, I shall be  
Dismissed, having no more commodities  
To sell unto the Shepherds of her Court.  MELINTUS. 
Have you sold well?  MERCATOR. 
To what end should I feign?  
The trade goes well enough, I complain not:  
Rich Rubies, Pearls of price, bright Diamonds,  
Store of fair Coral, costly Ambergris,  
Portraits, and other such dainty devises,  
Have passed through my fingers at good rates:  
Diana's festival is still kept solemn;  
And as the games which fail not every year  
To be renewed, invite unto those woods  
The neighbouring Shepherds, to dispute the prizes  
Proposed on those days, I saw among them  
Some noble strangers clad in pastoral weeds  
That for the honour of this Island chose it  
Their sanctuary and repose.  MELINTUS. 
You need not  
Wonder at this, the place which they have chosen  
Denotes their judgements; here ambition  
Hath no employment; if at any time  
We sigh here, 'tis for love, no other passion  
Is seen among us; though this Island be  
A part of Portugal, we have our laws,  
And Empire to ourselves; she that rules here  
Hath not the name of Queen, we subjects are  
Our Sovereign's companions, and her virtue  
Makes us to taste so much repose, that she  
Hath put the Sheephook into the hands of  
A hundred Hero's, who wearied with Laurels,  
And the noise of the war, are here retired  
From the four corners of the World: she rules  
So sweetly, that crime only feels her anger.  
And as she is descended from the blood  
Of Zoroastres, she knows well the virtue▪  
Of Herbs, and th' influence of every star;  
She understands the secret mysteries  
Of Magic, and sometimes makes use of it  
To serve her interests; there is no Prince  
Nor Monarch that stands not in fear of her.  
And suffereth her not to reign in peace  
For his own safety.  MERCATOR. 
I know this Asyle,  
And charming residence looks not with envy  
Upon the Court o' th' King of Portugal;  
Besides I am not ignorant that the fair  
Ismenia, drawn here, by the sweet report,  
Of these enchanting pleasures, to enjoy them  
In quiet, left the favour of her Queen;  
And that this beauty by a sudden change,  
Adds 〈…〉 lustre to this Paradise.  MELINTUS. 
See where she comes, Diana too with her,  
I must in private speak unto this fair one▪  
An interest of love obligeth me  
Continually to make her my devotions.  MERCATOR. 
Go Sir, and prosper, may your Saint prove sweet  
And gentle as those South-gales I expect  
In my embarkment.— Exit Mercator.   

SCENA II.  DIANA, MELINTUS, ISMENIA DIANA not seeing MELINTUS. DIANA. 
TRue, I hate that horrid noise;  
Now my free thought released from such a trouble,  
Enjoys itself.  MELINTUS to DIANA. 
So soon to quit the sports,  
What was your fancy?  DIANA. 
To avoid discourse  
That troubled me, and here I meet with new.  MELINTUS. 
Can such a subject as brings homage to you,  
Produce th'effect you speak?  DIANA. 
What doth not please me,  
Both troubles and offends me.  MELINTUS. 
You will one day  
Quit those disdainful rigours?  DIANA 
Yes, when you  
Have neither hope, nor love.  MELINTUS. 
D'ye entertain  
Every one thus that loves you?  DIANA. 
If he be such  
As you, I use him just in the same manner.  MELINTUS. 
Surely the Shepherd Clidamant speeds better.  DIANA. 
'Tis then assuredly because he doth not  
Resemble you.  MELINTUS. 
He entertained discourse.  
With you in gentle whispers at the Sports.  DIANA. 
I do confess it,  
We talked of you, and of your little skill.  MELINTUS. 
Your subject was more serious, without doubt.  DIANA. 
What e'er it was, yours, I am sure, offends me.  
Remove this hated object from mine eyes;  
Your presence will at last provoke my anger.  MELINTUS. 
Can one displease you, speaking of your Loves?  
Thou Husband'st for him that so sweet discourse.  ISMENIA. 
Every one knows that who but speaks Melintus,  
Speaks jealous.  MELINTUS. 
It is no secret what men think of thee;  
Every one knows, that who speaks but Ismenia,  
Speaks cocket.  ISMENIA. 
Really thou hast much reason  
To be afflicted at that late discourse,  
Clidamant merits much, and I'll oblige him.  DIANA. 
Leave us.  MELINTUS. 
He doth expect you, and I trouble you;  
But we'll find out a way to cross his fortune.  Exit Melintus. DIANA to ISMENIA 
He thinks that Clidaemant enjoys my love.  ISMENIA. 
Thou hast no reason, Shepherdess, to draw him  
Out of his error: in the mean time wilt thou  
Not yield thee to the faithful services,  
The prayers and tears of the devout Thersander?  
Wilt thou not love him yet? he that encouraged  
By thy fair presence, only to please thee,  
Hath gained so many prizes, who to give  
Thy anger no pretence, though he loves much,  
Can more be silent, since the ardent flame  
Wherewith he burns for thee, is only known,  
To me, unto Thimantes, and thyself.  DIANA. 
Ne'er speak unto me of it.  ISMENIA. 
What! still cruel?  
But harken, I will give thee an advice  
Shall touch thee; whilst we may, we should lay hold of  
The flying time; he only maketh beauties,  
And he destroys them; in the lovely season  
That thine lasts, use the gifts which nature gives thee;  
Thou wilt one day lose this fair lustre which  
So charmeth hearts, and be an object of  
Contempt, as now thou art of adoration.  DIANA. 
Rather that love, whose Orator thou art,  
Yet knowst his use so little, doth times office;  
'Tis he that withereth a face; the cares,  
The troubles and the griefs, which by his means  
Possess a heart, deface the lovely features,  
And mow the flowers, he is like time the Tyrant  
Of all things; he in a few days dries up  
Our Roses, and our Lilies.  ISMENIA. 
Shepherdess,  
Such fear hath small foundation, quit this thought  
For thy own interest; when love is once  
Lodged in the heart, the eye hath then more light  
The face receiveth thence its full perfection;  
Then we esteem us, than we please ourselves,  
And know our utmost value, we correct  
By art even to the least defect, we call  
Our Glass to counsel in the ordering  
Our gate, our carriage, and our countenance;  
There our eye cheers with smiles, or kills with frowns,  
Or faintly darts its glances, or with strength,  
Either to wound near hand, or further of;  
Therefore once more for thy own interest,  
I say unto thee, love, at least a little,  
Thersander that adores thee.  DIANA. 
Really,  
Thou dost surprise me, to speak thus unto me,  
Thou that hast never yet had love, nor thought  
Tending to that sick passion, thou that mak'st  
So many Lovers only for thy glory,  
Without remembering one of them, thou that  
Pleasest thyself by turns in their discourse,  
Thou that wilt gain all, & conserve thee nothing.  
Thou sufferest Thimantes to adore thee  
To day; but tell me wilt thou entertain  
His love to morrow?  ISMENIA. 
I love, but I have always had my method  
In love, the Lover that is troublesome  
Unto me, is my Lover for a day;  
I burn not yet for love, nor do I sigh for't:  
I make a sport on't still, but ne'er a torment;  
In thrusting no one of, I'm every day  
Attended by a multitude of servants  
That present courtship to me, and all strive  
Who shall be foremost, on whom I command  
And reign as Princess; they suppose they please me  
In putting up my praises; when I go  
Unto the Temple, they fail not to follow,  
And carefully to tread in all my steps.  
I am not pleased to see in such brave Shepherds  
A troop of slaves attending on my train;  
I please them all in flattering their desires:  
I'm much delighted, when I make them jealous,  
Provided that their jealousy extend not  
So far as, to betake themselves to arms  
For th' honour of my beauty●; this high point  
Of evidences might, perhaps, enrage  
Even all my other lovers.  DIANA. 
Ha! how ill  
Thou knowst love, and his maxims, I behold  
Thy changes as so many crimes; for my part,  
If my heart were ta'en with an object once,  
I could not pass from love unto contempt;  
I should be fixed unto my first Idea,  
And that God wholly should possess my thoughts.  ISMENIA. 
Well then, Diana, love, if thou think'st fit,  
Beyond the grave, and make so fair a fire  
Arise beneath thy ashes.  DIANA. 
Oh, alas!  ISMENIA. 
What signify those sighs?  DIANA. 
They signify  
The sorrow of the heart.  ISMENIA. 
But whence proceeds  
That sorrow? is it from thy brother's death,  
Or from some lovers? come, deal plainly with me,  
Dost thou not love Thersander yet at last?  DIANA. 
No, I assure thee.  ISMENIA. 
Speak, I'm very secret.  DIANA. 
I'll tell thee then, in Sevil I received  
Both life and love, Cleagenor, Ismenia,  
Is the name of the Conqueror, whose image  
Is graven in my heart.  ISMENIA. 
O Gods! how this discourse  
Hath cozened my thought, I was about  
To give instructions;— but pursue.  DIANA. 
Our parents  
Approved our love, and the day for our marriage  
Already was appointed, when Nearehus,  
Provoked by an infamous desire,  
Came to solicit me unlawfully  
In favour of his flame; this favourite  
Unto the King after a passion painted,  
And coloured with sighs, called his presents  
To the assistance of his faith; but this  
Proving effectless, he resolved my ruin;  
He came with open force to satisfy  
His beastly and unruly appetite;  
And to that end would carry me away.  
My Mother having notice at that instant  
Of his design, made me to take a drink,  
To frustrate it, and then, her subt'le policy  
Spread through the Town the rumour of my death:  
Indeed the virtue of this drink procured me  
So long a sleep, that it appeared to be  
The sleep of death; Nearchus terrified  
With this sad news, came to behold it painted  
Upon my face; remorse of conscience  
Within his heart then, quarrelled with his love:  
His sad despair armed him to kill himself:  
But whilst his soul was troubled herewith,  
I was conveyed secretly into  
A Bark; scarce had I yet finished my sleep,  
But at my first waking I saw myself  
Upon the Sea. My Mother then related  
The whole adventure to me, and the secret  
Imposture of my feigned death, when suddenly  
A storm broke the discourse, horror and death  
Marched on the floods: alas, what shall I say?  
Our vessel being carried by the fury  
O'th' winds and waves, was split upon a rock,  
The several pieces floated on the waters;  
I know not which o'th' God's took care of me  
In putting one under my trembling hand,  
Which making me pass on those moving graves  
Through the disturbed empire of the winds,  
Carried me to the shore in all appearance  
Devoid of life; here in this quiet Island  
Of Erithrea where Melissa reigns  
My body found a receptacle; she  
Returning at that instant from the chase,  
Perceived it lying, which th'enraged Sea  
Yet threatened on its banks, and that same God  
Which would complete his miracle, inclined  
Her heart to pity at this spectacle:  
She caused me to be carried to her Court:  
It is unto her succour that I owe  
The remnant of my days: here I first changed  
My name, the better to assure my flight,  
And so to disappoint Nearchus' pursuit.  ISMENIA. 
How Shepherdess, is not thy Name Diana?  DIANA. 
No, Celia was my true and only name;  
But for my safety I made to Melissa  
A feigned relation of the miseries  
Of my sad life; since she received me  
Into her palace, where I live with her,  
And am now of her Court. Seven times the Sun  
Hath finished his Carrier, since I have seen,  
Or heard news of my mother.  ISMENIA. 
Was Cleagenor  
Informed of all this?  DIANA. 
Oh, alas! this is  
One of the points that causeth my affliction:  
Cleagenor surprised by the same  
Imposture, came to see me in my bed,  
As in my grave: I wonder that the noise  
Of his redoubled cries broke not my sleep:  
The heat to revenge me dried all his tears:  
He found his rival, and assaulted him;  
They fought on equal terms; Nearchus fell  
Under his arms for dead; Cleagenor  
Was forced to fly t'avoid the fury of  
Th'offended King: his sudden flight gave not  
My Mother opportunity t'inform him  
(As she intended) with the fiction  
Of my pretended death: since his departure  
'Tis now seven years complete, in all which time  
I've heard no news of him; so that I know not  
Whether I mourn the living, or the dead;  
In the mean time to weep my fate more freely,  
And to conceal my miserable fortune,  
I feigned a Brother's death.  ISMENIA. 
I'm sensible  
Of thy misfortune, and will bear a part  
In thy sad grief, if that will make it less;  
I no more now condemn thy sighs, nor tears;  
But yet at last preserve thy beauty from  
Those murdering sorrows; in this doubtful case  
Fix thy fair thoughts upon some other object;  
If death hath seized thy Servant, sure thou losest  
Too many tears and sighs; or grant he live,  
Is't probable that he will keep his constancy  
For thee whom he thinks dead? but here's my Lover.   

SCENA III.  THIMANTES, DIANA, ISMENIA. ISMENIA to THIMANTES. 
WHat business brings thee hither?  THIMANTES. 
Here I come  
A little to divert my thought.  DIANA. 
What thought?  THIMANTES. 
'Tis a disease which doth assault my sense.  ISMENIA. 
What ist, without more circumstance?  THIMANTES. 
My plaint  
Without words would express it; at the sports  
Too many Shepherds had unto my grief  
Too long thy free ear, and perhaps, thy heart;  
A World of people pressed round about thee:  
The Shepherd Dorilas, me thought, discoursed  
Too long with thee, I saw so many others  
Prostrated at thy foot—  ISMENIA. 
Without more words  
Thimantes is become a jealous fool.  
Since thou wilt love me, learn to know me well:  
Thimantes I am free, and will no Master;  
I'll ne'er depend on any but myself.  
Tell me, I pray thee, did I ever promise  
To speak to none but thee? dost thou imagine  
So vainly, that thou art the only Lover  
That serves me? have not I yet some which ought  
To be conserved? and amongst all the Shepherds,  
Whose faith I have received, if I should open  
My mouth and eyes on none of them but thee,  
And that one of those days thy mind should change;  
And mine change too, (as all this well may happen)  
Would all the others, jealous of this kindness  
Expressed to thee thus in particular,  
Be still my Lovers, though I had lost thee?  
And if my liberty were not exposed  
For all, which of them would commiserate  
My fortune in thy loss; I think upon  
Th'event of things, which thou canst not assure:  
At least if one quits me, another takes me:  
Consider if this humour pleaseth thee,  
If thou canst serve me all thy life time thus,  
And not be jealous; if thou canst, hope one day  
Both mouth and hand, and happily the heart  
May flatter thy affection.  THIMANTES. 
This way  
Seems very strange unto me, but almost  
Every fair evening some appointed place  
Of meeting seems t'assure me of thy love  
Sufficiently, and not to flatter me  
With frivolous hope.  ISMENIA. 
Yet hitherto it is  
But airy words.  THIMANTES, 
I hope all things from time  
In waiting for that day, our names engraven  
In every place, will speak my love, Ismenia,  
I promise—  ISMENIA. 
But no more, here comes Thersander;  
That Shepherd, whose inflamed heart thine eyes  
Hath rendered ashes—  DIANA. 
Well Ismenia,  
I leave you.  ISMENIA. 
This is too much rigour, trust me,  
At least afford the face, if thou deniest  
The heart.   

SCENA IV.  THERSANDER, DIANA, THIMANTES, ISMENIA. THERSANDER to DIANA. 
OH stay, dear object stay, thou that art cause  
Of all my torments, I have but one word  
To say before I die, the Nymph hath crowned  
My valour with these prizes, here I come  
To lay them at thy feet, with them my heart:  
If thou wilt triumph on this festival day,  
Suffer at least thy conquest in thy sight,  
That's all th' ambition of this captive heart.  DIANA. 
Captive to me? if so, make it change Master,  
I freely do release it; break its chain  
Thyself, if thy design be not to have me  
Free it with my own hand.  THERSANDER. 
Alas! it is not  
Its liberty that I desire.  DIANA▪ 
Then let it  
Live still a slave, and sigh.  THERSANDER. 
How, Shepherdess!  
Refuse a heart, this precious present which  
Is always worth a Temple, and the Gods!  
Think well upon it, it becomes thy justice  
Not to despise this noble sacrifice,  
Since I give but the same victim and incense  
Unto the powers above; in my opinion  
Our Goddess in the Temple is less fair,  
And thou dost bear the bright name of Diana,  
As well as she.  DIANA. 
Since this rich present is  
Of such high value, as 'tis worthy of  
A Temple and the Gods, I believe, Shepherd,  
That it becomes my justice not t'accept  
This noble sacrifice, and I should wrong  
Our puissant Gods in daring to partake  
Their glory, and to share their incense with them,  
My name's Diana, to thy eyes I'm fair;  
But I am not a Goddess like to her.  THERSANDER. 
Although thou hast no Temple, nor no Altars,  
Thou mak'st thyself adored; 'tis to day  
Thy festival which I have celebrated:  
I have no other worship, nor no other  
Diana, the fire of my love is not  
A profane fire, and if some spark thereof  
Warm not thy breast a little, I must suffer  
The violent heat on't.  DIANA. 
Rather I advise thee,  
Quench it with my contempts, this remedy  
Will cure thee, that thou shalt complain no more.  THERSANDER. 
Good Gods! what remedy is this which thou  
Offerest me here? I must die, Shepherdess,  
If thou cur'st so; flatter at least, I pray thee,  
With one sole word the love which thou hast raised;  
If I'm, not happy, make me think I am so.  
Alas! I cannot hear a single syllable  
To succour me; if thus thou curest, Shepherdess,  
I must die, there is no prevention for't.  ISMENIA. 
Why carriest thou a heart still so rebellious  
To love?  THIMANTES, 
Why dost thou persecute with scorn  
This faithful Shepherd?  DIANA. 
It is best be gone.  THERSANDER. 
Yet thrust of thy disdain, if thou wilt spare  
My hand, my death, finish the forming of  
The sword that kills me, one word more of hate,  
And I die presently before thine eyes;  
Speak, answer me.  ISMENIA. 
No more, here comes the Nymph.  DIANA. 
Happy arrival, which hath freed me from  
So great a trouble!  THERSANDER. 
Well for my part then,  
I'll try the temper of the marble rocks;  
My plaints may pierce them, though they could not move  
A Virgin's heart to pity, much less love.   

SCENA V.  MELISSA, PARTHENIA, DIANA, ISMENIA, THIMANTES, CLIDAMANT, MELINTUS. MELISSA. 
SInce a full year and more that I have governed  
This happy Island in the right and lawful  
Line and succession of my Ancestors  
By the death of my Sister, and since first  
Diana's feasts were celebrated here,  
Never so many Laurels crowned your heads,  
Nor ever any day ordained for pastime  
Hath entertained mine eyes with such delight.  
Every one striving to bear hence the prize  
Proposed to his contention, showed his skill,  
Both at the Course and Lute; how handsomely  
Thersander did behave him at these exercises!  
With what a grace he acted every thing!  
How charming was his port! and if I may  
Say what I think of him, he must be sprung  
Either from Kings or Gods: how happy is  
Thimantes in his friendship!  THIMANTES. 
This happiness which I enjoys not new,  
It hath a longer date then from to day:  
His name is precious to me; 't was my fortune  
To have the benefit of his acquaintance  
At my last voyage, I saw his arrival  
From his own native country at the Court  
O' th' King of Portugal; the sympathy  
Of humours which one man hath with another  
Tied us together in so firm a friendship  
That having met him sad and full of thought,  
I prevailed with him as to bring him here,  
In hope that in this quiet region where  
Melissa reigns, he should lose all his grief.  MELISSA. 
Indeed although that prosperous Shepherd hath  
Received all the prizes from my hand  
Wherewith he's crowned, I find him notwithstanding  
Still melancholy may not this be in him  
Some sad effect of love, blessed Shepherdess,  
Who e'er thou art! thrice happy is thy fortune,  
In which this noble stranger bound his choice!  
He is so far above the common merit,  
That a Nymph should not much abase herself  
In loving him.  CLIDAMANT. 
Indeed he merits much,  
And we esteem him all, we love his virtues,  
Without being jealous of them.  PARTHENIA. 
Clidamant  
Comes nothing short of him in my opinion.  ISMENIA. 
Thimantes too will go as far as he.  DIANA. 
Another time, Melintus without doubt  
Will perform better.  MELINTUS. 
Yes, when you shall turn  
Your eyes on that side.  MELISSA. 
Shepherds, once again  
Prepare, I pray you, for the Nuptials  
Of Thirsis with Parthenia; Niece, that Shepherd  
Is worthy of you, and you are not ignorant  
That I intent, as soon as he returns,  
To make him (as I hope) your happy husband.  PARTHENIA. aside 
Yes, if my heart can suffer violence.  MELISSA. 
In the mean time, let's go unto the Temple,  
Our thanks and our devotions to pay  
Unto the Gods on this so glorious day.   
The end of the first Act.   

ACTUS II.  

SCENA I.  ISMENIA, THERSANDER, THIMANTES. ISMENIA. 
'TIs true, Thersander, I have done for thee  
as much as possibly I could, I made  
Thy sighs, thy constancy, thy faith appear  
For to persuade her, but I lost my labour,  
Diana is insensible, her heart,  
Which loves sweet applications cannot touch,  
Among so many rocks, is become rock.  THERSANDER. 
What shall I do, Thimantes? what a rude  
And rigorous fortune steers my destiny?  THIMANTES. 
Quit that ingrateful, and come forth of slavery.  THERSANDER. 
How shall I come forth? I'm born miserable  
Under the frowning, and the fatal aspect  
Of an ungentle Star, which in despite  
Of all my studies to defend me from it;  
Pursues Cleagenor under the name  
Of poor Thersander.  ISMENIA. Softly. 
What is that I hear!  
Good Gods!  THIMANTES. 
Thersander, what hast thou discovered?  
Hath thy own mouth betrayed thus thy secret?  
See into what great danger thy imprudence  
Puts thee at present; fearest thou no more,  
Nearchus, and his power?  THERSANDER. 
No, I fear nothing  
After this sentence, but seek death, for since  
It is resolved by fate that I must die,  
What matter is it, by what arm it be,  
Whether Nearchus, or Diana kill me.  ISMENIA. 
Oh Gods! how happy is he?— softly.  
Hath not she  
For whom thou diest had some intelligence  
That thy heart loves elsewhere? if it be so,  
And that thy inconstancy procures thy torment,  
Thou wrongfully accusest her of cruelty.  THERSANDER. 
Quite contrary, this love wherewith thou seest  
My heart disturbed, is a sure testimony  
Of my fidelity: 'tis true, alas!  
I sometime loved an object of such beauty,  
That the Gods never framed so fair a piece:  
The Roses and the Lilies formed the colour  
Which died her cheeks, and in her sparkling eyes  
The Sun was painted; to express unto thee  
Yet better her divine perfections,  
Diana is her Portrait to the life  
Celia is seen in her; she like Diana  
Had a Magestick carriage, she had  
A mouth, and eyes like her, she had an air,  
Fierce too like hers, but amiable; lastly  
In every thing she seemed Diana's self:  
My heart is constant therefore as before,  
Since still I love her in her living Portrait.  
I thought at first then, that her death was false,  
And that Diana was that lovely object;  
But when I saw Diana entertain  
With such contempt the fervent love wherewith  
My heart was taken, when I saw her rigours,  
And infinite hatred, I perceived my error,  
And said this is not Celia; so that  
I saw well by her cruelties indeed  
That I pursued her picture, and had passion  
But for a Portrait.  ISMENIA. 
What! is Celia dead then?  THERSANDER. 
Alas! that's my affliction, I saw her  
Stretched out upon her deathbed dead, Ismenia;  
And more dead yet then she, I saw those places  
Shine with a certain rest of brightness which  
Her eyes had darted: presently on this  
I had a Combat with Nearchus for  
This charming Beauty; that proud favourite  
Unto the King by infamous desires,  
Formed him an object to his filthy pleasures,  
This outrage was intended to her sweetness:  
We fought on this occasion, it was  
My fortune to disarm him; but the death  
Of Celia, and the anger of the King,  
(To save me from the rigour of the Law)  
Enforced me to a flight, and made me wander  
Seven year from Province unto Province: lastly  
Wearied to see the Court of every Prince,  
I thought to free me of all dangers here  
Under the feigned name of Thersander, and  
The habit of a Shepherd: to disguise me  
Yet better, the afflictions of my heart  
Have changed my Visage.  ISMENIA. 
Hast thou nothing with thee  
That formerly was Celia's?  THERSANDER. 
Yes, one day  
I received from her hand this precious pledge  
Of her unfeigned love, behold this Portrait,  
And judge, I pray thee, if I love Diana,  
Or Celia.  ISMENIA. 
Let me have this Portrait; with it  
I'll cure thy evil, Diana seeing it  
Will become gentle, I'll go show it her.  THERSANDER. 
What wilt thou do, Ismenia? but I see  
Diana: O Gods! end my misery.   

SCENA II.  DIANA, THERSANDER, ISMENIA, THIMANTES. DIANA. 
I Sought thee every where.— to Ismenia.  THERSANDER. 
You will oblige me,— to Ismenia.  
Ismenia, to restore my Portrait to me.  ISMENIA 
Troublesome Shepherd!  
I have much to say— to Diana  
To thee in private, therefore let us enter▪  
Into this Wood— Exit Ismenia and Diana.  THERSANDER. 
Show her that Portrait! oh my martyrdom!  
Traitorous Ismenia, is this that faith  
For which Thimantes always answered  
To me for thee? yes it is by thy counsels,  
Thimantes, only that my seduced soul  
Left her the conduct of my faithful love:  
Nothing from thee or me can work upon her,  
She jeers at all; but let us find her out.  Exit Thersander and Thimantes. Ismenia returns with Diana. ISMENIA. 
I see w' are private here, we may speak freely.  
A Mistress yet at last sighs for Thersander,  
And one too in this Island far less cruel  
Than thee; accept his service, and embrace  
His faith: this portrait which thou seest here,  
He received from her as a faithful witness  
Of their reciprocal and mutual fires.  DIANA. 
What do I see?  ISMENIA. 
That portrait (as I take it)  
Whereof Thersander is so proud.  DIANA. 
I gave  
Such a one to Cleagenor; Ismenia,  
Who gave it thee?  ISMENIA. 
Cleagenor himself.  DIANA. 
O Gods! what sayest thou to me? thou art in  
An extreme error.  ISMENIA. 
I tell thee again▪  
Cleagenor himself gave it to me.  DIANA. 
This discourse holds no credit.  ISMENIA. 
Every day  
Almost I see him, and thou seest him also  
As well as I.  DIANA. 
I comprehend not these obscurities.  ISMENIA. 
He loves thee, and thou fliest him.  DIANA. 
I fly  
None but Thersander.  ISMENIA. 
Well, henceforth accuse  
None but thyself of these disasters, 'tis  
The same Cleagenor that loveth thee,  
And whom thou fli'st.  DIANA. 
Cleagenor! Ismenia;  
That cannot be, is 't possible that I  
Should have been two months without knowing him,  
For so long 'tis since he arrived among us.  ISMENIA. 
Thy grief hoodwinked thine eyes, thou couldst not see him.  
Think'st thou that since those seven years thou hast lived  
Upon those fair banks; time that changeth all things,  
Hath not yet changed a face? there comes Thersander;  
Take a full survey of him, whilst I hold him  
In some discourse; make show as if thou'dst enter  
Into that Wood, and have a care thou do not  
Discover thee till I have ordered  
Thy meeting with him.  DIANA. 
Happy pledge of love! Entering into the Wood   

SCENA III.  THERSANDER, THIMANTES, ISMENIA, DIANA. THERSANDER to THIMANTES. 
THou seest what she hath done; unto Diana  
She ' as given the Portrait.  THIMANTES. 
See she enters there  
Into that Wood  ISMENIA. 
A word with thee Thersander,  THERSANDER. 
Perfidious, finish here thy crime, and be  
My murderer; strike, strike this heart, I pray thee,  
That hopes no more; but by what interest  
Hast thou betrayed me?  ISMENIA. 
Why complainest thou?  THERSANDER. 
O gross dissimulation! dar'st thou yet  
To ask what is my plaint?  DIANA. 
He hath his gate. Softly, looking on him, where she was hidden.  ISMENIA. 
Thy heat hears nothing, give me leave to speak.  THERSANDER. 
Yes, to feign more, and to lie at thy pleasure,  
Am I obliged still to thee for my life?  ISMENIA. 
How soon love doth degenerate into folly?  THIMANTES. 
Thersander, hear her.  THERSANDER. 
What is 't she can say?  ISMENIA. 
Since th'u'rt so obstinate, let thy love go  
Which way it will, I'll have no more to do in't.  THERSANDER. 
Speak then, what wilt thou?  ISMENIA. 
I have nought to say now.  THIMANTES. 
Thou wouldst speak to him.  ISMENIA. 
'Twas to laugh a little.  THIMANTES. 
I pray thee, speak unto him.  THERSANDER. 
I conjure thee,  
Ismenia, in the name of all the Gods,  
Jeer not my Passion.  ISMENIA. 
It is now my turn  
To be perverse.  THERSANDER. 
I hear thee, speak, what sayst thou?  ISMENIA. 
Since thou wilt have it, know then that a Rival  
Hath caused thy grief and torments.  THERSANDER. 
How, a Rival!  
At that Word I'm all fire, a Rival!  ISMENIA 
Yes,  
A Rival, good Thersander, but a loved one.  THERSANDER. 
What! loved of Diana?  ISMENIA. 
Yes of her,  
And more too, of thyself.  THERSANDER. 
That's very strange;  
How should I choose but bear a mortal hatred  
To him my Mistress loves; who e'er he be,  
I must revenged die.  DIANA Softly. 
If this should be  
Cleagenor, O Gods! how is he changed?  THERSANDER. 
Where is that Rival?  ISMENIA. 
With thee, Thersander;  
Thou wouldst defend him, if occasion were,  
At the expense of all thy blood; believe me,  
Thou never leavest him.  THERSANDER. 
Without dissembling,— to Thimantes  
Tell me Thimantes, art not thou that Rival,  
She means? I think thou art my friend, deal plainly  
And freely with me, art not thou that cruel,  
That false and traitorous Rival?  THIMANTES. 
Answer him,  
Ismenia.  THERSANDER. 
Well, what wilt thou say at last?  ISMENIA. 
Thersander hath for Rival in his love.—  THERSANDER. 
Speak, whom?  ISMENIA. 
Cleagenor,  THERSANDER. 
Cleagenor!  
Ismenia, ha! my joy, sure, is extreme;  
True, I confess, I love this Rival equal  
Unto myself, and if he may be loved  
Of th' object whom I serve, I will adore  
My chains without condemning her of rigour.  ISMENIA. 
Thou hast lost nothing by this bout, thy fortune  
May create envy, fair Diana hath  
Yielded to Celia's portrait.  DIANA. Softly, 
Who, to see  
Those decayed features, could have known that face?  
But my love hath at last drawn them afresh  
Within my memory; I must draw near him,  
And yield to my impatience.  THERSANDER, to ISMENIA. 
Pardon me,  
I can't believe thee; but here comes Diana;  
See if her eyes ha' ned the same cruelty,  
Always the same pride, and the same disdain.  DIANA. 
Ismenia, I am come to tell thee something,  ISMENIA. 
Me Celia?  THERSANDER. 
How, Celia?  ISMENIA. 
Yes, Celia.  THERSANDER. 
Alas! I'm in an error; 'tis her eyes▪  
Her gate, her countenance, but not her heart.  ISMENIA. 
'Tis she, Thersander, whom thou dost behold,  
It is her very self.  THERSANDER. 
How! is't a custom  
To call forth from the bosom of the Grave  
Departed souls? and by what privilege  
Hath that God, who at the eternal sleep  
Presides, ordained her waking?  DIANA, to THERSANDER. 
Though thy faith  
Finds this point strange, is not love strong enough  
To make thee to believe a Miracle?  
Cleagenor sees me, and knows me not:  
How comes it, is my Portrait false? have I  
No more attractions? see if't be thy Celia,  
At least if't be not she; it is no more  
That beauty which was late so cruel to thee;  
Cleagenor!  THERSANDER. 
My Celia▪  DIANA. 
Is it possible,  
O Gods! that I should see again what I  
Best love i'th' World?  THERSANDER. 
Is it you that I see?  ISMENIA. 
Take heed, be moderate, one may die with joy.  THIMANTES. 
Ismenia, follow this example here;  
Grant only at this instant but a kiss  
To my impatience, see at last Diana  
Ceaseth to be unkind.  ISMENIA. 
What! doth the object rouse thee, and th' example  
Provoke thy spirits? thou wilt have but one kiss?  THIMANTES. 
I will be satisfied.  ISMENIA. 
Give me then  
Some verses, or at least a nosegay of  
The choicest flowers.  THIMANTES. 
Ismenia, I'll not fail  
To bring them thee.  ISMENIA. 
Then trouble not thyself,  
The kiss is thine.  THIMANTES. 
Wilt thou withhold from me  
So long what is my due?  ISMENIA, 
It will be better  
When it is much expected, and longed for.  THERSANDER. 
Behold my whole adventure in few words.  DIANA. 
I've made thee too a full description  
Of my misfortunes; thou seest how I feigned  
(To give my grief full vent) a Brother's death  
In weeping of my lovers.  THERSANDER. 
What felicity  
Do I enjoy now?  THIMANTES. 
Use your utmost skill  
To make it lasting to you, and beware of  
The fickleness of fortune, and her wrongs.  THERSANDER. 
What! have we yet any thing more to fear?  
Is not that blind inconstant Goddess weary  
Of persecuting us?  THIMANTES. 
Love is a child,  
He must be governed well, Diana's beauty  
Hath gained her lovers, they may hurt, Thersander;  
Melintus hath a subtle wit, and we  
Both know he loves Diana, and besides  
Is jealous of her; fear some foul play from him,  
If thou appear his Rival; he disposeth  
The spirit of Melissa at his pleasure;  
When he shall see you serve as obstacle  
Unto his love, he will take speedy order  
For your removal.  THERSANDER. 
But to hinder him  
To hurt me, I conceive Diana hath  
No less power on the spirit of the Nymph.  THIMANTES, 
But if the Nymph loves thee, as I observed  
Her heart expressed some such matter lately,  
When at her last return home from the Games,  
Her free confession to us all, declared  
How much she did esteem thee, but at last  
With such an esteem that love followed  
Close at the heels in plain terms, and indeed  
Spoken by her of purpose, if she loves thee,  
I say (as I'm confirmed in that thought)  
How wilt thou steer thy course?  ISMENIA. 
'Tis very true,  
Her discourse comes into my memory.  THERSANDER. 
O Gods! what's this you utter?  DIANA. 
For my part  
I begin to believe it, and remember  
The passage too, I fear all things from thence:  
This is the only mischief we should shun.  ISMENIA. 
What can she not do against your interests,  
When your refuse shall come to arm her anger  
Against you? Know that with a single word,  
I'th' twinkling of an eye too, she can calm  
The floods and make a mutiny amongst them,  
Call forth corrupted bodies from their graves,  
Make their cold ashes speak, and their pale ghosts  
To walk; these were the secrets, Zoroastres  
Taught, whilst he reigned, to his posterity;  
She is descended from him; and to give  
Herself content, will make use of her art  
To serve her passion.  THERSANDER. 
I know that her skill  
Extends to Magic. Yes I fear her love  
With so much power, and yield unto thy counsel  
Advise us what to do.  THIMANTES. 
Disguise yourselves  
Under the names of Brother, and of Sister,  
In the mean time we'll spread abroad the rumour  
Of this event that every one shall hear it  
Within the Island.  THEERSANDER. 
I approve this project.  DIANA. 
My life lies on it.  ISMENIA. 
I go to begin  
To lie unto Parthenia.   

SCENA IV.  PARTHENIA, ISMENIA, DIANA, THERSANDER, THIMANTES. PARTHENIA. 
ISmenia,  
I would speak one word with thee but a moment.  ISMENIA. 
Immediately when you have born a part  
In the contentment of this pair; Diana  
Hath for the future no more cause to weep  
Heaven hath been pleased that she hath found her brother,  
It is this happy Shepherd, they acknowledge  
Each other.  PARTHENIA. 
This event, I must confess  
Confounds my spirit; Thersander found her brother?  DIANA. 
Yes Nymph, it is the same,  
For whom my grief was hitherto extreme.  
The Gods at length have heard my prayers and sighs.  THERSANDER. 
Yes, Madam they have granted our desires.  PARTHENIA. 
J'm very glad on't, and my soul is ravished  
With this good fortune of our friends, which makes  
Our lives content, Diana will oblige me  
If she please at her leisure to inform me  
with the discovery; but acquaint the Nymph  
Therewith, and to that purpose go to see her.  THERSANDER. 
We owe that duty to our Sovereign.  Exeunt there's and Diana. PARTHENIA. 
In the mean time Ismenia and myself  
May entertain each other in discourse,  
Thimantes, I believe, will not be jealous.  THIMANTES. 
Let not a third come, Madam, and I fear  
Nothing from you.— Exit Thimantes.  PARTHENIA. 
Ismenia, I know not,  
If I may safely tell a secret to thee,  
Alas!  ISMENIA. 
I know it well, since the heart sighs;  
When one would say I love, and dares not speak it▪  
The heart at the named point gives an Alas.  
Have not I well divined?  PARTHENIA. 
Ismenia,  
I do confess it, see too, if thou canst  
Divine the object that procures my grief  
Let me not speak him, spare my cheeks those blushes.  ISMENIA. 
I cannot, a sigh carries not so far;  
You love; but what more, is beyond my skill  
To understand, unless yourself unfold  
That sigh unto me by its cause.  PARTHENIA. 
'Tis true  
I love.  ISMENIA. 
But whom?  PARTHENIA. 
'Tis—  ISMENIA. 
Outwithed.  PARTHENIA. 
Clidamant.  ISMENIA, 
Behold a handsome way to name a Lover;  
Ha! how you fear your lips should touch upon it!  
One must draw 't word by word out of your mouth;  
You have then but one lover; really  
'Tis well as't happens; had you lists of them  
As I have, which I name, and reckon over  
Every hour of the day, your bashfulness  
Would well become you; love is a fair fruit,  
But than it must be gathered, modesty  
Leaves it to fall and wither, but I pray you  
What will Melissa say to't, who intends  
To match her Niece to Thirsis?  PARTHENIA. 
Oh! I hate  
That Thirsis, and shall be even in despair,  
If the Nymph force me to observe my duty  
In that particular; yet I would keep it  
Without disturbance, if the love I bear  
To Clidamant should not return me his;  
For to speak truly I am violent  
Where honour doth engage me, therefore would I  
Have his heart to be sounded, and as I  
Find it disposed, I should pursue my love,  
Or quench my flame.  ISMENIA. 
Speak unto him yourself,  
Nothing's more easy.  PARTHENIA. 
But, Ismenia,  
Thou hast a wit would help me; if I should  
Speak to him, he hath little understanding  
If he should not know that I first was taken▪  
And I should sin against the rule of maids  
To make such a confession.  ISMENIA. 
You may write then,  PARTHENIA. 
That is all one, still the same point of honour  
Forbids it me; my Letter would discover  
My love, and make him boast thereof, perhaps,  
To my dishonour, if he might have once  
That mark on't in his hand.  ISMENIA. 
Let him then  
Divine it, if he be ginger.  PARTHENIA. 
Treat not my passion thus with raillery.  ISMENIA. 
I must then serve you in it, I perceive;  
Well I'll about it with my best invention;  
I'll write a Letter to him, and invite him  
By a feigned love, as soon as it is night,  
To meet me at the Echo of the Garden,  
To entertain us there.  PARTHENIA. 
So in my absence  
Thou shalt discern his thought.  ISMENIA. 
This business  
Concerns you, Madam, and requires your presence.  
You shall speak softly to him, and in those  
Sweet moments, you shall understand much better  
What his thoughts are, and thus you may yourself,  
To find out if he loves, speak of yourself.  PARTHENIA. 
Thou wilt be present too?  ISMENIA. 
Yes, I ' l so well  
Contrive it, that he shall believe undoubtedly  
That it is I that speak.  PARTHENIA. 
But how can we  
Speak to the Echo, for thou knowst the Nymph,  
As soon as it is night, retires herself,  
And then we cannot come there, what devise now  
Hast thou that we may speak to him?  ISMENIA. 
Cannot we  
Speak to him from the terrace which joins close  
Unto the Garden; you know that you can  
Conveniently come there at any hour  
From your apartment; 'tis upon this ground,  
And these conjunctures, that I've ta'en the plot  
For my invention.  PARTHENIA. 
I admire thy wit,  
'tis wonderful industrious and ready.  ISMENIA. 
I'll write the Letter here before your eyes,  
Behold the paper for it.  PARTHENIA. 
How, these are  
Thy writing Tables!  ISMENIA. 
They can speak of Passions  
Discreet and secret; I ' l about my business,  
And use my smoothest stile▪  PARTHENIA, 
Especially  
Appoint him well the hour and place of meeting:  
How redevable am I to thy wit  
For this great favour? what do I not owe thee  
For this good office, thou giv'st me again.  
Life, and repose.  ISMENIA. 
See what I write unto him  
In two words for you, they are very pressing,  
And will engage him to be take himself  
Unto the place appointed to know more.  PARTHENIA. 
'Tis very well; it rests now how to giv ' 't him.  ISMENIA. 
Leave me the care of that; but here he comes.   

SCENA V.  MELINTUS, CLIDAMANT, PARTHENIA, ISMENIA. MELINTUS, to CLIDAMANT. 
YEs, I have heard Diana is his sister.  CLIDAMANT, to PARTHENIA. 
Madam, Melintus and myself are going  
To seek Thersander, to congratulare  
With him his happy meeting with his sister.  ISMENIA, to CLIDAMANT. seftly 
Thersander's happy, and thou art no less,  
Since thy good fortune offereth itself  
Unto thy hand, from whence thou may'st expect  
All that thou canst desire without that jealous.  PARTHENIA, to ISMENIA. 
Come, let us go, the Nymph expecteth us.  ISMENIA, softly to CLIDAMANT. 
Having no opportunity at present  
To speak unto thee, read, I think 't will please thee.  CLIDAMANT. 
Read it, I think 't will please thee, what i'th' name  
Of wonder doth she mean?  MELINTUS. 
Take but the pain  
To open, and to read it thou shalt find.  CLIDAMANT. 
I think, I may make thine eyes witnesses  
Of what it doth contain, there's nothing in it  
Secret or serious, Ismenia loves  
To jest, and to be talked of; and this is  
Some new piece of her wont merry wit.  MELINTUS. 
I am impatient, prithee open it.  CLIDAMANT. 
Let me see what divertisement is here,  
Which she expounds good fortune, what is this!  He reads. 
List of my Lovers by an exact order  
Of Alphabet.  
'Tis very well put of;  
But so far forth as I can see yet, neither  
Observe I here Melintus or myself.  MELINTUS. 
For my part, I renounce there; turn the leaf,  
Go on.  CLIDAMANT, reads. Stanza's of Dorilas upon inconstancy. 

'Tis true, Ismenia thou art fair,  
But more inconstant than the air;  
And every Lover is a Mark  
Exposed to thy humourous dart;  
As soon as he meets thy disdain,  
He flies to death to cure his pain,  
And makes but one large step in all  
From his bright glory to his fall.   

With these defects yet thou canst charm;  
But I'll not love, for fear of harm;  
Yet I approve all things in thee,  
Yea even to thy inconstancy;  
And will not, to incur thy hate,  
Jealous Melintus imitate,  
Whose humour every thing offends,  
And nothing pleaseth but its ends.   CLIDAMANT. 
Melintus, what sayst thou unto them?  MELINTUS. 
I see for what design she put those Tables  
Into thy hand, I called her cocket lately,  
And that, it seems, provoked her to rerurn me  
The injury with one of the same nature.  CLIDAMANT, continues to read. 
Sonnet of Silvio, my most faithful Lover.  
A Madrigal of Thirsis,— what's this follows,  
Unto the Shepherd Clidamant.  CLIDAMANT. 
Melintus,  
Am I not purblind, see if this name doth  
Strike thine eyes thus like mine!  Melintus looking into the writing Tables. MELINTUS. 
Nothing's more certain,  
It is addressed to thee; thou art more happy  
Than thou imagin'st.  CLIDAMANT, reads. 
As soon as the dark shadows of the night  
Hang o'er the light,  
At th' Echo of the Garden let us meet;  
But be discreet;  
'Tis love invites thee; more anon,  
When w' be alone.  
Ismenia.  Melintus would take the writing Tables. MELINTUS. 
Prithee let me see them,  
Grant me this favour— not, than I, believe  
Thou dost disguise the truth, and readest Ismenia,  
When 'tis subscribed Diana.  CLIDAMANT. 
Oh fond jealous!  
How long wilt thou thus be thy own tormenter?  MELINTUS. 
Yet show them me.  CLIDAMANT. 
To cure thy troubled spirit,  
J'l first overcome thy curiosity;  
And since the discreet Lover, what vain heat  
So ever presseth thee, never shows thus  
His Mistress name—  MELINTUS. 
But—  CLIDAMANT. 
Quit those blind suspicions; as soon  
As it is night I'll go unto the Echo  
Alone, and with our noise; I'm all a fire  
To know what she will tell me, in the mean time  
Let's go unto the Nymph to seek Thersander.  MELINTUS, softly 
To be more sure, and to inform myself  
Yet fuller of thy faith in this my doubt,  
I'll to the Echo too, and find it out.   
The end of the second Act.   

ACTUS III. SCENA I.  
MELISSA, DIANA.  MELISSA. 
I Say to thee again that I receive  
Much pleasute at this news, that thou, Diana,  
Art sister to the generous Thersander;  
He hath informed me with the strange misfortune  
Which separated on the churlish Sea  
The Brother from the Sister, in what place  
Upon a plank, escaped from the wrack,  
The storm removed him from the anger of  
Th' enraged Sea, what countries he hath seen,  
What pains and troubles he hath undergone;  
Lastly he named the happy fortune which  
Conducted him to us here; I thank Heaven,  
That made thee know him, I'm as sensible  
Of this content as thou canst be thyself;  
He is so highly qualified, that he's worthy  
The name of King, ye both shall find with me  
A Sanctuary, and what ever fortune  
Ye have, I will partake it good or bad;  
My fortunes, ye shall bare too, so that all things  
Between us shall be common: I believe  
Diana towards me will be so well▪  
Disposed of her part, and that whatsoever  
Concerns me, will touch her.  DIANA. 
Madam, I should  
Be barbarously ingrateful otherwise;  
I still remember that being on the Shore,  
Cast as a wretched wrack there by the floods,  
Expecting every minute deaths approach,  
I met with you my port and sanctuary:  
Oh that I have not power for all this goodness  
T' express how much acknowledgement I have!  MELISSA. 
Thou hast.  DIANA. 
How Madam?  MELISSA. 
In expecting nothing  
But death as I do now, thou canst be to me  
At thy turn both my port and sanctuary;  
Thou canst subdue the enemy that braves me,  
That of a Sovereign will make a slave;  
He's in thy power, thou canst abate his courage.  DIANA. 
What is that enemy which troubles you?  MELISSA. 
He's one whose Magic can enchant the arms  
Of the most Valiant; he can draw tears from  
The most Heroic; nothing is so strong,  
Which he can't compass; and without respect  
To any place or person whatsoever,  
He equally distributeth his flames.  DIANA. 
I know him not yet by this Character.  MELISSA. 
How knowst thou not that tyrant of great Monarchs'?  
That famous Conqueror of conquerors,  
Who notwithstanding is but a blind child?  DIANA. 
If I durst to express me, I believe,  
I know him.  MELISSA. 
Speak it freely.  DIANA. 
I'm mistaken,  
Or I have seen love painted in such colours,  
Blind and a child, yet a great Conqueror.  MELISSA. 
'Tis the same love whereof I speak unto thee  DIANA. 
Who is the happy Lover that procures  
Your martyrdom?  MELISSA. 
Alas! couldst thou not spare me  
The shame to speak him? cover, gentle night,  
Immediately those places and my brow  
With the same colour, so to please my heat;  
I love; but let us finish since I've said  
I love, Thersander is my object.  DIANA. 
What,  
My Brother?  MELISSA. 
He▪ If his heart be a prize  
Not easy to be gained, there's nothing which  
I would spare for him, I would arm to have him;  
Nought should oppose me, every obstacle  
I would overcome; already by some words  
Which he observed not, spoken by the buy,  
My love was half expressed.  DIANA. 
As he should not  
Dare to pretend unto so great an honour,  
He would be criminal, if he believed  
To understand you.  MELISSA. 
Well then, be thou here  
The mouth and true interpreter of my heart,  
Express the kind heat of my timorous soul;  
Tell him that I'm a subject to his Laws,  
That he may boldly fix his thoughts upon  
The person of Melissa, and not fear  
To be condemned, that his ambition  
May soar so high a pitch, and not be checked,  
That he may sigh the same sighs with a King;  
Husband thar heart for me, to which mine aims;  
But let him not think that it comes from me;  
My honour would receive a prejudice  
By such a thought, thou only shalt acquaint him  
With this, as from thyself.  DIANA. 
I understand you,  
He must needs yield to this; I'll do your will.  MELISSA. 
As soon as he appears, I will retire me,  
And from one of these places I shall hear  
Every word that you speak one to another  
In reference to my flame.  DIANA. 
I should methinks  
Act with more freeness, if I were to treat  
With him alone.  MELISSA. 
No, I will hear myself  
What he thinks of me, I can best of all  
Trust mine own ears and eyes in this affair.  DIANA. 
But, Madam, after all—  MELISSA. 
Shepherdess,  
The thing's resolved, thou needest not say no more.  
Until he come, I pray thee, entertain  
These woods here with some air, and let us see  
If the Echo will answer to thy discourse;  DIANA. 
Your prayer is a command; some plaints of love  
Shall make the subject of it.  MELISSA. 
What thou wilt.  

DIANA'S Song.  

Ye Trees, ye Rocks, perfumed Valleys, sweet  
And charming Zephirs, murmuring fountains keep  
My griefs close in your bosom, you alone  
Are witnesses unto my fires and moan,  
Tell me if my sad heart, not daring to  
Delare it itself, at least may sigh its woe?  
May sigh its woe— Echo.   

Well then my sighs, make no noise as poe pass  
The airy Regions only breath alas  
Unto the heart that sent you forth; since I  
Can't speak to thee, dear object of my cry,  
Let th' Echo, that's attentive, say for me  
That if I love (as sure I do) 'tis thee.  
'tis thee— Eccho▪    

SCENA II.  THERSANDER, MELISSA, DIANA. THERSANDER. 
DIana's here about, her voice assures me.  MELISSA to DIANA softly 
Thy Brother comes here, take this opportunity.  
Be sure thou speak unto him loud enough;  
Thou art my only hope; I go from hence  
To hear, and to observe thee.  DIANA. softly. 
We are undone,  
Thersander will discover all in speaking.  THERSANDER. 
'Tis now no longer time to utter sighs,  
Let us resume our joy, and dry our tears,  
Crown our sad spirits with flowers, and think no more of  
Our passed misfortunes, let's form our discourse  
Of the most pleasant thoughts, and let us chat  
Of love.  DIANA. 
Let me alone, I'll entertain thee  
Upon that subject.  THEERSANDER. 
It belongs to me  
To speak of that, and when I do consider  
With what darts in my heart—  DIANA. 
I know it well  
'Tis of a longer date then from to day,  
That I have read thy heart; and I believe  
That never any one hath seen a Brother  
To love his sister so.  THERSANDER. 
The love wherewith  
I am assaulted, and would make thee see,  
Exceeds that of a brother, it begets,  
Complaints and Sighs, it driveth to despair,  
And kills; the love we bear unto a Sister,  
Makes not so many sufferings; but I love—  DIANA. 
I divine whom, thou burnest with desire  
To speak unto me here of Celia's love.  THERSANDER. 
Thou dost divine right, I take a great pleasure  
To speak of it with thee; methinks I see her  
Still when I look on thee; how fit I find thee  
To be the faithful guardian of my love,  
Assured of thy fidelity, and that  
Thy heart is always mine.  DIANA. 
Thou needest not doubt it.  THERSANDER. 
O my dear!  DIANA. 
Brother I'm not ignorant  
How dear I am unto thee.  THIMANTES. 
Thy fair eyes—  DIANA. 
How! flatter and court thy sister  
By thy discourse?  THERSANDER. 
I cannot speak, unto thee  
Thou interruptest me still.  DIANA. 
Th' advice is worth it, and I'll give rhee notice  
That from esteem they pass to love for thee,  
That scarce arrivedst thou unto this place  
But thy good fortune without any trouble  
Gained thee the conquest of a heart, for which  
Great Kings will envy thee, it is Melissa's.  THERSANDER. 
O Gods! what dost thou say?  DIANA. 
What doth astonish thee,  
I see how thou art troubled to believe it.  
This great heart finds no place yet in thy faith:  
To make thee happy in't, I must embrace thee.  She speaks softly to him, in embracing him. 
The Nymph hears our discourse, 'tis fit thou feign.  She speaks loud again. 
Wilt thou not yield to this excess of honour?  
Think that thy Celia in this conjuncture,  
Hath no resentment in her heart against thee,  
Nor murmurs at it.  THERSANDER. 
In this ecstasy  
Wherein I am through this excess of honour,  
I'm seeking of myself, but cannot find me.  
How! dare to love the Nymph? t'aspire to her?  
No my ambition's not so criminal.  DIANA. 
Under those high respects, I see thy love.  THERSANDER. 
How can I otherwise express it, Sister?  
If the Nymph tempts me, and will make a crime on't,  
It shall then have the name but of a lawful  
Respect; and if I see occasion  
T'express me further on this point, this lawful  
Respect shall bear the bolder name of love.  DIANA. 
Brother, it hath that name, and I am ready  
To boast unto her, her illustrious conquest:  
But the Sun, I perceive, plungeth himself  
I' th' waters, and the shadows seize the tops  
O' th' Mountains, it is time now to betake me  
Unto Melissa; but behold, she comes.  Melissa comes forth from the place where she was hidden. MELISSA. 
What serious discourse have you together?  DIANA. 
Our subject is of Love, of Mistresses,  
Of Servants, and of Sighs.  MELISSA. 
What! hath Thersander  
Already gotten him a Mistress?  THERSANDER. 
Madam,  
I have too little merit and address:  
Besides to serve, to honour and obey you,  
I have no other thought; our discourse was,  
Your goodness for us, which my heart shall ever  
Record as in a Register of Brass,  
Where my acknowledgements shall never pass.   

SCENA III.  MELINTUS, MELISSA, DIANA, THERSANDER. MELINTUS. calling. 
HO, Clidamant!  MELISSA. 
It is enough, let's go,  
I hear some noise, and would not be seen here  
I'th' night.—  Exeunt Melissa, Diana, Thersander. MELINTUS, continuing to call. 
Ismenia, Clidamant! they hear,  
But fly me, and the night robs my sight of them;  
But this is not Ismenia, and I am  
Deceived much, if I saw not the gate,  
The stature, and the gesture of Diana;  
Yes, Clidamant abused me with a lie,  
Diana builds his fortune at my cost,  
And that note which he would conceal from me  
Without doubt was subscribed with her fair hand;  
Yes, 'twas Diana's, though he read Ismenia,  
To spare my grief a little, and my trouble.  
How simple was I that I followed  
Not close upon his steps: but soft, methinks,  
I hear a noise, perhaps it may be he.   

SCENA IV.  CLIDAMANT, MELINTUS. CLIDAMANT. 
O Night, lend me thy silence, make these woods  
To hold their peace in th' absence of the day,  
And let no sound be heard here but my love:  
At last I'm happily delivered from  
A troublesome companion, that would  
Obstruct my fortune, that same jealous Shepherd  
Without respect and faith.  MELINTUS. 
I'm much obliged  
Unto thee for this noble character  
Thou giv'st me; in despite of all my care  
And cunning thou art come without my company  
To see thy lovely Mistress.  CLIDAMANT. 
I came here  
To meet another person: for my Mistress,  
I have already spoken with her fully.  MELINTUS. 
Yes, if mine eyes deceived me not, thou talkd'st  
Unto Diana, and seeing me follow,  
Ye both fled at one time, these Woods concealed you.  CLIDAMANT. 
Good Gods! what sayest thou to me?  MELINTUS. 
But I'll be  
More wise another time, and heed you better.  CLIDAMANT. 
I understand not what this language means,  
But this distrust doth me an injury:  
Why covetest thou t' accompany me thus,  
Since th' object that expecteth me, forbids it;  
Desirest thou to publish secret passions?  
Ismenia in thy sight gave me those Tables;  
'Tis she that doth expect me at the place  
Appointed; for Diana, she knows nothing  
Of this invention: if thou canst, enjoy  
That lovely Shepherdess and think not me  
Guilty of any treason, I seek only  
Ismenia, and shun society:  
In this affair, Shepherd retire thyself  
And leave my love in peace, why wouldst thou do me  
So ill an office?  MELINTUS. 
This appointed meeting  
Denotes some artifice; I observed lately  
At our last Games the amorous commerce  
That passed between Diana and thyself,  
So many kind respects, such gentle glances,  
And private whisper forming the suspicion  
That still awakes me.  CLIDAMANT. 
Cease to trouble me,  
And thyself too unnecessarily;  
Our discourse only was an effect of  
Civility; I say again, I leave  
Diana to thee; oh how perfectly  
I hate those vain suspicions and condemn them!  MELINTUS. 
Ismenia's very free she would have had  
Boldness enough to express her love by day,  
Why should she make choice of the night to speak it?  
Why dared she not to utter it in words,  
But writ it to thee?  CLIDAMANT. 
In vain jealous Shepherd,  
Thou askest me that question, all that I  
Can say unto thee, is that I am sent for;  
I cannot tell thee more if the occasion  
Be good or bad; if I could satisfy thee  
Upon that point, believe't thou shouldst excuse me.  MELINTUS. 
I'll follow thee where ere thou goest.  CLIDAMANT. 
Oh Gods!  
What a Tormentor have I?  MELINTUS. 
I attend thee,  CLIDAMANT. 
Then stay thou here, I'll leave the place unto thee.  
I feign to withdraw, to withdraw him also. softly.  Exit. MELINTUS. 
What! leav'st thou me alone? and cunningly  
Hidest me those secrets, which yet I must know:  
Feign as much as thou wilt, in spite of thee  
I will find out to which of those two objects  
Thou giv'st thy faith, and dost direct they vows,  
I'll be a witness of thy secret love;  
Another shall inform me on't, Thimantes  
Will tell me all the Plot; to him I'll go,  
And give him notice of the assignation;  
He'll come to let me know sure, if Diana  
Appeareth there; or if it be Ismenia,  
I shall do him a mischief; when Thimantes  
Shall see his Mistress appoint secret meetings  
To others than himself at such an hour,  
He hath a poor spirit if he loves her still:  
So shall I have pleasure in my resentment  
In weakening the fierceness of Ismenia,  
And of her servant, I'll to him immediately.   

SCENA V.  PARTHENIA, ISMENIA. PARTHENIA, upon the terrace. 
I Hear a noise, Ismenia, is't not Clidamant?  ISMENIA. 
Fear not, we shall hear of him presently.  PARTHENIA. 
I hear no more noise, all is hushed and still;  
Only the night, and silence reigneth here.  ISMENIA. 
Hark, I hear something, let us handsomely  
Dissemble now.  PARTHENIA. 
Oh how I feel my soul  
Seized with love and fear!   

SCENA VI  CLIDAMANT, ISMENIA, PARTHENIA. CLIDAMANT. 
NO person follows me,  
I am at liberty; jealous Melintus  
Haunteth my steps no more.  ISMENIA. 
Madam, 'tis he.  CLIDAMANT, 
Well I'll go on ro instruct me what Ismenia  
Hath to impart unto me in these Gardens:  
Ismenia!  ISMENIA. 
Clidamant.  CLIDAMANT. 
Is it thee, Ismenia?  ISMENIA. 
Yes, I expect thee.  CLIDAMANT. 
Thou may'st have pretence  
T'accuse my tardy coming, but a jealous—  ISMENIA. 
It is enough, thou art beloved, assure thee;  
Draw near; but let us speak soft, I'm afraid  
We should be heard.—  Put yourself in my place and take this opportunity. softly.  

SCENA VII.  THIMANTES, CLIDAMANT, PARTHENIA, ISMENIA. THIMANTES. Speaking to Melintus behind the Stage. 
I Am obliged to thee for this advertisement;  
If I find at the Echo either of them,  
Diana or Ismenia, believe me,  
I'll faithfully report it, to remove  
Thy trouble, if I can: Ismenia  
Appoints me very often here to meet her,  
Where, notwithstanding her inconstancy,  
Her mouth in secret giveth me the hope  
Of a most constant love, and for a pledge  
Of her faith, never any but myself  
At those hours entertains discourse with her:  
I'll to her now, and charge her with this crime  
Of coming here without acquainting me.  
I'll approach softly without making noise  
Lest it might raise a scandal in the night;  
Ismenia,  CLIDAMANT. quitting Parth. 
Some noise hath struck mine ear,  
I'll return to you— Exit.  PARTHENIA. 
O what feat is comparable  
To mine! Ismenia, come to me presently.  CLIDAMANT, speaking to Thimantes, whom he takes for Melintus. 
Melintus, really I can no longer  
Suffer your importunity? why should you  
Imagine that I am the Author of  
Your trouble? I speak to no person here  
But to the Shepherdess Ismenia;  
I tell thee once again, she sent for me,  
And I am certain that the note is written  
And signed with her hand; 'tis true, this fair one  
Sighs only for the love of me, her mouth  
Hath told it me already, and I answer  
Unto her fires with a mutual heat;  
Assure yourself, and settle upon this  
My faithful protestation, that Diana  
Ne'er made me sigh.  THIMANTES. softly. 
O most perfidious!  CLIDAMANT. 
See what an injury you do me now,  
To satisfy you yet more fully hold,  
There are the writing Tables, see her name.  
Examined well, and take repose at last  
Without disturbing mine. D'ye place your glory  
In persecuting me?  THIMANTES. softly. 
Shame of my love,  
Depart my memory, I have wherewith  
Both to reproach, and to convict thy falsehood;  
And when I've done it, treacherous spirit, I'll quit thee,  
And then I shall be satisfied.  CLIDAMANT. 
Melintus,  
What is't thou murmurest yet? I must break with thee,  
If this strange humour lasts, in acting thus,  
You will lo●● all your friends, your jealous head,  
And strange fantastic humours, but he's gone;  
I will return unto the object which  
Both charms and loves me.  PARTHENIA, to ISMENIA. 
There's our discourse,  
Make an end on't thyself.  CLIDAMANT. 
I'm rid at last  
Of my impertinent; jealous Melintus  
Hath left me now.  ISMENIA. 
Adieu, let us retire.  
I'm certainly informed that thy ambition  
Aspireth to Parthenia, in vain than  
Thou holdest me discourse.  CLIDAMANT. 
In two words I will tell thee, that I have  
Too full a knowledge of the eminence  
Of her condition, as to dare to lift  
My hope so high: Oh if I durst to love her;  
But being less ambitious, I obey  
My duty, and I better know myself,  
Adieu until to morrow.  PARTHENIA, to ISMENIA. 
Oh Ismenia!  
What content have I? and how skilful art thou  
In this affair of love? I do admire  
Thy wit, and thy invention; the thing  
Answered my wish.  ISMENIA. 
By this discourse of his  
You may perceive love under that respect,  
Like fire under its ashes; 'tis not lately,  
Your charms have taken him.  PARTHENIA. 
In the mean time—  ISMENIA. 
In the mean time, live all fair wits, say I;  
Without me, you had been reduced unto  
A sad condition, to die with grief,  
And love, without expressing it.  PARTHENIA. 
'Tis late;  
Come, in the absence of the day let's prove,  
If sleep will follow on the steps of love.   
The end of the Third Act.   

ACTUS IV.  

SCENA I.  THIMANTES, ISMENIA. THIMANTES. 
HOw! in the night, perfidious, to exasperate  
My anger, dar'st thou to grant private meetings  
To any but myself? yea in the night  
Without light and attendance in the Garden,  
Thou entertain'dst the Shepherd Clidamant.  ISMENIA. 
How's this! Thimantes in a rage, O Gods!  
Who would have thought it?  THIMANTES. 
Wilt thou say that I  
Complain now without reason, that I have  
A cracked brain, and bleared eyes? it is too long▪  
Inconstant, to arrest thy spirits, behold  
This witness, it hath told me every thing;  
Yet I should not believe that thou wert guilty,  
If such an evidence accused thee not,  
But since I disengage my faith to thee,  
This very instant, I restore thy papers  
And will have nothing more to do with thee.  ISMENIA. 
Well, let it be so then, I doubt it not,  
But I shall be provided in good time;  
When one forsakes me, presently another  
Offers his service, otherwise I should,  
In this unlucky moment of thy change,  
Be destitute of an officious Lover;  
But thanks unto the Gods, more than one calls me  
His Mistress, and I shall have no less courtship  
And press for thy departure, these notes here  
Express the names of those that I've subjected,  
I'll blot thee presently out of my Table-book.  THIMANTES. 
Light Shepherdess!  ISMENIA. 
For all this I am troubled  
For thy disquiet, without further jesting,  
Know that this trouble which possesseth thee  
Proceeds but from a fiction, speedily  
I'll clear it to thee, only have but patience  
To stay here till the Shepherd Clidamant  
Arrives, before whom I have order to  
Discover the deceit; and then I know  
Thou wilt excuse me for it.— here he comes.   

SCENA II.  CLIDAMANT, ISMENIA, THIMANTES. CLIDAMANT. 
HAve I not stayed too long? suspect me not,  
Thimantes, I was sent for: well what is  
Your pleasure?  ISMENIA. 
Thy misfortune is extreme  
Thimantes cannot suffer that another  
Should love me, and one that account intends  
To measure with thee sword and arm to day.  CLIDAMANT. 
He is my friend, and therefore I am loath  
To have a quarrel with him; to accord it,  
Choose of us two him whom thou think'st most faithful.  
I am content to stand unto my fortune.  ISMENIA. 
Thimantes, what say you?  THIMANTES. 
I agree to 't.  ISMENIA, to CLIDAMANT. 
Then thus; for him, I do confess I love him  
A little, but for thee,— nothing at all.  
My mouth interprets truly what my heart thinks  CLIDAMANT, 
O the most fickle and most want on issue  
Of the inconstant sex! thou lov'st a moment,  
I love a moment also.  ISMENIA. 
Notwithstanding  
I have a secret to impart unto thee.  CLIDAMANT. 
A Secret in thy heart loseth its name  
In less time than a minute, without doubt:  ISMENIA. 
Thou thought'st last night, that I discoursed with thee  
At th' Echo of the Garden?  CLIDAMANT. 
Yes,  ISMENIA. 
But what  
If thou wert then deceived, and that another  
In my place counterfeited there my voice?  CLIDAMANT. 
What hast thou told me?  ISMENIA. 
That which may be true.  CLIDAMANT. 
I cannot comprehend it, nor find thee;  
Thou dost do nothing but deceive at all times,  
And in all places; thou canst turn thy heart  
And eyes into all senses; how! an other  
Possess my place?  ISMENIA. 
What if by this advice  
I gained thee the heart of a fair Mistress,  
One that's illustrious, and of noble blood,  
And who after the Nymph hath the chief rank!  CLIDAMANT. 
Well feign thy fill, thou may'st speak what thou list;  
I'm henceforth in no humour but to laugh.  ISMENIA. 
If by the greatest oaths wherein my honour  
Can be engaged, thou wilt believe the truth  
Of what I told thee, that another person  
Beside myself received thy vows last night  
I hope thou wilt find out some fitter Epithits  
Then false and wavering for me.  CLIDAMANT. 
After such  
An obligation, my charity  
Would sway me much.  ISMENIA. 
Then solemnly I swear,  
It was Parthenia in my place, to whom  
Thou didst express thy love; she borrowed  
My name and shape, and thine eyes suffered  
This sweet imposture.  CLIDAMANT. 
Still thou dost abuse me,  
I knew thee by thy voice.  ISMENIA. 
When we spoke loud,  
'T was I that spoke; then presently Parthenia  
Advancing in my place discovered softly  
Her soul and thought unto thee: after this,  
judge, if I have deserved from thee, or no.  CLIDAMANT. 
How! is it possible that she, to whose  
High rank, I should not dare t' aspire unto  
So much as in a thought, that she to whom  
I durst not speak a word in way of plaint,  
That she, to whom my high respect concealed  
My amity, should yet feel pity for me?  
Alas! this cannot be, 'tis sin to think it.  ISMENIA. 
Thou shalt see if I lie, and how she esteems thee;  
I wait her here.  CLIDAMANT. 
Therein I should obtain  
The height of my ambition; for this favour,  
Oh let me kiss thy hands and die with pleasure.   

SCENA III.  PARTHENIA, ISMENIA, CLIDAMANTES, THIMANTES. PARTHENIA. 
WHat spectacle is this? I see Ismenia  
Sports with my fortune, if I trouble you,  
I will retire, continue that rare favour;  
Who freely gives the hands, may give the heart.  ISMENIA. 
Ha! Madam, really you are a novice  
In love; I gave him intimation of  
The arri●fice we used, and he at first  
Received my discourse with so much joy,  
That he craved from me that civility.  
Unto what jealous strange suspicions  
Are you drawn by this object! he but aimed  
To kiss my hand, and you are like to die for't?  
Trouble yourself no more thus to no purpose.  PARTHEIA. 
Ismenia thou restor'st me life, and rest,  
I love thee, Clidamant; this jealous fit,  
Methinks, might well have spared me the shame  
Of telling it.  CLIDAMANT. 
Fair Nymph, believe—  PARTHENIA. 
By'r let us  
Enter into this Wood  CLIDAMANT. 
I wish the Echo,  
Sometimes a friend to Lovers, would redouble  
My voice in saying to you that I love,  
And make you to repeat my words, I love.  PARTHENIA. 
Ismenia, be a faithful witness of  
Our chaste amours, and come along with us  
To hear what we discourse, Thimantes be  
Discreet and secret.  THIMANTES. 
Madam, I'm all silence.  
See, what a strange unnecessary evil  
Is that a jealous person doth sustain;  
Foolish Melintus how thou art deceived  
In thinking that Diana is the object  
Gf Clidamant's affection— here she comes  
Discoursing with her brother, I will leave them.   

SCENA IV.  DIANA, THERSANDER. DIANA. 
LEt us consider what we are to do,  
She loves thee infinitely, and I have  
Command from her to speak to thee again▪  
In her behalf.  THERSANDER. 
Advise me what to do.  DIANA. 
Since the Nymph loves thee with such passion,  
As I perceive she doth, 'tis fit thou flatter  
Her grief a little, otherwise I fear  
That I shall lose thee after having found thee.  
What mischief can she not do, when provoked?  THERSANDER. 
Since there needs but to feign all will succeed.  DIANA. 
In the mean time, Ismenia will be careful  
To inquire for us, when the Merchant-ship  
That's bound for Sevill will be fully ready  
To set sail from the harbour; we shall hire him  
To land us where we will; till when, our care  
Must be not to offend the Nymph, for fear  
She ruin us; she'll presently be here.  
She's come already; act the Lover well,  
Dissemble handsomely, therein consists  
All that we can expect.   

SCENA V.  MELISSA, DIANA, THERSANDER. MELISSA. 
A Word, Diana.  
Hast thou removed that fatal obstacle,  
Which came to intetrupt the pleasant course  
Of my affections? hast thou settled  
My life's content, and razed Celia  
Out of thy Brother's spirit?  DIANA. 
His heart follows  
Where my voice and his glory calleth him,  
And cheerfully yieldeth obedience  
To such sweet Laws.  MELISSA. 
Blessed Interpreter  
Of a most ardent love! hast thou advised him  
To keep it secret?  DIANA. 
Only that point, Madam,  
I have forgotten, but I will redeem it;  
And tell him on't before you; if you please  
That I go for him.  MELISSA. 
Go, and bring him hither.  DIANA. softly. 
Feign handsomely unto her  THERSANDER. softly to Diana. 
Fear it not.  
I'll speak before her but of you, and to you,  
And yet not make her jealous.  Then he saith to Melissa, by whose side is Diana, whom he looks upon. THERSANDER. aloud. 
Could you doubt  
My heart should be so stupid, and insensible  
Of my felicity how happy is  
My fortune, and how gentle was the storm  
That gave me this blessed port, whereof great Kings  
Are jealous? What proud Conqueror would not  
Submit and lay his arms down with himself  
At the fair feet of such a charming object?  
A rude obdurate rock, would be consumed,  
The coldest Marble would be kindled by it:  
Yes, Madam, a fair eye but openeth  
Its lid here, & 'tis day; the night's black shadows  
Fly only from the Sun of those bright eyes,  
Her fires too at the sight of them grow pale.  
I must confess then, Madam, that I love them,  
And that I live more in this beauteous object  
Then in myself: my spirit is charmed with  
A happiness unparallelled, when I  
Think that I love them, and am loved again.  MELISSA. 
Come, thou but feignest love? do not abuse me.  THERSANDER. 
O Gods! what do you say? Madam, I love  
Or rather I adore.  MELISSA. 
How hast thou then  
Disposed of Celia that reigned o'er thy heart?  THERSANDER. 
That affair's ordered well, I've put her interests  
Into my Sister's hands; she 'ath promised me  
To make all fair of that side, and will answer  
To me for her.  MELISSA. 
Hast thou not boasted to me  
That her eyes were the object of thy love?  
That for thy sake she cherished the light  
Of the alternate day, and that they would  
Cover themselves with an eternal night,  
If thou shouldst cease to live or to be faithful:  
Think well of thy part what thoust promised;  
Be firm, be constant, fail not in that point,  
Consider not at all this supreme greatness;  
Stick to thine object, love it for itself,  
And have no interest for thy ambition,  
Flatter thee with the honour to possess her,  
Look only if she loves thee, not if she  
Enricheth thee; the beauty whom thou servest,  
Should be thy crown, all greatness whatsoever  
Should be esteemed in thy account beneath it.  THERSANDER. 
Ne'er doubt it, Madam, I shall have those thoughts;  
Greatness shall never blind me so far forth  
As to oblige me to forget my love;  
Which always shall pure as the day Star burn  
Base interest shall never sully me.  DIANA. 
I'll tell my Brother now, what I forgot  To THERSANDER. 
If thou knowst well to love, know thou as well  
To hold thy peace, love like the other Gods,  
Is not without his secrets, he is served  
Sometimes by hearts that can't express themselves:  
Take heed how thou provoke his jealous power,  
Adore his Altars, but adore in silence;  
For silence is a part of his Religion;  
And oftentimes this fierce God is offended  
At his own name; if any thing hereof  
Should be known in the Isle, thou art undone:  
Love, without speaking of it, that's the law,  
Which is imposed on thee; she for her part  
Will love thee likewise, use the secret well,  
Melissa otherwise would die with grief;  
I know th' excess of love wherewith thy soul  
Is filled; but for thy own interest,  
Put a seal on thy mouth.  MELISSA. 
Yes, have a care  
That none suspect our love, I'll take my time  
To publish it, in the mean time I'll study  
Thy settlement and thy repose which makes  
That of my life; this free confession now,  
Would call up envy from her Cell, and make  
Our greatest Hero's, to dispute with thee  
What I have promised thee, thine enemies.  
Judge then how precious thy obedience is;  
Since all thy good and happiness depends  
Upon thy silence.  THERSANDER. 
Sure, I should be strucken  
With a strange blindness, if I observed not  
This your command; I will obey so well,  
That, Madam, even you yourself shall doubt  
Whether I love, or whether you I love.  MELISSA. 
In the mean time thy sister shall assist me,  
And have the ordering of our Amours;  
Believe what she shall say, since I will make her  
My only bosom friend, unto whose trust,  
I will commit the secrets of my heart.  THERSANDER. 
I will make use of her in the same manner.  Enter Melintus, he speaks to Melissa MELINTUS. 
Madam, a Jeweller, that useth still.  
To come unto the Games, desires access  
Unto your presence.  MELISSA. 
Cause him to come in:  
This Sevil Merchant cometh every year  
To sell and traffic in the Island with us.   

SCENA VI  MELISSA, MERCATOR, THERSANDER, DIANA, MELINTUS. MELISSA. 
SHall you remain sometime yet on our shore?  MERCATOR. 
I stay but for your Passport to depart.  
Every year, Madam, by your Highness' bounty  
My traffic thrives so well, that whatsoever  
Commodities I bring unto your Isle,  
I carry nothing back, you empty still  
My casket: now I'll show you, if you please,  
such rarities, as can be had no where  
But in my hands.  MELISSA. 
Let's see them.  MERCATOR. 
Here's a Diamond  
Darts flame of all sides.  MELISSA. 
'Tis a sparkling stone  
I like his lustre.  MERCATOR. 
Will you have it, Madam?  MELISSA. 
I'll tell you presently, show all at once,  
Then I shall soon choose: let me see that Coral.  MERCATOR. 
The piece is very fair; till now your Isle  
Hath never seen the like.  MELISSA. 
And what's that other?  MERCATOR. 
A piece of Ambergris; Madam, 'tis rare  
And of great price; I have passed divers Seas  
To purchase it; alone 'tis worth as much  
As all my casket.  DIANA. 
For my part, I cannot  
See any thing that's new here.  MERCATOR. 
Shepherdess,  
This rope of Pearl is very rich and new,  
'T would make you look more fair, more gay, more sparkling.  MELISSA. 
Without those Ornaments of Art, she is  
Charming enough, she needs no strange additions.  
She maketh all our Shepherds die for love:  
But for all this, though you are fair without them  
I will bestow them on you, if you like them.  
What says Diana.  DIANA. 
Madam, your great bounties—  MELISSA. 
Lay them aside.  MERCATOR. 
But, Madam, look upon  
This Masterpiece of Art, it is the Portrait  
In little of the King of Andalousia.  MELISSA. 
He's one of the best made that I have seen.  
And who is this?  MERCATOR. 
It is his favourite  
Nearchus sometime Prince of Pichery,  
Who by a beauty fatal through her charms,  
Gave up his arms, and life unto his Rival,  
A gallant Gentleman, his name Cleagenor.  THERSANDER, the first line softly. 
May I believe! good Gods! how he observes me?  
But are you certain of Nearehus death?  MERCATOR. 
He returned sorely wounded from the fight,  
And died four days after, as all know.  MELISSA. 
His valour seems yet painted in his face.  MERCATOR. 
But he that conquered him had more by much.  
Behold his Portrait.  THERSANDER. softly 
Oh! what showeth he?  MELISSA. 
Is this that valiiant Cleagenor?  MERCATOR. 
Yes, 'tis his picture.  THERSANDER. softly, 
O unlucky accident!  MERCATOR. 
Of all those that I had, this only 's left me:  
Th' offended King commanded me to carry them  
Unto all places where I went, and trafficked,  
That so he might be known, and then arrested;  
For after this great Combat, to secure  
His head from pursuit, he took flight immediately.  MELISSA. 
Thersander, in my judgement, nothing can  
Better resemble you, I think your sister  
Will say as much.  THERSANDER. 
Madam, we see that Nature  
Sports sometimes in her works, and makes some feitures  
In faces to resemble somewhat nearly.  MELISSA. 
This Merchant,, I believe, 's of my opinion▪  MERCATOR. 
Madam, without doubt, 'tis Cleagenor,  THERSANDER. 
The thing is little certain on the faith  
And bare ground of a Portrait.  MERCATOR. 
Sir, you are  
The very same, I am confirmed now  
In my first thoughts, all that which hitherto  
Hindered me to judge so, was the name of  
Thersander, and the habit of a Shepherd.  THERSANDER. 
Who! I, Cleagenor?  MERCATOR. 
Yes, Sir, I saw you  
The last year in the fortunate Islands, and  
Not above four months since in Portugal;  
Sevll's your native Country; since you meet here  
Your safety, to what purpose should you cover  
Those things with silence?  MELISSA. 
Sure, you need not blush,  
Thersander, at this fair acknowledgement.  THERSANDER. 
I confess, Madam, that I blush a little,  
Not that mine arm hath not done all that which  
It ought to do in the death of my Rival,  
Nearchus was too rash, and insolent;  
From the fair and unspotted object which  
Made my most chaste desires, he in his thoughts  
Form the object of his filthy pleasures;  
But he hath paid for't, and his death is just:  
Only the thing that troubles and afflicts me,  
And for which I am sorry at my heart,  
Is thar I told you nothing of my secret.  MELISSA. 
I guess the cause of it, and know your thought.  
And what fear troubled it, and that you chose  
Another name only to free you from  
The penalty o'th' Law; but fear not any thing;  
I'll oppose power to power for your defence;  
Your interests are mine, J'l make your peace;  
The King of Andalousia shall be weary  
Of persecuting you; if he persist  
To trouble your repose, J'l invade his:  
If he refuse to grant what we demand,  
From our request we will proceed to arms.  THERSANDER. 
What obligation have you upon me  
For all your goodness?  MELISSA. 
But let's make an end  
Of seeing all the rarities.  MERCATOR. 
Behold  
With admiration, Madam, this rare piece,  
It is Diana's Picture.  MELISSA. 
How Diana's?  DIANA. softly. 
O sad misfotrune!  MERCATOR. 
It is the Divinity,  
Whose Temple's here, the Goddess of this place.  DIANA. softly, 
I cease to tremble, all is well again.  MELISSA. 
What Portrait's this?  MERCATOR. 
It is a Beauties, Madam,  
Whose heavenly graces made two desperate Lovers,  
That sight for her, arm for the field, and fight;  
It is that fair ones whom I told you of  
For whom Cleagenor and Nearchus burned,  
And who pursued hotly by two Rivals,  
Cost the one flight, and life unto the other.  
After Nearchus' death, I bought his Portraits:  
This that he had without doubts to the life.  
But who can better then Cleagenor  
Instruct you in this point?  MELISSA, to THERSANDER. 
D' ye know this piece?  THERSANDER. 
I know not what to say on 't.  MELISSA. 
I observe  
Much of thy sister's air in't.  DIANA. 
O ye Gods!  
Turn aside this misfortune.  MELISSA. 
Really  
The glass, Diana, which receives thy image,  
Represents less thy shape and countenance;  
And any other but the Painter would  
Believe indeed that he finished this Portrait  
Upon thy presence.  MERCATOR. 
There's no doubt of it.  
One may admire in this adventure how  
Art imitateth nature: It is she  
For whom Nearchus sighed.  THERSANDER. softly. 
O Gods! where are we?  
Our fortunes now are desperate.  DIANA. 
knowst thou me?  MERCATOR. 
I am of the same Town, and therefore know you;  
Your mother is Melora, and she dwells  
At Sevil; I shall make her a glad-woman  
At my return, to tell her that her Celia  
Lives yet, and is in health here in this Island.  MELISSA. 
How! Celia?  MERCATOR. 
Yes, Madam, that is her name,  DIANA. 
What cloud of error blindeth thy soul thus?  
That Celia whom thou meanest, and dost discourse of,  
Died before Nearchus.  MERCATOR. 
It was believed so  
At first; but since, all Sevil knows the contrary,  
And that false death is now no more a mystery  
Unto me; I know where the mourning went,  
And how a Coffin only was interred  
Instead of you, that this apparent sign  
Of your death only could secure you from  
Nearchus' ill designs; I know besides  
That you betook yourself unto the Sea,  
Where you sight not, but for Cleagenor;  
The Sea proved false to you, and to your mother,  
And separated you one from another  
By the assistance of a hideous storm:  
She having saved herself upon a plank  
Sought you from one end of the World to th' other;  
But hearing no news of you, she believed  
At her return to Sevil that the Sea  
Had swallowed you, and death had made her search  
Unprofitable.  DIANA. 
Thou knowest secrets which  
To me are Riddles.  MERCATOR. 
Wherefore should you, Lady,  
Dissemble thus your knowledge of a thing  
Which is no more concealed; one of your people  
A complice of the Plot, divulged it lately;  
Melora too since her return revealed  
The whole Imposture, all impediment  
Being removed after Nearchus' death:  
This that I know, I understood from her.  THERSANDER. 
All this thou sayest, is strange news unto us.  MERCATOR. 
You have the art, I see, well to dissemble;  
But by your favour might it not be you  
That did employ a friend unto me lately  
To pray me to receive into my bark  
Two Shepherds, natives of the Town of Sevil?  THERSANDER. 
Madam, this Merchant doth compose Romants.  
And tells you all these strange adventures only,  
To show his wit, and faculty that way.  MELISSA. 
Yet his discourse is not without some ground,  
I find good reason so to judge of it;  
If I remember well, you willingly  
Did put the interest of Celia  
Into your sister's hands, she promised  
To make all fair of that side, and to answer  
To you for her: Merchant, another time  
See us again. How both of you abuse me  
With an Imposture formed under false names  
To carry on your love in a disguise!  
What in my Palace, in my Court, my presence,  
Sport with my person thus in a contempt!  
Insolent wretches, you shall feel what force  
My anger hath when thus provoked, I'll make you—  THERSANDER. 
Oh, Madam!  MELISSA. 
Go, Impostor, thou shalt answer  
For all the troubles of my hear●; none ever  
Afsro ntd me yet without punishment:  
I'll sacrifice you both to my disgrace,  
In such a manner, that ye shall repent  
Eternally that e'er ye made me blush:  
Depart my sight.  THERSANDER. 
O what misfortune's this!  MELISSA, to MELINTUS. 
See that you separate them one from another  
In several apartments, that they may  
Hold no discourse together. O misfortune  
Not to be paralleled! What shall I do?  
Of whom should I take counsel in this case?  
Shall I hear yet my love that murmureth?  
Ought I to suffer, or repel the injury?  
It is resolved in my offended heart  
That those black Passions shall succeed my love,  
By which the soul when in disorder, bteaks  
The chain wherewith she's tied, break forth my fury,  
And ruin these ingrateful they shall know  
My power, as they have seen my goodness to them:  
They shall not mock at my simplicity,  
Nor reproach me for my credulity:  
How! treacherous Thersander; oh! that name  
Thersander combats yet within my heart,  
In its defence, my spirits at this name  
Are wavering, and my anger's weak, my hate  
Is in suspense; I am not pleased with that  
Which I demand; I fear what I would most.  
Ha traitor, must I to torment myself  
Suspend my judgement upon thy destruction?  
Must I dispute the case within myself  
As doubtful to determine, no pass sentence  
Against him for this barbarous affront:  
Arm my despair, and inspire thou my rage:  
And let me see how faithfully my Art  
Will serve my vengeance in the punishment  
Of these ingrateful Lovers, I intent not  
To give a sudden death to either of them,  
But they shall suffer that which shall be worse:  
By the effect, and strange force of my charms,  
They shall have, without dying, every day  
A thousand deaths; I will continually  
By turns afflict the sad eyes of the Lover,  
And of his Mistress: both of them shall see,  
That they may suffer equally, each other  
To die and to revive, this punishment  
Is strange and cruel; but 'tis that I use  
In my revenges; come, why loiter we  
In our design? my heart like flint shall be  
Insensible of their calamity.   
The end of the Fourth Act.   

ACTUS V.  

SCENA I.  CLIDAMANT, PARTHENIA. CLIDAMANT. 
MIne eyes and ears ne'er saw, nor heard the like  
The miserable cries of those poor Lovers  
Fill all these places with astonishment.  
Thersander and Diana are so charged,  
I could scarce know them, as I now came from them:  
Pale death by turns skipping from face to face,  
Can't make them yet to die unto their love:  
But, Madam, is it true what's published here  
Among the people, that those strange enchantments  
Come from Melissa?  PARTHENIA. 
Yes, they are the works  
Of her Art, without doubt, she could do more yet  
Nothing's too hard for her, the destiny  
Of mortals seems to be held in her hands,  
And as she pleaseth, she disposeth it.  
What can she not do, when she is in choler?  
The miserable Thirsis feels th'effect,  
And rigour of her power by sad experience.  
Hath not fame yet informed you with his sufferings?  CLIDAMANT. 
Yes, Madam, I have heard them fully spoken.  PARTHENIA. 
You know then that he loved Roselia,  
And so deceived the expectation,  
And desire of the Nymph who hitherto  
Designed him for my husband, and knows not  
That I have love for you; to her commands  
This Shepherd was Rebellious: what did she?  
Roselia was fair, she became sick;  
She wept, she pined, she complained; the brightness  
Of her fair eyes, extinguished in a moment:  
The whiteness of her Lilies as soon faded;  
And of so many beauties there remained  
Only the place, where sometime their seat was,  
Her Lover that perceived her taken from him,  
Seeks her in every place, but cannot find her:  
That was a Masterpiece of her Apprenticeship;  
But this without doubt is another work  
Of higher knowledge; if in her resentment  
But for my interest she made poor Thirsis  
A miserable Lover, judge how far  
She may be carried, moved at her offence,  
In her revenge for her own interest.  CLIDAMANT. 
If the Nymph knew the love I have for you,  
I could expect no other usage from her;  
She would without doubt cause me to be carried  
unto some fearful Island where I should  
Be rendered miserable all my days:  
But let her art do what it can against me  
Employed by her hate, it shall work nothing  
Upon my faith, to do it prejudice:  
Oh! could I flatter me with the same hope,  
That you would have like constancy for me!  PARTHENIA. 
You need not doubt of it, I'm wholly yours,  
My love is strong, and little fears her anger:  
I'll keep it still sincere and firm unto you:  
And you shall find me constant unto death:  
Should she destroy me with her power, & kill me  
I'll rather die myself, than my affection.  
My life can't pay the debt I owe unto you.   

SCENA II.  ISMENIA, THIMANTES, PARTHENIA, CLIDAMANT. ISMENIA. 
WHat strange news do we hear? is it true, Madam,  
That by th'effects of fortune and enchantment,  
Thesander and Diana die by turns,  
And live again to wail their miseries?  PARTHENIA. 
Ismenia, 'tis too true, they are enchanted.  THIMANTES. 
If I durst speak my thoughts, & what I've heard,  
They impute this injustice to the Nymph.  PARTHENIA. 
It is not to be doubted but she is  
The Author of it, and this cruel punishment  
Denoteth that she studies high revenge,  
When she's offended.  CLIDAMANT. 
whatsoever her power be  
Which causeth fear, let us go presently  
With our complaint unto her: in my judgement,  
This is no way to make herself obeyed:  
Fear is the parent not of love, but hate.  
And that same fatal art which her revenge  
Calls to her aid, establisheth her crime,  
And not her power. But here I see she comes.   

SCENA III.  MELISSA, MELINTUS, CLIDAMAT, PARTHENIA, THIMANTES, ISMENIA. MELISSA to MELINTUS. 
WHat doth this stroke surprise thee?  MELINTUS. 
Truly, Madam,  
Their punishments too great, and all the Island  
Murmureth at it.  MELISSA. 
Shepherds, what say you?  
Can I revenge me of an injury?  CLIDAMANT. 
Yes, Madam, and th'estate wherein you've put them  
Hath made all those their friends that envied them.  
Hear our petitions for them, and be pleased  
To do them justice: what have they committed  
Worthy of such a punishment? for having  
Hid their love from you, lived in your Court  
Under the name of brother, and of sister,  
Deceived the hope and envy of their Rivals,  
Conserved their honour, and, perhaps, their life,  
is this so great a crime, as should be punished  
By charms which have no end? must they be made  
To die, and to revive continually  
By turns, and by a strange unworthy fate  
The living be enforced successively  
Still to lament the dead? their piteous cries,  
And hideous clamours give both souls & mouths  
Unto those rocks to join in plaints with me:  
The whole Isle's moved with them, and disturbed  PARTHENIA. 
Madam, I join in this petition,  
Vouchsafe to hear me: O forbear to dart  
Thunder and wrath upon this happy place,  
Where the Gods liberally pour upon mortals  
So many and so great felicities:  
Begin not to disturb the sweet repose  
Of an abode that's savoured by Heaven,  
To please those Shepherds, whose devotions  
May fix upon some other Sanctuary  
More safe, and other Sovereigns more sweet.  THIMANTES. 
Yes, Madam, stop the mouth of this sad murmur,  
Let it be smothered, this enchantment hath  
Continued too long, break, break the charm,  
And pacify our spirits immediately,  
Which are astonished at this proceeding.  ISMENIA. 
If in the freedom which I use too frequently,  
My mouth might dare to speak, and not displease you,  
I should then tell you that this rigid course  
You take, would leave you here nor Shepherdesses  
Nor Shepherds; they would seek this place no more  
For their retreat and sanctuary, but eat it  
Like a destroying rock▪ and this fair Island  
The glory of the world, would be a wilderness:  
To enjoy subjects, rule your passions better,  
And be more sovereign over yourself.  MELISSA. 
Shepherds, and Shepherdesses, your discourses  
Astonish and surprise me, know, my Art,  
Is a sufficient warrant for my actions;  
I could do greater yet, and stranger too:  
Though this which you have seen seemeth unjust  
Unto you, have you any right, or privilege  
To complain to me, and to murmur thus?  
Much less to reprehend, and censure me?  
How! should the bold Shepherd Thersander dare  
To injure me, and to deride my power?  
Should he presume to lay aside his duty  
And respect for me, and I wink at it,  
That so can punish such an insolence?  
Presume it not, the blood of Zoroastres  
Is not yet born under so ill a star,  
I know its influence better, and can use it  
To the destruction of those that wrong me:  
Yes, Shepherds, I am skilful in the qualities  
Of herbs and roots, and as I have occasion  
I choose them, some for poison, some for medicine:  
When I will, I prescribe some to confound  
The memory, and to distract the spirit;  
But those obnoxious weeds I never use  
But for their punishment that do offend me;  
Have I not reason to maintain my rank  
In dignity and honour? those that dare  
To brave me, without doubt, hazard themselves:  
My sceptre's guarded with enwreathed serpents,  
Whose fearful aspects bid all keep aloof,  
And threaten death to those that dare to touch it:  
Thirsis hath felt their stings: what reason had he  
To be an enemy to his own fortune  
And interest, in foolishly refusing  
The honour of the name to be my Nephew:  
I will advance him, and expect that he  
Shall yet accept this honourable title  
Of Husband to my Niece; Parthenia,  
Your colour changes, but in vain you hide  
Your thoughts from me, I can discover them,  
I know that you love Clidamant, and more  
What you design, and what you do discourse;  
But understand both one and tother of you,  
That I must be obeyed in what I will;  
My power can force it; take heed ye provoke not  
My anger; if I may not be beloved,  
I will be feared.  PARTHENIA. 
Madam—  MELISSA. 
It is enough,  
You know my prohibition.  CLIDAMANT, 
I hope  
To bend her, but at present let's say nothing.  THIMANTES. 
We all know your high rank and quality  
With reverence and respect, so in that notion  
We employ but our prayers to persuade you;  
They are our only arms, be touched with them,  
And dissipate these charms: Thersander now  
Begins t'awake out of his fatal fit;  
You'll hear his plaints and clamours presently,  
His cries and his despair for his dear Mistress  
This is the hour, wherein he is tormented:  
This object without doubt before your eyes  
Will raise up pity, Madam, in your heart:  
His sighs will quench your anger, and prevail  
Much more than we; see he begins to move:  
Madam, you will be touched, to hear him speak.   

SCENA IV.  THERSANDER, DIANA, MELISSA, ISMENIA, PARTHENIA, CLIDAMANT, THIMANTES. THERSANDER by DIANA'S body. 
O Lamentable object! why mine eyes  
Were ye not covered with eternal darkness,  
That I might not have seen this fatal spectacle?  
Oh! what cause have I to complain of fortune,  
That my sleep is not the last sleep of death?  
In the night of the Grave I should take rest,  
And not be tied to die thus all my life,  
I should be there but dust, and this sad sight  
Should not have martyred my heart and eyes.  
Yes, my dear Mistress, sometime my delight,  
Thy sight is now my greatest punishment,  
And in this sad estate wherein I see thee,  
Thou which wert once my joy, art now my grief;  
Thy body's but a trunk that gives me horror,  
Thy head all over's smoking with thy blood,  
The graces lodge no more there, I see death  
In every place, where I saw love before:  
How! dost thou live no more then? have I lost thee  
As soon as found thee? hopes born and destroyed  
With an immortal love, phantom of fortune  
Which lasts good but a day, wealth too soon lost,  
Brightness too soon put out, excessive joy,  
To which so many plaints so soon succeed,  
Why in that splend or wherewith all you flattered,  
My name, did you promise so much unto me,  
And give so little. Fair eyes, sometimes conquerous,  
Whose lights are shut up in eternal night  
In spite of all my prayers, call me not  
From death unto the light; is't possible  
That I can see here what Diana sees not?  
No, no, I live no more since she is dead;  
Yet my heart moves; but this last struggling is  
But a small spark that's left behind, and shines  
A little after death; 'tis but a vapour,  
An exaltation, a wind, a smoke,  
Last dying and last kindled; I am coming  
To join with thee, object of my desire,  
To give thee soul for soul, and sigh for sigh;  
Death is my aid, my hope is but in her;  
I will express that I am faithful to thee  
In that, not able to survive thy fate,  
I put myself into the arms of death.  CLIDAMANT. 
Madam, you see how great his torment is,  
And whereunto your hatred hath reduced him;  
You see besides how far without proportion  
Of the crime to the punishment, the power  
Of your enchantment goes; these woods weep at it;  
And these rocks which before heard no complaints,  
Are pierced now with his cries, and become soft,  
And sensible, the Echo likewise mourns,  
And should you only, Madam, be without  
Compassion for him.  MELISSA. 
Yes, without compassion;  
Since he took pleasure always to displease me,  
I'll please myself by a most just return  
In my revenge, and never cease t'afflict him:  
No, think not that I will incline to pity.  
I'm too much injured to be pacified:  
His sorrow makes my joy, and I am glad  
To s●● that by this famous punishment  
I shall establish my authority.  THIMANTES. 
Diana's turn is now; see he revives  
To weep her lover, and immediately  
To follow him by the force of your Art:  
Sad spectacle? hearken unto her grief,  
And open your eyes, and heart to her complaints,  Diana upon Thersanders' body. DIANA. 
What, my dear Lover, art thou then but dust?  
Alas! thy mouth wants speech, and thine eyes light.  
But inspite of the plot which makes me sigh,  
I have the happiness yet to lament thee:  
Flow, flow, my tears, and pour upon this object  
Torrents of flame, not water, there is nothing  
So cold in the dark bosom of the Grave,  
Which the fire of these Rivers cannot warm:  
Yes, by my tears at last, my cries, my plaints,  
Dear ashes, I will kindle you again,  
Though cold now and extinguished like the Phoenix  
I'll raise you up again by force of sights,  
Which you shall Echo to me.  THIMANTES. 
Madam can you  
Behold this sight, and not be moved at it?  DIANA. 
Love, canst thou not answer to my desires▪  
Thou art a miracle thyself, and therefore,  
Methinks, shouldst do one: art thou in the world  
No more a source of life? oh canst thou not  
Restore my lover to me, from whose arms  
They have ravished him; which of the Gods can call him  
Back from the gates of death, if thou canst not?  
My dear Cleagenor, I pray thee, answer me  
By these my tender sighs, by Celia's name;  
How's this! I can pronounce thy name, and mine  
And yet, O Gods! thou answerest me nothing;  
I see, alas! thy mouth and eyes still shut:  
He's dead, and these names cannot touch him now.  
Love, since thou hast no power to succour me  
In that point as to make him live, at least  
Make me to die: I come, my faithful lover,  
It is impossible I should survive thee;  
I feel that my despair t'enjoy thee here  
Gives me to death; my heart hath lost the spirits  
Which made it move, I scarce can utter more:  
Happy thy Celia, if her death could give  
Thee life again, if thy sleep might have end  
By mine, and if I could with all my blood  
Redeem thine; I have done, my love is coming  
To meet thy flame, and I expire upon thee  
The rest of my sad soul.  CLIDAMANT. 
What! is your heart  
Not touched yet with this object? are you still  
Jnsensible of so much grief as she  
Suffers by your means? oh! let pity yet  
Disarm your anger, the Enchanted Lovers  
Have suffered enough Nymph, break the charm▪  MELISSA. 
Yes, I am touched at last, I must confess,  
And really am sorry for the evil  
Which they have drawn through their temerity  
Upon themselves; but though their grief appeaseth  
My anger now, the charm which I have made  
I can't undo; to tell you truly, Shepherds,  
It is so strong that only a Divinity  
Can break the chance on't; 'tis decreed by fate  
That it shall last yet longer, and I cannot  
Prevent it, though it be my proper work.  THIMANTES. 
How! cannot you prevent it? heavenly Gods.  
What say this? no, no, you have not left  
Your anger, but retain it still; and willing  
To punish them, and to revenge your wrong,  
Will make of them a lasting spectacle  
Unto the eyes of all; and to excuse  
Yourself the better of this cruelty,  
Would put it off to some Divinity;  
But the Gods by our prayers and tears appeased,  
Jnspight of your attempts, will stop your charms:  
Yes, Madam, the great Gods condemn your plots,  
They are the Sovereigns, and absolute Masters  
Of destiny, we hope all things from them,  
And that they'll suffer crime no longer here  
To reign and tyrannise. Thou Goddess, which  
Art in this place adored which holdest fate,  
And fortune in thy hands, which hatest crime,  
and whose cares keep the Shepherds that serve thee  
In this delightful Island, look upon  
The sad estate whereto love hath reduced  
Two miserable Lovers, whom the Nymph  
Pursues with horrid cruelty to death  
By fatal charms, destroy the power of them,  
And render to this government again  
The liberty to love, and to declare it.  Thunder and lightning. PARTHENIA. 
Ha! what a sudden flash of lightning's this,  
That strikes mine eyes, and what a clap of thunder  
Shakes all this place?  ISMENIA. 
With what a thick black cloud  
The Sky is covered?  MELISSA. 
I believe Heaven trembles,  
And its Arch openeth; behold the Goddess  
Descends, and maketh sign, as if she'd speak:  
We must give audience.   

SCENA Ultima.  The Goddess DIANA. DIANA. 
YOur prayers are heard, let nothing trouble you,  
Fair Celia and her Lover both shall live  
And love for ever, their afflictions  
Are ended, and I have dissolved the charm,  
No accident shall henceforth trouble them.  
They stirred up pity in you, now they may  
Make you to envy them; search all Records,  
You'll find no subject equal to their love.  THERSANDER, to DIANA. 
By what enchantment is thy life restored?  DIANA, to THERSANDER. 
By what enchantment dost thou live again?  The Goddess continues. 
I'll recompense their inexemplar virtues,  
And pay the price of their affection;  
To consummate their happy Nuptials,  
I'll open my Temple, and assure you all  
Of my protection. 'Tis my pleasure also  
That the love of the Shepherd Clidamant  
Be at the same time crowned with Hymen's honours,  
And that he end his days with sweet Parthenia,  
That henceforth he command in the Isle with her;  
My justice hath made choice of them to reign.  
The Nymph I do degrade, she is too criminal,  
And dispense you of your obedience to her;  
I'll make the power of her Art unuseful;  
And free this Island from all future fear,  
And danger; but to save her from the Thunder  
Of the offended Gods, I will receive her  
Into my Temple, which shall be her Sanctuary.  
Her Sex hath ' long enough ruled the Province,  
I'll change the order of its Government,  
And henceforth it shall be under the power,  
And wise administration of a Prince,  
Which shall be of the blood of Clidamant  
From father unto son.  Melissa seeing the Goddess to ascend. MELISSA. 
I confess Goddess,  
You do me justice in approving crime  
One makes himself a complice: without you,  
The Gods, high Sovereigns, Masters, and disposers  
Of destiny, would, sure, have punished me  
With death; I go into your Temple now  
To employ other charms, to wash away  
My criminal defilements with my tears  
To pray unto the immortal powers, whilst I  
Have breath, and so disarm them at your Altars:  
But to the end her law may be fulfilled  
In every point, Cleagenor, fail not  
To love your Celia.  THERSANDER. 
O how redevable  
Am I to your rare goodness?  MELISSA. 
Clidamant,  
Enjoy what you deserve, accept Parthenia,  
With her, the crown, and succeed happily  
The rank which I freely resign unto you.  CLIDAMANT. 
You command still, and keep your Sovereign rank,  
When the reign is conferred upon your blood;  
And by all my respects, I shall express  
That 'tis but in your name that I'll be Master.  PARTHENIA. 
Though Heavens▪ kind hand chooseth a husband for me,  
Since you allow him, I'll hold him of you,  
And will possess no honour here, nor power,  
But to express the more my service to you,  
And my acknowledgements.  THIMANTES. 
Ismenia,  
Must we not couple too?  ISMENIA. 
Yes, if the Goddess  
Had said it; we'll defer our marriage,  
Till she descends again.  CLIDAMANT. 
Ismenia,  
I command in this place now, and I will it.  ISMENIA. 
Since you will have it, I accept his vows  
Of faithful service. If Melintus too  
Hath shaken of his jealousy, I must  
Be reconciled with him..  MELINTUS. 
Well, I agree to 't,  
Let us remain friends.  CLIDAMANT. 
Heaven hath promised us  
That we shall all be happy, let us go  
Forthwith unto the Temple to conclude  
This triple marriage, and henceforth we shall  
Honour this day as a great Festival.    
FINIS.   

ERRATA.  
PAge the 5. for Scene I. read Scena I. page ibid. line the 5. for you, read your. p. 48. l. 20. for bare, r. share. p. 69. l. 5. for my, r. thy. p. 74. l. 20. for loved, r. beloved. p. 99 l. 4. write in the margin Clidamant. p. 102. l. 25. for nam r. flame. p. 96. l. 8. for exaltation, r. exhalation. p. 97. l. 2. for he, r. she.   


THE AMOROUS FANTASME TRAGICOMEDY    

THE AMOROUS FANTASME; A Tragicomedy.  
By Sir William Lower Knight.  
Amico Rosa, Inimico Spina.  
LONDON: Printed for Fr. Kirkman at the john Fletcher's Head over against the Angel-Inn on the backside of St. Clement's without Temple-Bar, 1661.   

TO HER HIGHNESS THE PRINCESS ROYAL.  
MADAM,  
IN presuming to dedicate this imperfect Piece to the most accomplished Princess of the Earth, I confess to show much more ambition than discretion, more rashness then solid reason and moderation; but seeing ordinarily that the greatest Persons have the least pride, and the most charity, I cast myself wholly upon your clemency, and fly the test of your judgement, which being so exact, would doubly condemn me, first in the design itself, next in the conduct, and consequence of it, as being a composition weak, and unworthy of so high a Patronage. If it may serve to divert Your Highness in some vacant hour when your sublime thoughts are suspended, I have the only end I aim at, and shall glory in the honour and happiness to introduce some thing with the New Year, which may give you the least satisfaction: My conclusion is a most humble petition for pardon, and a favourable censure of the bold ambition, which I have to entitle myself,  
MADAM, Your Highness' most humble, most obedient, and most Faithful Servant WILLIAM LOWER.   

PROLOGUE To the Court.  
HA! what divine shapes strike mine eyes, and make  
My tongue to falter, and my limbs to shake,  
Through a respestfull awe and reverence,  
Which thus so strongly seyseth on my sense?  
These are no Phantasms, such as we present,  
But true Divinities from Heaven sent  
To grace our Earthly Theatre; then I,  
Who cannot stand before such Majesty.  
Fall on my knee, and in this posture pray  
I may be heard to speak before the Play:  
Madam, to you then, from whose beauteous sight  
Those lesser Stars derive their borrowed light,  
First I address me; and although I'm sent  
From the proud Poet with a compliment  
To let you know that he protests and saith  
His Scenes will please, I cannot have that faith:  
He swears that he prepares a Piece so rich  
In high conceptions, that it will bewitch  
Your eyes and ears, a Banquet that may please  
The Danity Palates of the Deities:  
Unheard of vanity! I cannot choose  
But undeceive you, know 'tis an abuse,  
You'll meet with no feast here, since the chief dish  
Which he presents, is neither flesh nor fish,  
But a mere Fantasme, garnished like a coarse,  
Larded, and served up with some love discourse,  
Vnsolid matter flourishes of wit,  
And airy fancies, in my judgement fit  
But for the public Stage, not to appear  
Within the verge of this illustrious Sphere,  
Where nothing but the quintessence of wit  
Should dare to enter: humbly I submit  
To your transcendent judgement my advice,  
And wish it may be found more rash than wise,  
For deign t'applaud the Play, and I'm content  
To suffer for it any punishment,  
t' Appease the Poet, whose rage will be hot  
Upon my head, if you protect me not:  
Auspicious Planets, rule this night, and shed  
Sweet influences on your board and bed.   

ACTORS.  
CARLOS. 
Lover of Isabel, and Friend to Fabritio.  CLARINA. 
Woman to Isabel.  FABRITIO. 
Lover of Climene.  CLIMENE. 
Mistress to Fabritio, and to the Duke.  JACINTA. 
Woman to Climene.  FERDINAND. 
Duke of Ferrara.  VALERIO. 
Captain of the Duke's Guards.  ISABEL. 
Sister to Fabritio.  ALPHONSO. 
Father to Fabritio and Isabel.  LICASTES. 
Servant to Alphonso.  CELIN. 
Servant to Carlos.  GUARDS. 
   
The Scene is at Ferrara.   

THE AMOROUS FANTASME. A TRAGICOMEDY.  

ACTUS PRIMUS.  

SCENA PRIMA.  Carlos, Clarina, in a street. Carlos. 
ARt sure of it, Clarina? is it possible  
That Isabel now is sensible  
Of what I suffer for her, and resents  
In my behalf the fire which her fair eyes  
Have kindled in my heart?  Clarina. 
Sir, I assure you,  
'tis an undoubted truth, which I received  
From her own mouth.  Carlos. 
I'm much astonished  
With a success so charming.  Clarina. 
For my part,  
I wonder that you are astonished at it:  
Is it so great a miracle, I pray you,  
To see a Maid to change? we have a mind  
Alternatelie to turn love into hatred,  
Or hatred into love, such an effect  
As this so common in our Sex, should not  
Seem strange unto you: Isabel. is  
Of age sufficient to feel the effect  
Both of the fire she kindles, and o'th'evill  
Which she procures; the end, Sir, of her coldness  
Should not surprise you: who gives love, can easily  
Take it again; and when a young heart never  
Hath loved any thing, at the first fire  
That sparkles, 'tis inflamed; my Mistress is  
As sensible as fair▪ you will be happy,  
If you are faithful.  Carlos. 
But comest thou by her order?  Clarina. 
To speak truly,  
She willed me to speak as from myself;  
But, Sir, your goodness is a gage that makes me  
To tell you all, 'tis by her express order  
That I have uttered this secret to you  
Of such importance; but you must be silent  
And discreet, if yov'll profit by the knowledge.  Carlos. 
But may I not at least acquaint her brother  
With my good fortune? he is bound by friendship  
To favour me, and I should do him wrong  
To disguise any thing to him.  Clarina. 
Oh! Sir,  
That's it my Mistress, dreadeth, believe me,  
Above all things: so far you must be from  
Acquainting him therewith, that you should fear  
Lest he might have the least suspicion of it:  
Know you not yet that her inhuman Father,  
Will not permit her to give you her hand,  
That to uphould the splendour of his house,  
He'll raise his Son unto his Daughter's cost,  
And, (as 'tis often practised now a days)  
To th'one designs his goods, and to the other  
A Monastery?  Carlos. 
I know well that her Father  
Hath fuch a purpose, but though he be of  
A nature so inhuman, sure, her brother  
Is not so barbarous: we are tied together  
By such fair bonds of friendship, that I know  
He'll mix his interests with mine.  Clarina. 
If I  
May freely speak my thoughts here, I must tell you  
That interest can break the strongest bonds,  
That commonly men better keep their wealth  
Then their fidelity, and that there is  
No friend which they love equal with themselves  
Be sure you trust no person now a days,  
Danger still follows too much confidence:  
The less a good is known, the sweeter 'tis:  
Last Sir, keep your secrets to yourself,  
My Mistress doth desire it.  Corlos. 
Oh! Clarina,  
It is enough, there is no reason more  
In this point to examine now, but I  
Obey without dispute; the name of Friend  
Must yield to that of Lover; but shall I  
See our fair Mistress by thy means this evening?  Clarina. 
Sir, it is very late.  Carlos. 
I know thy skill.  
And thou knowst— putteth gold in her hand.  Clarina. 
Yes, your liberalities.  
I'll go t'advertise her, as you desire,  
And presently return, if you will stay,  
Either to bring you up, or to persuade her  
To come down to you.— Exit Clarina▪  Carlos alone. Carlos. 
Oh how sweet it is  
To mollify a hard and cruel heart!  
How charming is Love, when 'tis mutual?  
what high content, what ecstasy of joy  
Feels a poor captive in his troubles, when  
The hand that tames him, helps to bear his chains?  
A good gained easily is not esteemed:  
The more it costs, the more 'tis precious:  
Although th' Horizon's covered with darkness,  
I easily discern the door to open;  
Doubtless, 'tis Isabel, I'll advance.   

SCENA SECUNDA.  Carlos, Fabritio. Carlos. 
My happiness is greater than I dared  
To fancy is, I can't express unto you,  
By what soe'er endeavour I can use,  
The fullnss of my passion and my joy.  Fabritio. 
Dear friend, I do beseech thee let us leave  
Vain compliments, I know shy goodness for me.  Carlos. 
Good God how I'm confounded▪ 'tis her brother  
Fabritio. — aside.  Fabritio. 
Thou knowest then, it seems,  
How highly fortune is propitious to me,  
My marriage is concluded and agreed,  
And thou comest without doubt to wish me joy.  Carlos. 
Friend—  Fabritio. 
I'm certain, it is this that brings thee hither:  
Thou wilt congratulate my happiness.  Carlos. 
How ready, and ingenious he is  
To draw me out of trouble? — aside  Fabritio. 
Thou comes to take part in my ravishment.  Carlos. 
Thou shouldst do me a great wrong, to judge otherwise.  Fabritio. 
Know then that our desires did jump together:  
I was a going hastily unto thee  
To tell thee the glad news, I did believe  
Thou knewest it not, and did not think to be  
Prevented, I am highly redevable  
To thy rare friendship.  Carlos. 
I do nothing for thee  
That is considerable, my interest  
Alone bringeth me hither, and thou needest not  
To thank me for it.  Fabritio. 
How! what interest  
Canst thou have in this place?  Carlos. 
The same which friendship  
enjoineth me to take in thy contents.  
Between two faithful friends, such as we are,  
Every thing should be common, joy and happiness  
Possesseth both, when one of them enjoys it.  
Know when I bear a part in thy good fortune,  
I more oblige myself then thee, and am  
So well paid for my care and tenderness,  
That there needs no addition of thanks.  Fabritio. 
Know also of my part when Fortune doth  
Confer her favours on me, they are doubled  
When Carlos shares therein, and would diminish  
If he should not partake them; but who comes  
So late forth of our house?   

SCENA TERTIA.  Clarina, Fabritio, Carlos. Clarina addressing herself to Fabritio thinking to speak to Carlos. Clarina. 
SIr, enter quickly;  
My Mistress Isabel in her chamber  
Expecteth you and will.—  Fabritio. 
How, what will she?  Clarina. 
Misfortune! 'tis Fabritio, I must  
Dissemble. — aside.  Fabritio. 
Well, what will she, finish now.  Clarina. 
Sir, she would speak with you,  
T'express the joy whereto her love engageth her  
On the conclusion of your marriage.  Fabritio. 
I know her tenderness, and what I owe her;  
Carlos and I will see her presently  
To give her a good night.   

SCENA QUARTA.  Climene, jacinta, Carlos, Fabritio. Climene coming out of her house. Climene. 
IT is Fabritios' voice this which I hear,  
I cannot come forth in a fitter time.  Carlos. 
I willingly wait on you, your desires  
Are mine, you need not doubt them— to Fabritio.  Fabritio. 
Let us enter.  Carlos. 
How this success favoureth my flame! — aside  Fabritio stopped by Climeme. Fabritio. 
But who doth stop me? Heaven! it is a Woman,  
It seems she Would speak with me Carlos stay.  Carlos. 
I wait you here.  Fabritio. 
How comes it she withdraws  
When I advance?  Carlos. 
Without doubt she hath something  
To speak to you in private.  Fabritio. 
In the hope  
Wherein I am that I am he you seek,  
Be not offended that I dare t'approach:  
I've courage and civility enough  
T'esteem me fortunare if I could serve you:  
T'engage me, Madam, to the offer which  
I make to use my utmost cares and pains  
T'accomplish your desires, it is sufficient  
That Heaven hath given you the advantage to be  
Of that fair Sex unto which all owe homadge:  
If I may notwithstanding without giving you  
The least offence be honoured to know  
Your name, you will increase my Zeal in giving me  
So fair a satisfaction.  Climene 
Take it then,  
My dear Fabritio, and know Climene.  Fabritio. 
Climene, my fair Mistress, what occasion  
Could bring thee here at such an hour as this?  
Thou doublest my fear and perturbation;  
The more thy voice assureth me; the more  
Uncertain am I: and so far am I  
From coming forth of error, that I enter  
Into new Labyrinths, and doubts, I was  
More happy when I knew thee less; oh what  
Design hast thou, I cannot comprehend it?  CLIMENE. Climene. 
Leave me to speak, then, I will tell it thee.  
I will not say what joy and happy rapture  
Seized me when I understood the news,  
That by a joint accord our friends and parents  
At last had yielded to our marriage;  
My love, which thou shouldst not forget, exemps me  
To discourse this unto thee, and enjoins me  
To a relation much more important▪  
And much less pleasing,  Fabritio. 
How▪ what thing is there  
In nature that can trouble our repose,  
Since as our hearts, our parents are agreed?  Climene. 
'tis of a longer date then from to day  
That Love useth to mingle with his sweets  
Much bitterness, those whom he flattereth  
At first are seldom happy, his deceit  
Is equal to his blindness, and like Fortune,  
he's constant only in inconstancy:  
This is a truth, which thou shalt but to sensibly  
Conceive: one day which was the fatallest  
Of all my life, wherein my father burdened  
With age and sickness had the sorry honour  
To be by the Duke of Ferrara vissitted:  
This Prince knew me in this extremity,  
And thought to see some charms upon my pale  
And blubbered face, mine eyes unluckily  
Wept unto hIs, and from the sources of  
My tears his flame took birth,  Fabritio. 
Oh Climene,  
I fear—  Climene. 
That fear offends me; my heart wholly  
Was thine, I gave it thee, and the Duke's passion  
Stirred up in me nothing but my aversion:  
Though I concealed this fire, thou hast no cause  
To complain at it, for before 'twas known,  
I hoped to quench it, and I scarce should yet  
Reveile it to thee, if thy interest  
Obliged me not to speak: on the report  
Which was spread of our marriage, the passion  
Of the Duke was converted into rage;  
He came unto me in his first transport,  
Swore to me solemnly that my choice was  
The sentence of thy death, that Love opposing  
My punishment, he thought to do more in  
Destroying what I loved; and to the end  
He might with the more rigour punish me,  
He would even to the bottom of thy heart  
Go for to seek me: Lastly knowing well  
That his desire is to assault my life  
In threatening thine, conducted here by love,  
And more by fear, I come to conjure thee  
T'avoid his fury; fly hence, what soever  
Care for me keeps thee back here, and to save  
My life, preserve thine.  Fabritio. 
This discourse is cruel  
As much as it appeareth sweet: should you  
Advice me to absent me from your person?  
Sure I should little know what 'tis to love,  
T'obey you in this point: Come, come, say all,  
Confess your love is changed, that my remains  
Of hope must vanish, and that the Duke's flame  
Hath dazzled you, I see well that mine here  
Is troublesome, that you abandon Love  
To follow Fortune, and that poor Fabritio  
With all his fetters pleaseth your fair eyes  
Less than a crowned Captive: I condemn not  
This signal rigour; you deprive me of  
A happiness whereof I was not worthy,  
And in receiving of a Sceptre offered  
Unto your beauties, you obtain much less  
Than you deserve. Reign, nothing is dishonourable,  
To gain a diademne; and as I love you  
More than myself, I shall esteem my death  
A fair design, if entering into  
A tomb, I leave you in a throne,  Climene. 
Fabritio,  
Canst thou love me, and speak thus? really  
Thou detract'st from my glory in this thought  
That I can be unfaithful, banish it,  
It is thy enemy and mine; suspicion  
Between us two should be a hideous monster;  
Canst thou be ignorant with any justice,  
That I love less a sceptre than Fabritio,  
And find more joy in being captive with thee  
To reign over thy heart, then o'er the universe?  Fabritio. 
It is enough, Climene, my devout  
And a mourous soul, which ever must adore thee  
Although thou shouldst abuse it, would believe thee:  
And though a lie carries a swarthy face,  
In issuing from thy mouth it would have charms;  
But how comes it to pass that when thy sweetness  
For my sake flies a crown, thou dost ordain me  
To depart, and to leave thee? how to leave thee.  
And in a Rivals power to! no, this remedy  
Is Worse than the disease. Suffer my presence,  
Or suffer my despair, what matter is it  
Whether the Duke, or absence kill Fabritio  Climene. 
When two inevitable dangers meet  
To invade us at once, 'tis wisdom still  
To think of the most pressing, here thy ruin  
Is certain, being absent, thou canst live;  
Consider this, that to what punishment  
Soer our love exposeth thee, thou canst not  
Suffer but I must suffer too, nor die,  
But I must cease to live, for know absuredlie  
My days shall finish with thy destiny;  
When we are dead, the grave shall be a witness  
Of our reunion? where I see thee not  
No object pleaseth me; if thou art yet  
Incredulous of words and protestations,  
At least believe my tears.  Fabritio. 
Oh open not  
Those precious sluices, keep that treasure in;  
Increase not my affliction with thy grief:  
Not all the blood which tunneth in my veins  
Is worth the least drop of these liquid pearls,  
The evils wherewith my life is threatened  
Are too well paid with a single tear.  Climene. 
Oh leave those vain discourses, and depart.  Fabritio▪ 
Well, well, Climene, I must then obey.  Climene. 
I have as much cause here to be afflicted,  
As satisfied, I fear more thy departure  
Then wish it, and I give my faith unto thee,  
That thou shouldst not depart, if I could keep thee  
And expose but myself. Let's separate;  
But what! this fatal image robbeth me  
Already of my strength, spare me, I pray thee,  
In parting hence the danger here to die  
In bidding thee adieu. — Exit Climene.  Fabritio. 
Climene flies me;  
O lamentable destiny!   

SCENA QUINTA.  Carlos, Frabitio. Carlos. 
FRiend, comfort thee.  Fabritio. 
I am inconsolable,  
And must die, Carlos, since I must absent me.  Carlos. 
Thou shalt be happier, if thou wilt hear me,  
I have a means that thou shalt not depart,  
And yet, in safety too, shalt see Climene,  
Alone, and without trouble.  Fabritio. 
To abuse  
Thy friend, is but an odd way, in my judgement,  
T'assist him, 'tis to aggravate my evil,  
And not to heal it: is there any art  
To render me invisible?  Carlos. 
For once then  
Believe that I will do for thee a thing  
Which seems impossible, give me leave to speak  
And in a moment thou shalt lose thy grief,  
And thy astonishment: Thou knowest well  
That Italy hath for a certain time  
Been troubled with two factions, whose partakers  
In every city name themselves a loud  
The Guelps and Gibelins: on this occasion  
My Father and Climenes against each other  
Took an immortal hatred; through their credit  
And their condition, each made himself  
Head of a faction; the Duke receiving  
Advertisement thereof, and apprehending.  
The issue of this enmity, so strongly  
Conceived, made them both to be arrested,  
Not without, reason, and confined them  
As prisoners, each one to his own house.  
My Father who saw his pretention vain,  
Knowing his house was near unto the others,  
Had recourse unto cunning, and believed  
That every thing was lawful to destroy  
The greatest of his enemies; to work then  
His ruin, and in private too, he caused  
A close Mine to be digged even underneath  
His adversaries garden; being finished,  
My Father fell sick, and soon after died;  
I was, as thou know'st by the right of birth  
Heir of his goods, and not of his revenge;  
But though I should now have a hatred for  
Climene, I should sacrifice it wholly  
Unto thy love; in opening this Mine.  
Thou may'st, without being seen, have easy access  
Unto thy Mistress, and to execute it  
Securely, we will make all men believe  
That thou art gone.  Frabitio. 
How infinitely am I  
Indebted to thee? how shall I acquit me?  Carlos. 
My friendship is offended very much  
At these expressions of acknowledgements.  
I'll to the Duke expressly t'understand  
What his intentions are concerning thee.  
Enter into my house. — Exit Carlos.  Fabritio. 
I'll go t'impart  
This secret to Climene. But what hear ●?   

SCENA SEXTA.  The Duke, Valerio, Fabritio. jacinta, Guards. Duke. 
Do that which I commanded.  Valerio knocks, at the door of Climenes' house. Fabritio. 
'tis the Duke.  
Rage overcomes my reason.  Duke. 
What averseness  
Soe'er Climene hath unto my flame  
Some little hope yet flattereth my soul,  
I've gained her woman; who hath promised  
This night to bring me privately into  
Her chamber, the door openeth, jacintae!  jacinta coming from Climene. jacinta 
Yes every thing succeedeth to your wish,  
My Mistress is deceived and takes you for  
Fabritio, she commanded me to open  
Without delay, her order doth excuse me  
In letting you to enter, lose no time;  
But I hear her descend, speak not a word,  
Without doubt, she'll mistake herself.  Duke. 
We will  
Be cleared therein, let us approach a little.   

SCENA SEPTIMA.  The Duke, Climene, Fabritio, jacinta, Valerio, Guards. Climene addressing herself to the Duke and thinking to speak to Fabritio. Climene. 
WHat wouldst thou, my dear Lover?  Fabritio. 
a, dear Lover!  
Heavens! what is this I hear!  Climene. 
I have cause, really,  
To complain of thee, couldst thou not one night  
At my request refrain my company?  
Yet I excuse thee upon this presumption  
That who loves well is little Master of  
Himself, and can't deny but my charmed soul  
Complains here but of being too much loved.  Fabritio. 
May I believe this? Heaven! am I enchanted?  Climene. 
Thou needest not doubt this truth; when I would be  
Angry against thee, suddenly I check  
Myself, and when my mouth accuseth thee,  
My soul defends thee.  Duke. 
Fortunate Fabritio — aside  Fabritio. 
O happy Rival! — aside.  Climene. 
Thou dost know my love.  FABRITIO. 
I knew it ill. — aside  CLIMENE. 
What! answearest thou nothing?  
Doubts thou my flame, or fearest thou that another  
More pleasing object drives thee from my soul?  
What ever happens, rest thyself assured  
That my love and my life shall have one course▪  
And that it is impossible for me  
No more to love thee.  DUKE. 
How unhappy am I? — aside.  FABRITIO. 
How miserable am I? — aside.  CLIMENE. 
What obligeth thee  
To murmur still thus to thyself? must I  
Confirm my love unto thee by some oaths?  
If my flame for thee make not all my glory,  
If thou alone possessest not my heart,  
And all my thoughts, let—  FABRITIO. 
Swear not ingrate full and perfidious Woman,  
It needeth needeth not, I do believe thy words.  DUKE. 
Thy death shall soon follow thy insolence:  
My Guards.  Fabritio flying. FABRITIO. 
It is in vain to make resistance.  Valerio and the Guards go after Fabritio. DUKE. 
Pursue, and kill him.  JACINTA. 
Alas! I'm dead with fear.  CLIMENE, 
I faint, I faint, jacinta, hold me up.  Duke. 
Let him die, 'tis but just, too great a merit  
Is often a great crime, in ruining  
This Rival, I may gain what I desire;  
And if he perish not, my hope must perish:  
Let's see if the success answereth my wish.   

SCENA OCTAVA.  Valerio, The Duke, jacinta, Guards. Valerio. 
OH, Sir, 'tis done, he's dead, in vain he did  
Endeavour to defend himself, he fell  
Pierced with a thousand mortal strokes, his soul  
Found overtures enough to sally forth  
His bloody body, covered o'er with wounds  jacinta. 
Oh! stay Sir.—  Coming forth of Climenes' house. Duke. 
Thy cares are superfluous.  
I am revenged, jacinta, and Fabritio  
Is dead.  jacinta. 
Oh if you love Climene, enter not  
Into the house, she's scarce recovered yet  
Of a great faintness which seized on her spirits.  Duke. 
The blood which I have shed, will cost her tears,  
I will not go, to add unto her griefs,  
But retire me, a while, in the mean time,  
Valerio, let it be your charge to go  
Unto Fabritios' Father, to acquaint him  
With his son's death, and further let him know  
That for his rash and saucy insolence,  
He hath received but a just recompense.   
The End of the first Act.   

AGTUS SECUNDUS  

SCENA PRIMA.  Isabel, Clarina, In a Chamber. Isabel. 
WHo enters there?  Clarina. 
Madame, it is Valerio,  
Who from the Duke Discourseth with your Father  Isabel. 
What pressing business might bring him here?  Clarina. 
To tell you, I should be a Prophetess.  Isabel. 
A message at this hower's not ordinary.  Clarina. 
It doth appear as strange to me, as you.  Isabel. 
Let us expect the issue on't, and change  
Discourse.  Clarina. 
You fain would have me speak of Carlos;  
Madam, confess it.  Isabel. 
I cannot deny  
But I am pleased, when I hear him praised.  Clarina. 
I should not be in my right sense if I  
Should speak ill of him, he is a brave man,  
And of a Liberal and obliging nature,  
He merits much.  Isabel. 
But in what manner did he enrertaine  
Th' intelligence thou gav'st him that my humour  
Towards him was inclined to more sweetness,  
And rhat my heart at last disposed itself.  
To love him?  CLARINA. 
With transports, and ecstasies,  
Which cannot be expressed.  ISABEL. 
Hast thou been careful  
To tell him cunningly, according to  
Those rules I gave thee, that to do him service  
Thou didst betray thy Mistress, and gav'st him  
That notice without my consent?  CLARINA. 
Yes, Madam  
I told him so, and very handsomely;  
But your strange love surpriseth me, you fear  
that he should know it, and yet tell it him:  
If he less knew it, would you be more pleased?  
What humourous fancies are in Lovers spirits?  ISABEL. 
Though I love Carlos, (be it reason, or  
Fancy that guides me) I believe I do  
Myself wrong, when I do justice to him;  
The bashfulness which Heaven hath put into  
Our Sex, for bids us to be free in what  
Concerns the point of love, nor must we think  
any thing lawful in relation to't:  
And by that power, which I know not myself,  
I cannot without blushing say, I love:  
It seemeth that our eyes made to tame hearts,  
When those that were our captives do become  
Our conquerors, although they find the dart  
Lovely and charming that subjected us,  
Cannot without some shame, behold this change  
The art to despise love, my heart no longer  
Can practise, but o Heaven! whom see I Carlos?  
So late here in my chamber.   

SCENA SECUNDA.  CARLOS, ISABEL, CLARINA. CARLOS. 
PArdon me  
This bold intrusion, seeing the door open,  
I could not but lay hold of the occasion;  
And following my love, I thought I might  
With out offending you with disrespect  
Enter, to cast myself at your fair feet.  ISABEL. 
How fancy you that I can be so little  
Respectful of my honour, as to suffer  
A visit from you without being offended?  
No, Sir, your hope deceives you, and this liberty  
You take, denoteth in you little love,  
Or too much Vanity; can I believe  
You love me well, in giving to yourself  
A licence thus to make foul-mouthed detraction  
In veigh against me, or can you imagine,  
Without great folli● in yourself, that I  
Can approve this design so little modest,  
And not b'offended at it?  CARLOS. 
Though I can  
Produce some reason here for my defence,  
I hold me criminal, since I offend you,  
And should but little profit to persist  
In the opinion of my innocence  
When your fair mouth condemns me,  ISABELLA. 
I condemn you,  
'tis very true, and for your punishment  
I banish you; you must go forth.  Carlos. 
I dare not  
Appeal upon your sentence, but retire;  
I obey with regreet, but without murmur.  Isabel. 
How Sir, begun so soon, what motives pray you,  
Induce you thereunto?  Carlos. 
Since you ordain it  
I must depart, 'tis fit that I obey you.  Isabel. 
I should think, Carlos, that you obey here  
Some what too quickly for a perfect Lover:  
Believing that you loved me, I appeared  
Too proud, and scornful: 'tis an assured maxim.  
That one loves coldly what he quitteth easily;  
Love is but il expressed by respects;  
Who readily obeys, knows not to love  Carlos. 
I am astonished at this discourse;  
Can you Complain, I quit you, Isabella,  
When I obey you 'gainst my sentiment  
When my love glittereth in my submission,  
And when by a kind heat, which is not common,  
My happiness displeaseth me, when it  
Offendeth you? what would you then have said,  
If seeking only my own satisfaction,  
I had preferred my desires and wishes  
Before yours? in what manner can I please you,  
If in obeying you, I anger you?  Isabel. 
You argue too well for a man in love.  
Where love is strong, reason is impotent;  
The one can't be established, whilst the other  
Subsists; sometimes a maid would be resisted,  
And obstinately loved 'gainst her consent;  
And as her close desires are very seldom  
Express d, she often speaketh with intent  
To meet a contradiction, and to be  
Enforced unto that which she desires:  
According to this maxim, possibly,  
I have on this occasion discoursed  
Conrrarie to my sentiment, and perhaps,  
I should be so far from believing me  
Injured thereby, that you would have obliged me,  
In not obeying me.  Carlos. 
I'm raped in pleasant wonder, if those words  
Astonish me, they charm me more; if I  
Must stay to please you, nothing is more easy,  
Then to content you fully in that point:  
Seeing obedience is not pleasing to you;  
I will stay, Madam, and will not obey.  Isabel. 
It is too late; begun, my mind is changed;  
Occasion is lost assoon as ' passed;  
You would have too much pride, and I should have  
Too little, if after such a confession  
I should detain you here.  Carlos. 
This order is  
Severe and rigorous.  Isabel. 
But it is just:  
I love not always to be disobeyed.  
Follow Clarina, go, and have a care  
You be not seen. O Heaven! I hear my Father.  Clarina. 
Alas▪ we are undone; perhaps, he doubted  
Of your intelligence, enter forthwith  
Into this closet.   

SCENA TERTIA.  Alphonso, Clarina, Isabel. ALPHONSO. 
Oh Daughter, daughter!  ISABELLA, 
He appeareth furious.— aside.  
I read my sad misfortune in his eyes.  ALPHONSO 
Can I live after such high injuries?  ISABEL. 
What is the Matter, Sir?  ALPHONSO. 
How! demandest thou?  
Dost thou not plainly see in the excess  
Of my quick griefs, that I am burthered with  
The greatest of misfortunes?  ISABEL. 
What misfortune.  
Oh! Father?  ALPHONSO. 
Isabel, Isabel,  
I must no more be called by that name.  ISABEL. 
I feigned in vain, 'tis best to confess all.  ALPHONSO. 
O fatal change, Heaven, who could'er have thought it?  ISABEL. 
Sir, I beseech you, hear me  ALPHONSO. 
What wouldst thou  
That I should hear, I know now but to well  
What that love costeth me which taketh pleasure  
In blood and tears, and hideth deadly poisons,  
When it shows flowers.  Isabel. 
I confess—  Alphonso. 
Oh how often.  
Our expectations are deceived, in'wishing  
Children, we wish troubles, and punishments.  Isab. 
If his death  Alph. 
Yes, his death is certain,  Isabel. 
Suffer  
That by my tears—  Alphonso. 
Thou shedst them in vain.  Isabel. 
Father, revenge is easy.  Alphonso. 
But alas?  
What should I enterprise against the Duke?  Isabel. 
The Duke? What say you?  Alphonso. 
Art thou ignorant,  
That my son by his order received death?  Isabel. 
I know it not; oh miserable destiny?  Alphonso. 
Valerio from him brought me the sad news,  
And would enforce me to agree with him,  
That he in killing him did not unjustly:  Isabel. 
What cruelty is this? waste not enough,  
Through an unjust and barbarous constraint,  
To forbid you a just revenge, but even  
To complain of the injury?  Alphonso. 
True, Daughter;  
To punish yet my son after his death,  
They will I understand it, and not murmur:  
It seems they have a mind, that I should go  
To kiss the hand that murthets me, as being  
Stained, and smoking yet writh my son's blood.  Isabel. 
But Sir, consider in this sad conjuncture,  
That my dear Brother's body doth expect  
Interment.  Alphonso. 
Yes, I have taken care for that,  
By order from me it is to be brought  
To this apartement.   

SCENA QUINTA.  Licastes, Alpbonso, Isabel. Clarina. Licastes. 
THe death, Sir, of your son is but to certain  
W'ave brought his body into the next chamber.  
Some little distance from this place we found it  
Stripped, and so much disfigured with wounds,  
That we should not have judged it to be his,  
If seeking carefully we had not found  
His coat not far of, and a little further  
His hat●● The thing which troubleth me most  
In this misfortune is, that having made  
A fruitless search all over for the rest  
Of his habiliments, I could not find  
Any one of them, and can not imagine  
Who should have ta'en them thence.  Alphonso. 
Unhappy Son  
Of an unfortunate Father!  Licastes. 
Sir, you may  
From hence see this sad object, if you please  
To cause that curtain to be drawn aside. aside  Alphonso. 
Draw it, Licastes, let me see my sorrow;  
We would be private, every one retire.  The curtain is drawn, and he sees upon a bed a murdered body. 
I cannot in this Lamentable object  
Discern one feature of my Son, and scarce  
Will my confusion give me leave to know  
Him whom I have begotten, lying thus  
In such a mangled condition.  
Son, if it may be lawful in the sad  
Estate wherein our miseries have put us  
For me to use that name sometime so sweet,  
I must then say unto thee, that this spectacle  
Makes me to feel thy wounds more sensibly  
Than thou thyself didst when thou didst receive them:  
Thy miserable destiny and mine  
Differs not much, the blood which thou sheddest is  
The purest in my veins, the arm whose rigour  
Hasted thy death, gave not the fatal stroke  
Through thy heart, but it entered in my bowels:  
And if we differ any thing in such  
A miserable fortune, 'tis in this,  
That I still feel the pressing evils, which thou  
Sufferest no more, Sources of my afflictions,  
Deep wounds, which appear now but bloody mouths,  
Whose silent accents seem here to solissit  
My arm to a revenge, know that a subject  
Holds not his Sovereign's fate between his hands:  
In vain ye ask revenge 'gainst such a blood;  
Alas here I can offer you no other,  
But what my heart makes to flow from mine eyes.  Isabel. 
The cruelty o'th' Duke, Sir, should be punished.  Alphonso. 
He is my Prince, although in my concernment  
A tyrant, subjects destinies depend  
Upon their Sovereigns, a crime becomes  
Just in their hands; and if at any time  
Those earthly Gods ought to be punished ',  
It must be by a thunder bolt from Heaven:  
In this case I should make but vain attempts.  
If the Duke die, shall my Son live again?  
But what chance brings Clarina here in such  
Distracted haste?   

SCENA QUINTA.  Clarina, Alpbonso, Isabel. Clarina. 
Oh Signior, oh Madam!—  Alphonso. 
What ails thee, art thou mad?  Clarina. 
Oh, I have seen—  Alphonso. 
what hast thou seen that troubleth thee so much?  Clarina. 
I have seen, I have seen—  Alphonso. 
What hast thou seen?  
Speak, I conjure thee.  Clarina. 
Since than I must speak it,  
I've seen a dead man walk.  Alphonso. 
The hast lost thy reason.  Clarina. 
Nothing's more true, that fearful Fantasme follows  
My steps, I hear him, he pursues me; save me.  Isabel. 
It is my Brother—  Alphonso. 
Strange! It is my Son.   

SCENA SEXTA.  Alphonso, Fabritio, Isabel. Alphonso. 
Son, is my soul sure, or am I deceived,  
Is this but an illusion which I see  
But a vain object form by my fancy?  
If so, finish my life here with my error?  
Mayst thou yet be i'th' number of the living?  
Fabritio, ist thy body that I see  
Or ist thy shadow? comest thou to fill me  
With joy, or with affright? come satisfy me,  
Let me embrace thee.  Fabritio. 
I see the light, Sir, and I find here charms,  
Since you esteem my life at such a rate  
As to lament it lost; not but as injured  
By love and fortune, they should not do to me  
A favour to deprive me of the light;  
But though they should oblige me very much,  
In the condition wherein my soul  
Is now, to quench my fierce flame with my blood,  
And though my blood thus shed would make my fortune,  
More sweet, I would conserve it, since 'tis yours.  Alphonso. 
How comes it that thou hast so strong a hatred  
For life? thou canst not doubt Climenes' love;  
The passion of the Duke alarumes thee  
Too much; if thou lov'st much, thou art no less  
Beloved.  Fabritio. 
A fair appearance oftentimes  
Beareth false witness, I assured myself  
Too much of her fidelity, and though  
I could doubt the report my senses made me,  
I have too sure a testimony of her  
perfidiousness, since her own mouth confirmed it:  
She entertained in amorous discourse  
My happy Rival with so passionate  
An air, that I forgot both my respect  
Unto the Duke, and the care of my life,  
In uttering my despite; the Duke possessed  
Strongly with love and hate, gave express order  
Unto his Guards to kill me; but I knowing  
That my defence then was unprofitable,  
Under a dark porch sought my sanctuary,  
Whilst an unfortunate stranger walking that way  
They took to apprehend me in the dark,  
Was suddenly environed with the Guards,  
And pierced through with halberds. assoon as  
Those murderers were gone, to draw my life  
Out of such hazards, and to make this error  
More probable, I took the bloody clothes  
Of that deplorable body, and was ready  
To leave it mine, having cast his into  
The current of the river, when a noise  
Of voices crossing my design, I was  
Constrained to leave that body naked and  
Without life, to come speedily to you▪  
And to advertise you of this event.  Alphonso. 
I fear the issue of this blessed succsse;  
Know that the Duke boasts of thy death already,  
He thinks it just, which maketh me to judge  
That thy preserved life is still in danger;  
If thou desirest to obey thy Father,  
Stay not a minute here, but seek thy safety  
In sudden absence.  Fabritio. 
But What! must I leave  
Climene?  Alphonso. 
She hath left thee, her example  
Shows thee the way to infidelity;  
If to betray a person that doth love us  
Be a base act, to love one that betrays us,  
Is no less weakness.  Fabritio. 
I am still a Lovet,  
Though an abused Lover, and she hath.  
More beauty than injustice, her crime puts  
No fearful object in her eyes and countenance.  
Although she cease to love, she ceaseth not  
To be beloved, and my heart charmed by her,  
Deceives itself, if it thinks to be able  
To hate her, though she hath betrayed it.  Alphonso. 
I find that absence is the only remedy  
For this disease, 'tis fit thy passion yield  
To my desires; fly through obedience,  
Or through resentment, oh assure thy safety  
By thy remove, 'tis that which I desire.  Fabritio. 
And which I fear.  Alphonso. 
That matters not.  Fabritio. 
But Sir—  Alphonso. 
But I command it thee: for fear to be  
Perceived, go forth without attendance and  
Without noise unto Carlos house, and there  
Pass the rest of the night; to morrow early  
Before the day break, take the way to Florence,  
Where I have many Friends that will defend thee.  
In the mean time I'll send thee by a friend  
A horse and money for thy journey; haste.  Fabritio. 
My Sister.  Alphonso. 
Add not to my misery  
By sad regretts: be gone, be gone; adieu;  
Let me embrace thee, I deprive myself  
Of my most dear support, but though I lose thee,  
'tis with intent to save thee. — Exit Fabritio.   

SCENA SEPTIMA.  ALPHONSO, ISABEL. Isabel. 
By what cruelty  
Banish you my dear Brother?  Alphonso. 
Isabel,  
Thou speakest like a Sister, and I act  
As Father, it is far more pleasing to me  
To have an absent Son, than none at all:  
I will deceive the Duke by taking of  
His unjust pursuit 'gainst his life, when he  
Shall fully understand his death: I will  
To morrow that my house be all in mourning,  
That this corpse be interred for my Son;  
And to the end that all Ferrara be  
Deceived with the Duke, I'll honour it  
With funeral pomp, this is a debt we owe.  
Unto a blood, whose loss hath conserved ours,  
Although we had no furthet use of it.  
Lastly—   

SCENA OCTAVO.  Fabritio, Alphonso, Isabel. Fabritio. 
SIr—  Alphonso. 
What is it that troubles thee?  Fabritio. 
I met the Duke, Sir, at our door, he followed  
A torch, which might, perhaps, discover me,  
I hear noise, he pursues me, oh receive him,  Alphonso. 
O duty too unjust! cruel constraint!  
Go quickly with thy Sister Isabel  
Into that closet.  Isabel. 
He goes to Carlos house, what shall I do?  Fabritio. 
Come along with me, what should hinder you?  Isabel. 
I fear you should be seeney, and there fore would  
That the light might be put out in this place.  Fabritio. 
I contradict not, les us enter then.   

SCENA NONA.  Carlos coming out of the closet. Carlos. 
They are both entered, I must quickly forth:  
Fortune no longer seemeth to be contrary  
To my designs; the way is free; but what!  
I hear the Father's voice: oh how unhappy  
Am I?   

SCENA DECIMA.  The Duke, Valerio, Alphonso, Carlos, Guards. Duke. 
ALphonso, I am not deceived,  
Your soon is Living, I have seen him: having  
Understood, that Climene in a soowne  
Fainted, being careful of so fair a life,  
And guided by my love, I went unto  
Her house, where happily I saw your son:  
I know that she adores him, and dare say  
That her disease will Vanish, if he Lives:  
Lastly I wish it, and am come of purpose  
To be informed clearly of this truth.  Alphonso showing the Duke the body which is upon the bed. Alphonso. 
SIr, you may easily be cleared herein;  
Behold my son, judge if his loss be certain:  
You feared him living, do not fear him dead.  
See, his congealed blood smokes at your presence?  Duke. 
It is too much I'm fully satisfied  
That he is dead; but what did Carlos here  
Without light?  Carlos, 
To secure my Friend, I must  
Feign hand somlie— aside,  Duke. 
He seems to be astonished.  Carlos. 
Sir, 'tis not without cause that I am so.  
For coming here to understand the news  
of my dear Friend Fabritios' destiny,  
Assoon as I entered that open chamber,  
His Ghost appeared before me in a posture  
So dreadful, that I tremble to think on't:  
He had the figure of a fearful Fantasme,  
His bosom was opened with a large wound,  
His colour pale, and all his body bloody.  
He came towards me with a staggering pace,  
And darted forth a look though languishing  
Yet fierce; a bleak, and black blood issued  
Out of his mouth, and in his eyes grim death  
Walked the round.  Duke. 
I also saw just now  
Fabritios' shape, but much less horrible,  
Me thought he was alive.  Carlos. 
I dare engage  
My credit, that your Highness saw his shadow  
Aswell as I.  Duke. 
'tis that which doth confound me.  
I still held for a fable what the vulgar  
Report, of vain ghosts, and could not imagine  
That a spirit once departed from a body,  
Should leave the dead to come among the living,  
Cease to be simple, and be visible,  
Having no more a body. Notwithstanding  
This success startles me, I could not think it,  
And now I cannot doubt it. But adieu,  
I see your grief increaseth by my presence.  Alphonso. 
Sir, I wait on you.  Duke. 
I know what is a Farther, and that nature  
Will not allow him to pay homadges  
To him that robs him of a Son— Exit Duke.  Alphonso. 
How highly—  
Am I indebled to you for this favour?- To Carlos  Carlos. 
It is not great; 'twere requisite Fabritio  
Should instantly betake him to my house,  
From whence he may unseen make his escape,  
I'll go unto the Duke now, to confirm him  
Yet stronger in his error.— Exit Carlos.   

SCENA UNDECIMA.  Alfonso, Fabritio, Isabel. Alphonso. 
Go, and choose  
Florence to morrow for retreat.  Fabritio. 
Sir—  Alphonso. 
Let me  
Receive no more replies, do what I bid thee,  
All my desires should be strong laws to thee,  
Adieu, let me give thee the last embrace.  Isabel. 
Sir, notwithstanding all your care, I fear  
My brother can't submit himself unto  
This severe order; by his last discourse  
I comprehended too well that he loves  
Climene still after all her contempts,  
And that his blinded soul is still resolved  
To lose all, rather than to lose her sight.  Alphonso. 
I will be satisfied herein, and know  
The means to do it, fail not thou to morrow  
Towards the evening to go to Climene:  
The evil, that hath surprised her, invites thee  
Unto this Duty; for my part, I will  
Make Carlos a visit at that time:  
If my son stays, I doubt not but to find him  
In one or to their house; but it is late,  
Adieu, in humane Fortune give unto thee  
As much rest, as I have unquietness,  
And trouble at my heart.— Exit Alphonso.  Isabel. 
'Las! mine doth bleed  
with double grief▪ though the first wound be hid,   
The End of the Second Act.   

ACTUS TERTIUS,  

SCENA PRIMA.  The Duke, jacinta, in Climenes' Garden. jacinta. 
THis is the Garden, Sir, where presently  
My mistress comes to walk her melancholy:  
The grief she taketh for her Lover's loss,  
And her decayed health distracts her judgement;  
Although the danger of her malady  
Be great, she walks, and would even fly herself.  
Be you assured her griefs will suddenly  
Conduct her here to weep her sad misfortunes,  
And you may see her without witnesses,  
And without trouble, if your Highness please  
To fetch a turn or two in this close Alley.  Duke. 
Thy care augments my trouble, not my hope;  
I burn, and fear to see her equally:  
I burn to see her when I represent  
Unto my amorous soul a charming Image  
With all its beauties, and I fear to see her,  
When my sad fancy represents unto me  
The rigour of those fair offended eyes:  
'tis an undoubted truth, I fear to see  
That fair afflicted one to reproach me  
The evils wherein my flame hath plunged her,  
To say that hatred is the only fruit  
Of my addresses, and that with my Rival  
My spirit is destroyed.  jacinta. 
Your Highness, Sir  
Should be prepared against the bloody taunts  
Of a beblubbered Mistress: to speak truly,  
And not to flatter you, I cannot see  
The least hope that she will be wrought to love you  
By this sweet way you take; I should advise you  
Unto another course, make use of force,  
Where kindness cannot work; ravish a good,  
Which is denied to you; take her hence,  
Who is so foolish and so rigorous,  
And force her to be happy 'gainst her will.  Duke. 
How, take her hence by force? oh no, I cannot  
Consent unto it, force can never be  
Compatible with love, I would be loved  
Without constraint, and cherished with out fear,  
So far would her disdain be by this means  
From ceasing, that it would take deeper root,  
As having juster ground to propagate.  jacinta. 
Your reasons are not altogether lawful;  
Our Sex, Sir, hath strange maxims, oftentimes  
It feels not what it doth express, and seldom  
Loveth Death's fatal wracks, after a fortune  
Of such a nature, love in woman's heart  
Turns unto grief, and that grief vanisheth:  
Her oaths and cries are of no consequence,  
Her passion dies, when th' object is no more.  
Perhaps, Climene at this very hour,  
Feels that ambition from love's ashes springs  
Within her heart, and that she is prepared,  
In spite of her just mourning to proffer  
The glorious possessor of a throne  
Before the sad inhabitant of a tomb  
And, possibly, wearied with her affliction,  
She would be forced to embrace your love.  Duke. 
To take her hence, and force her unto marriage,  
Are the last means which I will try; before  
I use towards her the least violence▪  
I'll see her.  jacinta. 
Sir, she comes there.  Duke. 
How she studies,  
And how her slow uncertain pa●es speak  
The violent troubles of her spirit, her paleness  
Depaints her grief.  Climene. 
Leave me alone, and pass  
Into that alley.   

SCENA SECUNDA,  Climéné, jacinta, The Duke. jacinta. 
Madame,—  Climene. 
Once again  
I say I will be private for a minute;  
Retire, and leave me to myself.  jacinta. 
But if  
The Duke.—  Climene. 
Be gone, and speak no more of him,  
His name is odious to me.  Duke. 
How unfortunate  
Am I?  jacinta. 
I told you, sweetness would do nothing  
Upon that stubborn spirit.  Duke. 
I will follow  
Thy counsel, let us speedily go forth,  
My presence would increase her cruelty.  jacinta. 
For fear you should be seen, be pleased to stay  
Till she goes in; till when I cannot hand sonelie  
Draw you from hence; in the mean time your Highness  
May in those shady walks divert your sadness.   

SCENA TERTIA.  Climene alone. Stanzas. 
THou which they say canst with facility  
Act what includes impossibility,  
Blind Guide, false Child which canst have no pretence  
At all unto the state of innocence,  
Tyrant of hearts, Love, which hast boasted still  
That Death submitts unto thy power and will.  
Make her to know that she muade● thy right  
In robbing my Fabritio of the light  
And cause him to return again, or give  
Me passport the Shades where he doth live.  
The sweetest objects that now strike mine eyes,  
Increase the number of my miseries,  
The Sun tells me Fabritio's but a shade,  
The Lilies at his loss look black and fade,  
Those Rose, Queen of the flowers, seems to be  
Stained with my Lover's blood, and neepes with me.  
Dear Lover, thou sad object of my cries,  
Whose image still dwells in my heart and eyes,  
Reproach me not that I live yet to mourn,  
After thy ashes sleep in their cold urn,  
Death without doubt ere now had joined me  
To thy sad shadow, if I could agree  
That thou shouldst die within my heart, oh no  
I cannot leave th'y adored Image go.  
Thy cruel Rival when he murdered thee  
In his conceit, mistake, and murdered me:  
His furte was deceived, not satisfied,  
In cutting of thy days, Climene died,  
The Duke betrayed his vows, for I expire  
In thy cold ashes, Thou livest in my fire.  Climene. 
What's that I say, Thou livest in my fire,  
Thy living Image is carved in my soul;  
But those immortal characters, alas!  
Which flatter me, are dead Fabritios'.  
unjust and rigorous fate, was't reasonable,  
That death should seize him so near marriage?  
But why dispute I in such great misfortunes?  
I'll suffer my sad sighs, fotbid my tears,  
And to enuenome my affliction,  
I'll cease complaint, nourish my sorrow, and  
By prudent cares for fear to weaken it,  
I'll strengthen it within, I'll signalise  
My griefs by silence better than by speech.  
When one hath lost all who complains, receaves  
A kind of comfort, therefore I'll for bear;  
Yes, my dear Lover, to deplore thy death  
In stronger terms than plaints and exclamations  
But what! I hear a fearful noise beneath me?  A noise under the Stage. 
It seemeth that to join me to Fabritio  
A sudden thunder doth prepare itself  
To come forth from the centre of the earth:  
The noise redoubleth, and renewed strokes  
Makes me believe that underneath my feet  
They dig graves, I perceive the flowers to fall  
The plants to be unrooted, the most settled  
And firmest oaks to tremble; it is time  
To fly hence, but I cannot, fear for bids me;  
Heaven! the disorder grows, and the earth cleaves  
Fabritio comes forth thence, my strength fails here,  
And I am almost dead with fear and weakness.   

SCENA QVARTA.  FABRITIO CLIMENE. Fabritio coming out the Mine. Fabritio. 
THanks unto Carlos, and in spite of destiny,  
I hope to see Climene in this garden  
But to conceal the means on't I must cover  
Most carefully the opening of the Mine:  
Those stones, and those green boughs will make the hole  
Invisible, I need but seek the ingrateful,  
Before I vent my anger; I'll reproach her  
With my passed services, with her inconstancy,  
And her false oaths; for fear my death should give her,  
Some satisfaction, and to th'end t'afflict her,  
I will appear unto her, and protest  
That I will live yet to abhor her; yonder  
I see that fair Inconstant; but alas!  
I see her pale, cold, and in dying posture;  
At this sad object which confoundeth me.  
A tender pity doth succeed my passion;  
And if this pity caused by her misfortune,  
Is not yet love, 'tis something, sure, that's near it,  
Climene thou fair object of the flame  
which riseth up again, when almost dead,  
Cast yet a languishing look upon Fabritio;  
For all thy anger and inconstancy,  
I never sought any revenge 'gainst thee;  
Return, and if thou wilt not that I live,  
At least with one sweet look honour my death:  
I hear some coming, I must hide myself.  
If I should go into the Mine again,  
There's danger I might be surprised.   

SCENA QUINTA.  The Duke, Climene. Duke. 
I have heard strokes which troubled me much  
The noise came from this side, let us advance  
I see Climene, who sleeps; but alas,  
Unparalleled misfortune! she is dead,  
And underneath a thick veil, her fair eyes  
Are shut up never to be opened:  
Tyrannic destiny, by what law is it  
That such a rare and exquisite beauty hath  
So tragical a fate, and that the Star  
Of my nativity, which hath produced  
My fires, finds in its morn eternal night?  
But I am in an error; Master piece  
Of all perfection, fate is innocent,  
And I alone am guilty, 'tis this arm,  
This barbarous arm that hath ta'en hence my Mistress  
In murdering my Rival.  Climene. 
Oh, alas!  Duke. 
She breathes, she breathes, and openeth her eyes  
Love, be propitious to me.  Climene. 
Is it thee,  
My dear Fabritio, Fantasme of my soul,  
Sweet Shadow of my Lover? what wilt thou?  Duke. 
Her grief distracts her judgement.  Climene. 
Comest thou to reproach me suddenly,  
That thou hadst lived, if thou hadst not seen me,  
And that the fire sometime so fair, which kindled  
Our hearts with mutual love, served but to light thee  
To descend to the grave?  Duke. 
You are mistaken,  
Adoreable Climene.  Climene. 
Tell me then  
The cause that brings thee, Comest thou to solissit  
My heart and arm a while yet to defer  
My death, unto the end to revenge thine!  
Will thou that this hand plunged in the Duke's blood  
Make my destruction just, and thine revenged  
Speak speak; he shall not long be in condition  
To triumph in thy death, in the midst of  
His Court, and in the eyes of all Ferrara,  
I'll pierce the bosom of that barbarous Prince.  Duke. 
My heart fears but the strokes of your fair eyes,  
Know me, and recollect your wandering senses  
The excess of your sorrow wrongs you much.  Climene. 
Whom do I see?  Duke. 
A Prince that loveth you.  Climene. 
What fatal accident, what cruel destiny  
Presenteth me, in stead of my Lover,  
His murderer, Sir, you must pardon me  
This language, as a person highly injured:  
I can no more respect you: is it possible,  
You are not fully satisfied yet  
In barbarously depriving me of him,  
I loved more than myself, but you must come  
To rob me of his Shadow?  Duke, 
This vain shadow  
You speak of, is but an illusion  
Formed by your fear and your affliction;  
And when I've dissipated from your fancy  
This fatal image, you will find that I  
Have more advauntaged, then injured you.  
For dead Fabritio, please you to remember,  
That 'twas your interest made me punish him;  
The insolent discourse which he held forth,  
Carried me justly to that violence:  
If I had spared him, I had injured you,  
And if I had done less, I had less loved.  Climene. 
By this account then I'm indebted to you  
For giving, me the greatest of misfortunes,  
In killing even before mine eyes the object  
Which I adore, without whom the fair light  
Is odious to me; you are much deceived  
In your pretensions, you have gained nothing  
In ruining a Rival, and the art  
Which you use to asperse his reputation,  
Can't hinder him to live with in my soul:  
Though this death which I feel lively with in me  
Had not expressed so much hate and contempt  
As you show love and tenderness, I should  
Have loved him so much as I hate you.  Duke. 
I condemn not your just transports, but bear them,  
He was your Lover, though he was my Rival;  
And I repent my rage in that I wronged  
Your charming Image, printed in his soul:  
I know that Rival, which was odious to me,  
Pleased your fair eyes more than I, his merit  
Was that which only rendered him guilty:  
I hated him for being too amiable;  
But in that hate, I fully did express  
My love to you in offering you a heart,  
And with that heart a crown. But I offend you,  
Your looks speak your disdain. not to provoke you,  
I leave you, and hope yet, that you will one day  
Have less aversion for me.  Climene. 
Time can never  
Cure my disease, death only is its term.   

SCENA SEXTA.  jacinta, Fabritio, Climene. Fabritio. 
I will approach, I see the Duke retire,  
My trouble is passed; and Climene lives;  
But, heaven: who cometh here again to cross me?  jacinta to Climene. jacinta. 
The Funeral is coming.  Climene. 
What, Fabritio's?  Fabritio. 
It is jacinta, I need not for her  
Keep a loof of.— aside.  jacinta. 
Yes Madam, you may see  
The coffin which encloseth your dead Lover  
From your Balcony at this very instant:  
His Father, who intends to celebrate  
His mourning, honoureth Fabritios' death  
With funeral pomp, and whilst they carry him  
Unto the Temple, you may, if you please,  
See that unfortunate body pass.  Climene. 
I will so,  
It is my last desire,  Fabritio, discovering himself. Fabritio. 
Enjoy it, Madam,  
Behold here the unfortunate Fabritio.  jacinta 
Heaven! where shall I fly safely from this Fantasme.  
I dare not stay. — jacinta flies away.  Climene. 
What! will jacinta leave me;  jacinta. 
I have no other Mistress now but fear.  Fabritin holding Climene. Fabritio. 
False and ingrateful Beauty, do you fly me?  
This makes your lightness. To appear too much:  
If any justice yet reigns in your soul,  
After you have betrayed me, give me leave  
To complain my misfortune.  Climene. 
I betray you?  
What do I hear, Heavens! how astonished am I  
At this so strange event? if I may here  
Believe mine eyes, it is the living portrait  
Of my Fabritio, but if I believe  
His voice, it is but a deceitful Fantasme  
Of such a faithful Lover:  Fabritio. 
I am that very Lover, who against  
Your will could not, in losing all his hope,  
Lose his life too; yes, I live yet, Ingrateful,  
And fear I live for you still in despite  
Of my just anger, I know not what power  
Opposeth it. in steed of murmuring,  
I sigh, and all the heat that rests with me  
Resembles anger less than love.  Climene. 
Now I  
Begin again to know Fabritio;  
His heart in spite of him doth secretly  
Render me justice; and when the false mouth  
Condemns me, it seems resolute in thought  
That I am faithful.  Fabritio. 
Faithful? oh it is  
Unto the Duke that this speech is addressed  
He only is to hope for all your love.  Climene. 
Canst thou impute those base thoughts unto me?  Fabritio. 
They are truths, if I may believe your oaths;  
I should doubt yet of this extreem misfortune,  
If I had understood it from the mouth  
Of any other but yourself.  Climene. 
An evil  
When it is known, is easy to be cured;  
I know thy error, cease to be abused;  
If the last fatal evening I expressed  
find words unto the Duke, I did believe  
That I discoursed to thee, and so upon  
That faith all that I said to him, was wholly  
Intended unto thee●, thy only Image,  
Which can possess my heart, my memory,  
And all my senses with so much renown,  
Was only guilty in that fatal moment,  
If but a little blindness may be said  
To be a crime in Love.  Fabritio. 
Unto a Lover,  
Whose soul resigns itself unto suspicions,  
Any excuse is good enough, and passeth,  
A lie that pleaseth deceives pleasantly,  
And every thing is easily believed,  
Which is desired; though all thy reasons were  
As false as fair, so sweet it would be to me  
To see my fears to end, and in my fancy  
To flatter the affliction which thou  
Mightst cause me, that thou wouldst oblige me strongly  
To make me yield to be abused.  Climene. 
Let thy heart be  
Free from those Low suspicions; if thou wilt  
Absent thee, I am ready here to follow thee;  
I'll manesest unto thee every where  
The clearness of my faith, be it to live,  
Or die with thee, let Heaven bless, or deceive  
Our expectations, I'll live satisfied,  
Or die content.  Fabritio. 
What owe I—  Climene. 
Thou ow'st nothing;  
Nothing of thanks, in following thy desires,  
I follow my own sentiments; but how  
Were't thou secured?  Fabritio. 
Fortune did favour me,  
A stranger passing that night perished  
Instead of me, and this Mine gives me means  
From Carlos house to enter into thine.  Climene. 
Thou mayst a while here entertain thy thoughts  
In the mean I'll go to fetch my jewels:  
Pass underneath this arbour, I believe  
I hear a noise; assoon as it is night,  
I'll come to thee again.   

SCENA SEPTIMA.  jacinta, Fabritio. Fabritio. 
IF I am not deceived, here comes jacinta,  
Climene trusts her with her nearest secrets:  
Forrune, it seems, to day in every point  
Will be sweet to me, if I can oblige her  
To go away with us.  jacinta. 
Scarce freed yet  
From my first fear, I tremblinglie return  
Unto Climenes' house: Fabritio  
Was murdered through my means, and without doubt  
He cometh to revenge himself upon me  
From th' other world: my ruin were inevitable  
If I should meet that fearful Ghost again.  Fabritio. 
Stay.—  jacinta. 
'tis the Spirit, good God, I die with fear!  
Oh Genrle Fantasme, have compassion of me;  
I do confess my fault, and promise faithfully  
Ne'er to betray you, nor my Mistress more.  Fabritio. 
Strange! but I must know more. Disguise me nothing,  
If thou dost—  jacinta. 
Touch me not then, I beseech you,  
And I will tell you all: 'tis true, ● always  
Endeavoured to hurt you, that I studied  
To serve the Duke in his amours against you,  
And that indeed I was cause of your death.  Fabritio. 
Pernstious spirit.—  jacinta 
Enter not into fury,  
This is not all yet, lend your ear, I pray you,  
I had forgot to tell you that the Duke.  
By my advice this day hath fixed upon  
Climenes' rape, and that this very evening  
He will attempt this unjust enterprise,  Fabritio. 
Horrid perfidiousness!  jacinta. 
I have told all my faults, now may it please you  
That I leave you in peace: for know that nothing  
Is so unpleasant to me as discourse  
With people of another World. If you  
Were not dead, you would be so good unto me,  
To grant me pardon upon my repentance.  Fabritio. 
It would not suit well with a generous spirit  
To punish a weak woman. Go.—  jacinta. 
Monsieur Fantasme,  
God will receive your soul. — Exit jacinta.  Fabritio. 
The Duke this night  
Intends, it seems, to take away Climene,  
Heaven, must my hope be yet again destroyed?  
But my heart leaves itself to be assaulted  
With a vain fear, seeing I am beloved,  
What should I doubt; nothing is strong enough  
To disunite two hearts whieh love hath joined,  
This God doth miracles for those that be  
His faithful Votaries, and such are we.   
The End of the third Act.   

ACTUS QVARTUS.  

SCENA PRIMA.  Fabritio, alone. 
Behold the hour, wherein I hope to see  
The Beauty which my soul loves and adores;  
The Sun already having run his course,  
Darteth no more here but a feeble light:  
With his last rays he now adorns the West  
He sets with glory, shines when he is lost  
And the fair remnants of his dying brightness  
Maketh his fall and loss illustrious,  
Pardon, thou glorious Star, whose splendour hurts me,  
If my hope comes, when thy light vanisheth:  
Ingenious Love, to hurt me more, assembles  
That mass of Instre which so charmeth me  
In fair Climenes' eyes, and presently  
Her looks will give me brightness which surpasseth  
That which thou takest from me: But she stays,  
Heaven. she neglects me, she appeareth not:  
The Moon is well advanced; and all my hope  
Dies with the day; this long delay denotes  
A fault of love: I hear one walk, and if  
My eyes are faithful witnesses, I see  
This miracle of Fair ones come at last.   

SCENA SECUNDA.  Climene, Fabritio. Climene. 
FAbritie—  Fabritio. 
here, fair subject of my flame.  
Here's he, who is as faithful as he's happy.  Climene. 
I did not think to have been so long absent.  
I fear that I have put thee to some trouble.  Fabritio. 
Believe, indeed, that to Fabritio  
The least remove of thy fair eyes is grievous.  
I did expect thee sooner, and to speak  
The truth resolved to complain unto thee,  
Upon this point; but to forget it quite,  
It is sufficient that I see thee now;  
I have no power to complain before thee,  
The present pleasure flattering my thought,  
Takes wholly from me the remembrance  
Of my passed trouble.  Climene. 
Since love forceth thee  
Not to accuse me, the same passion  
Obligeth me too to excuse myself.  
It was not the care of these Diamonds  
Wherewith I'm loaden, which caused my stay,  
It only was the care to take a time  
Proper for our departure.  Fabritio. 
Let's refer  
The prosecution of this discourse  
Unto another time, and think we now  
To finish our designs, and t'haste our flight;  
I fear the strokes yet of injurious chance,  
She should be trusted least, when she smiles most.  Climene 
Let's haste, I willingly consent unto it,  
I fear lest that torch should discover thee,  
Oh hide thee!  Fabritio. 
I will die rather than hide me;  
An outrage is intended to thy person.  
I must prevent it, being advertised  
That the Duke's ready by a barbarous order  
To carry thee away by violence.   

SCENA TERTIA.  The Duke, Valerio, Climene, Fabritio, Guards. Valerio. 
SHe must be here  Duke. 
I'll draw aside a little,  
But so, that I'll hear all: Go, speak from me.  Fabritio. 
What suffer thee to be ta'en hence by force,  
And in my presence?  Climene. 
No, if any Violence  
Be offered, step forth unto my aid,  
In the mean time hide thee, and make me not  
To fear for any but myself; Valerio,  
What seek you here at such an hour as this?  Valerio. 
I could not wish to meet a better object  
Then your fair self, a coach near hand attends you,  
I must conduct you there, having for it  
An express order.  Climene 
How! from whom have you  
This order?  Valerio. 
Madame, from the Duke my Master,  
Whom every one is bound here to acknowledge  
For Sovereign.  Climene. 
Let him be ne'er so Sovereign,  
Yet he must know that the free soul of Climene  
Is not within his power; my heart depends  
Upon another, and say what he will,  
That is no lawful subject to his Empire.  Valerio. 
Madam, I'm sorry— but I must obey,  Climene. 
What! thinketh he to make himself beloved.  
As one makes himself hated▪ Losing liberty?  
Believeth he that I should be so simple  
To take so many marks of hatred for  
Effects of love? what from his enmity  
Might I not fear, if when he loveth me,  
He seeks to persecute me?  Valerio. 
I am forced  
as much as you are, but it is in vain  
For you to give yourself o'er to complaints,  
Follow me quickly where I go.—  Duke. 
Stay, stay;  
Her beauty will not suffer any outrage  
To be done to her person, in my presence,  
Or rather I have too much passion  
To suffer that she should be injured.  
'tis true that troubled much, and desperate  
At your contempt I was prepared to take you  
Away by force, I did expect the issue,  
And will confess, Madam, that in my soul  
Love vanquished respect; but presently  
At your first words love vanquished at its turn,  
Yielded unto respect: cease, cease to fear,  
Thou charming wonder, the heat of that love  
Soomewhat too violent: should your heart be  
Hard as a rock, I only would employ  
Respect to touch it, there's more passion in me  
Then hate in you: in all the places where  
I reign, you shall be Sovereign, and I shall  
Esteem me happy, not to give you laws,  
But to take them of you.  Climene. 
I should give thanks  
Unto the Duke for such a declaration  
If I could flatter here Fabritios' enemy.  Duke. 
Although his loss hath reason to oblige me,  
Since it afflicts you, it afflicteth me;  
But there runs a report upon this point  
which terrifies me, 'tis that to your eyes  
His Fantasme doth appear.  Climene. 
There's nothing false  
In this report, Fabritio since his death  
Appeared before mine eyes.  Duke. 
To dissipate  
Obnoxious fears which might cause evil visions  
Within your fancy, some of my attendance  
Shall presently have order not to leave you,  Climene. 
Oh! Sir, this is not it which I demand.  Duke. 
'tis the least duty I must render you:  
Suffer them for to guard you.  Climene. 
Sir, it needs not.  Duke. 
Your quietness concerns me, and I must  
Take care of it.  Climene. 
So far you would be from obliging me  
By this design, that you would hurt me rather;  
Of this care therefore I dispense your Highness.  Duke. 
To condescend to your desires herein,  
Were to betray you, the sad vision  
Of a dead person doth increase your griefs.  
Permit—  Climene. 
No, Sir, command them not to follow;  
The vision doth please me, and I fear  
To be deprived of its company.  Duke. 
This Spirit will always distract your reason,  
As long as you stay in the house alone.  Climene. 
If but to change house will give you content,  
I'll satisfy you, Carlos is my neighbour,  
I will retire to him.  Duke. 
If you fix there,  
I contradict it not, his mother is  
A very prudent Woman, and her counsels  
Will be a great help to your timourous spirits,  
Permit me to conduct you to her house.  Ciimene. 
This prayer is a command, Sir.  
I cannot  
Refuse to follow, him, especially  
Seeing Fabritio likewise hath design Softly.  
To go there.  Fabritio. 
What discourse i'th' name of wonder  
Might she have all this while there; but good God●  
The Duke draws her away, I'll succour her.  Duke. 
This Fantasm's nothing else but the effect  
Of a sad thought, the senses are all hurt,  
when the soul's troubled.  Fabritio. 
I'll put out the light.  Duke. 
Lastly I promise you that there's no Fantasme,  
Nor ever was; but what is that I see?  
O prodigy! o Heaven! how am I troubled?  Fabritio. 
It is Fabritio, who is come to take  
Climene from you.  Climene. 
O Fabritio,  
Unto what danger comes thou to expose thee?  — aside. Fabritio. 
Climene, save thyself, or leave me perish.  Climene. 
My life's in danger, when thou hazardest  
Thyself. I do withdraw now, follow me.  Duke. 
Advance, Guards, I'll be cleared in this point,  
Leave me not, I command ye.  Fabritio. 
She is gone,  
I'll follow her.  Valerio. 
Sir doubt not on't, it is  
Fabrotio's shadow.  Duke. 
No matter, I'll be satisfied therein.   

SCENA QUARTA.  Carlos, Valerio, the Duke, attendance. Carlos coming out of the Mine. Carlos. 
I'll go to aid my friend, this noise doth make me  
To judge that his life runs some danger here.  Valerio. 
It is impossible to take a Fantasme;  
Yet he is taken, and it is a sensible,  
And solid body.  Duke. 
Traitor, and the greatest  
Of all my enemies.  Carlos. 
Oh Sir! what fault  
Hath Carlos committed? never had you  
A subject yet more faithful.  Duke. 
What is that?  
'tis Carlos, strange! this is a new surprise:  
here all my arguments are vain. Come you,  
Carlos, to take Climene from my hands?  Carlos. 
ay, Sir? by no means; the noise which I heard  
Drew me unto this place to know the cause on't.  Duke. 
Who came into this garden then to stop me?  Carlos. 
It was Fabritios' shadow, can you doubt on't?  
We can give you a certain testimony  
Thereof, as knowing well his voice and visage.  Duke. 
I observed them myself very distinctly.  Carlos. 
Assure ye, Sir, it was Fabritios' shadow.  Duke. 
I'm strangely troubled at this prodigy;  
Climene was persuaded by my reasons  
To quit this house, and I was bringing her  
Unto thine, when that spirit came and parted us,  
So that we have lost each other in the dark.  Carlos. 
This success, Sir, strikes me with terror too.  Duke. 
Carlos, we must find out this charming Beauty,  
And for her safety bting her home to thee:  
Seek thou of that side, the rest follow.  Carlos. 
Oh heaven! we are undone, the plots discovered:  
If the Duke find Fabritio, his ruin  
Is certain, but if in spite of the night  
I'm not abused, I see a woman coming  
Towards me.   

SCENA QUINTA.  Carlos, Climene. Climene. 
FAbritio, is it thee?  Carlos. 
No.  Climene. 
Oh, my grief!  Carlos. 
Although it be not he, at least it is  
His second self, 'tis Carlos.—  Climene. 
Oh! dear Sir,  
How miserable am I?  Carlos. 
I know, Madame,  
All your misfortune, having understood it.  
From the Duke's mouth, who very much in passion,  
Seeketh you with no ordinary care.  Climene. 
Fabritio's here about, if he should be  
Vnfortunatelie found, it were impossible  
To save him afterward; Sir, if you love him,  
Divert his danger, overtake the Duke;  
To draw him hence, tell him that I am ready  
To come forth of this fatal place, and that  
I've promised to stay here till you come,  
To go with you unto your house.  Carlos. 
I fly;  
In the mean time, find, if you can your Lover,  
And tell him what hath happened, above all  
fail not to be here presently, yourself.  Climene. 
Fortune; I fear is not propitious  
Enough unto me, to permit me now  
To find Fabritio, with too much heat  
Her anger doth pursue me, to consent  
That I shall have this happiness, notwithstanding  
I hear a noise, perhaps Love favourable  
To my chaste flames, guideth my Lover here:  
But what, they are two women; they have seen me,  
Or I am much deceived, I must begun  
To seek Fabritio, and to shun their presence.  Exit Climene.  

SCENA SEXTA  jacinta, Isabel. jacinta. 
IT is my Mistress, Madam, approach boldly▪  
And give me leave to go immediately  
Into the house, my conduct, and my cares  
Are here superfluous.  Isabel. 
Stay, she goes away,  
And I see her no more, come, let us follow.  jacinta. 
Good God if I should meet the spirit again  
Which I foe dread?  Isabel. 
Thou knowest all these turnings,  
And thou canst guide me; Go before.  janinta. 
Who, I? defend me, God, from such a rudeness,  
I know my duty well, though a gross Girl,  
Madam, you are to go first, I'm to wait you  
Oh if the spirit should come to punish me  
For my late treason! — softly  Isabel. 
But thou tremblest.  jacinta. 
Alas! there's reason for it.  Isabel. 
Stay here then,  
I'll follow her without thee, ho, Climene!  jacinta. 
She leaveth me alone, oh, I am lost!  
Madame, where run you?  Isabel. 
Do not stay my steps.  jacinta. 
Should you be ne'er so angry, by your favour,  
You shall not follow her.  Isabel. 
Thy importunity  
Is really, extreme, why dost thou stop me?  jacinta. 
Because I love you, you would be in danger,  
Should you go on, your safeties dear unto me,  
And I'll take care on't.  Isabel. 
Leave me.  jacinta. 
No, I must not:  
I'll tell you a strange thing a fearful Spirit  
Haunteth those places,  Isabella 
Is't a waggish Spirit?  
Hobgoblin, or a Robin-Good follow?  jacinta. 
No, he's not pleasant, rather on the contrary,  
It is an evil, and a mischievous spirit.  Isabel. 
Who told it thee?  jacinta. 
Mine eyes, which did not lie.  
And I swear to you that I've twenty times  
Seen it in several figures, sometimes like  
A man, and sometimes like a ravenors beast,  
And still at every bout mischievouslie  
Ready to break my neck.  Isabel. 
Climene then  
Is not in safety here.  jacinta. 
I know not that;  
But I believe there is a league between them  
They agree very well: But see the spirit  
In form now of a Giant; Heaven protect me.   

SCENA SEPTIMA.  Fabritio, jacinta, Isabel. Fabritio. 
IT is jacinta, and Climene is  
Without doubt with het.  jacinta. 
It approacheth to us,  
Oh let us fly, 'tis death to meet with it.  Isabel. 
It stopps at me, o Heaven, what fear have I?  Fabritio. 
Climene, stay, and hear me, I'm Fabritio.  Isabel. 
It is my brother, strange surprise! I will  
Speak soft and counterfeit my voice to find  
What his design is, — aside.  Fabritio. 
The injurious Duke,  
Fron whom my cares would take thee, seeketh thee  
Without doubt at this instant, let us lose  
No time to shun his violence, but haste we  
To Carlos house: besides, I fear my sister.  
For she at home this evening said unto me.  
That she would come to visit thee: if she  
Should see me, presently my Father, who  
Thinks me already far of from this place,  
Will understand the contrary. This is not  
To detract from my Sister, she is good.  
And very innocent, but her fault is  
She cannot hold her peace.  Isabel. 
Continue, Brother,  
I'm much obliged unto you, pray, proceed.  Fabritio. 
Misfortune! 'tis my Sister Isabel.  Isabel. 
Pursue, good Brother.  Fabritio. 
'Las! I've said too much,  
Excuse the fears and weakness of a Lover▪  
If thy heart felt such seizures thou shouldst know  
That the God, who is Precedent of love,  
Is but a timourous child, and trembles always:  Isabel 
I do confess, that I am ignorant  
In maxims of this nature, and indeed  
Too innocent to understand them well:  
Concerning your abode, which I have learned  
With some regrett, for being known to me  
'tis not less secret: I will make appear  
By silence and discretion, that I am  
A better Sister to you than you are a  
Brother to me.  Fabritio. 
Oh! Sister, what sweet sentiments have you?  
How shall I merit them?  Isabel. 
I hear some body,  
Brother, let us withdraw.  Fabritio. 
I'll take your counsel; go forth of this dwelling  
To Carlos house, I'll follow you immediately.   

SCENA OCTAVA.  The Duke, Carlos, Isabel, attendance. Carlos. 
YOu see Climene stays here, as I said.  Duke. 
Conduct her! 'tis enough, In satisfied,  
And will go forth content.  Carlos. 
Madame, 'tis Carlos,  
Follow me without fear, speak soft—  Isabel 
'tis Carlos,  
I'll follow him without constraint. — aside.  Duke. 
Guards, wait upon Climene for this night,  
My eyes must be deprived of the happiness  
To see her, my love urgeth me in vain  
To follow her, defer we till to morrow  
To render her a visit, the good which  
I expect thence would be too dear bought  
If it should cost a trouble to Climene.  
Depart we, and le's flatter us with hope  
That we through perseverance shall overcome,  
And that there is no heart so hard by charm,  
Which those fires in my bosom cannot warm.   

SCENA NONA.  Climene, Fabritio, The Duke. Climene. 
FAbritio.  Fabritio. 
My Climene.  Duke. 
Heaven! what hear I?  
My judgement is confounded here; Climene  
Is gone with Carlos, yet some secret charm  
Which I can't comprehend, holdeth her here  
In conference with the shadow of the dead.  Climene. 
Every one is retired we are alone,  
The Duke is also gone out of the garden:  
Let's finish the design we have in hand,  
Leo's press it on, and fly we without fear  
That Tyrant's love, for whom I've so much horror  Duke. 
In what a hideous gulf of black despair  
Am I plunged by this prodigy? ist a truth,  
Or ist a dream?  Fabritio. 
Haste we, but I'm afraid  
That in the dark we shall not find the Mine.  Climene. 
No matter we khan go out of the garden  
Another way, the key of the back door  
Which I have here about me privately,  
Will give us passage forth to Carlos house,  
Where against the light returns, I will be ready  
T'embrace thy fortune, and to follow thee,  
Go where thou wilt.  Fabritio. 
By what expressions.—  Climene, 
'tis enough, make me no reply, but follow▪  
We lose time,  Duke. 
There's no doubt of it, 'tis certain,  
Fabritio either dead or living steal  
Away Climene; ha! I cannot suffer,  
This outrage in my sight: come, I'm resolved  
To lose myself, or rescue her; o Heavens!  The Duke running to succour Climene, falls into the Mine.  
The End of the fourth Act.   

ACTUS QVINTUS.  

SCENA PRIMA.  Carlos, Isabel. In a hall of Carlos house. Carlos. 
WHom see I here? misfortune! oh unlucky  
Encounter! but, perhaps, I am deceived,  
Is it you, Isabel?  Isabel. 
Strange? what hear I?  
Is't possible that Carlos should not know me?  
Are all my features suddenly defaced?  
No, they remain yet, only I have cause  
To think a hat they are razed out of thy memory  Carlos. 
Oh, Madam, this suspicion is unjust,  
I will upon this point tell you the truth  
With all sincerity.  Isabel. 
Pray, what sincerity  
Can one expect from you?  Carlos. 
Condemn me not  
Before you hear me: I had a design  
Which prospered not, my intent was to bring  
Another woman here, and I confess  
That I am sorry now to see you Madam,  
In her place, your fair presence is indeed  
A trouble at this time. But—  Isabel. 
It sufficeth,  
Ingrateful, thy crime is acknowledged,  
And more sincerely than I could have thought.  Carlos. 
Suffer me to express self  Isabel. 
It needs not,  
What explication can be more clear?  Carlos. 
Hear what remains.  Isabel. 
No, I will hear no more,  
All thy disguisements are superfluous.  Carlos. 
But know—  Isabel. 
What should I know more? hast thou not  
Told me that thy soul's fleeting, thou intende'st  
To bring another Woman here, thou wilt  
That I believe it, and I do believe it.  Carlos. 
I have not.—  Isabel. 
True, thou hast not any thing  
For me but coldness, and presumption;  
To see me in her place, thou sayst, thouart sorry,  
And with an unjust passion thy self spirit  
Carried away, goes from inconstancy  
To incivility.  Carlos. 
Give me leave to speak.  Isabel. 
What canst thou say unto me?  
That thou acknowledgest the Empire of  
A Worthier object, that in vain thy heart  
Hath stood against her charms, and that to gain thee  
I have too little beauty?  Carlos. 
Oh deceive not  
Yourself with so much art, and I beseech you  
Be less unjust to my poor heart that loves you.  Isabel. 
In losing such a heart as thine, I shall  
Lose little, it is faithless, base, and treacherous,  
And I pretend not any thing unto it;  
Adieu.  Carlos 
What without hearing me, oh stay,  
I do beseech you, stay.  Isabel. 
My presence here  
Doth trouble you.  Carlos. 
It is a real truth.  Isabel. 
A real truth,  
Ingrateful?  Carlos. 
You shall not go forth before  
Y'ave heard me, suffer me upon this point  
T'express my thought.  Isabel. 
I should again be troubled  
With thy discourse.  Carlos. 
What I shall say unto you  
Can easily be verified.  Isabel. 
No, no,  
I forbid thee to justify thyself.  Carlos. 
For the last time yet give me leave to say▪  
That it is you alone whom I adore,  
That I am wholly yours.  Isabel. 
Well, let me see then,  
If I have any power yet in thy soul.  Carlos 
Madame, command, you shall be satisfied.  Isabel. 
Say nothing more than to excuse thyself,  
And leave me to depart. this I command,  
Obey me in this point.  Carlos. 
For such a perfect Lover as I am,  
It is a crime t'obey too readily.  Isabel 
No, no, I have some power upon thy spirit,  
Show thy respect by thy obedience,  Carlos. 
Love by respect is very ill expressed,  
Who can obey well, knoweth not to love,  
This favourable council, cruel Beauty,  
Was given to Carlos.  Isabel. 
Yes to Carlos faithful▪  
But this fatal advice, whereof thou dost  
Presume so much, was never given unto  
Carlos inconstant,  Carlos. 
Madame, what's my crime?  Isabel. 
Ingrateful, I will tell it thee, 'tis true  
I had for thee something about my heart  
That savoured of tenderness and that  
I know not what began to differ little  
From the toy called Love; at last I was  
Tainted with that disease, when for my punishment  
I knew my love produced but thy hate;  
True, thou feelest it no more, now that thou seest  
That I am touched; I become trouble some  
To him that's dear to me; now that my flame  
Appears, thine is consumed, and beginning  
To love, I cease to be beloved. Beloved?  
what have I said '? I learn by the effects,  
That thou feignest always, and didst never love me  
What canst thou answer to excuse thyself.  
So just a reproach cannot but confound thee;  
Thou strivest not more to justify thyself,  
Thy silence speaks thee guilty and confounded.  Carlos. 
This trouble which appeareth in my countenance  
Proceeds from your injustice, not my crime.  Isabel. 
What have I said here which thou canst deny?  
Defend thyself.  Carlos. 
You have forbidden me  
To justify myself. I fear you would be  
Offended still with my discourse.  Isabel. 
No, no  
Speak, Carlos, now my anger's vanished;  
Although thou shouldst be false, and prove it.  
In such a high degree as to betray me,  
I might complain thereof, but could not hate thee constant  
And whatsoever change thy heart should make.  
I should excuse thee if thou didst desire it.  Carlos. 
Upon your fair hands for this sweet expression,  
Let me imprint my joy, and my resentment.  He kisseth her hand.  

SCENA SECUNDA.  Alphonso, Isabel, Carloo. Alphonso. 
WHat do I see?  Carlos. 
But Madam, your suspicions  
Injute my love extremely.  Isabel. 
My suspicions  
Give Carlos intimation that I love him.  Alphonso. 
You love him?  Isabel. 
Heaven! what hear I?  Carlos. 
O hard Fortune!  Isabel. 
I must dispose myself to die, he'll kill me — aside  
Father.  Alphonso. 
Unworthy object of my anger  
justly provoked, I'm thy enemy,  
Call me no more thy Father: how! presum'st thou  
T'offend me in so high degree as thus  
Against the rules of reason and of honour  
To come to Carlos at his house by night,  
And in despising the Religious Cloister  
Whereto I've destined thee, to give thyself  
Over to base amours?  Isabel. 
I do beseech you,  
Hear me, grant me that savour, will you, Sir  
Refuse me?  Alphonso. 
Yes, every thing except death.  Carlos. 
Hear equity oppressed by my mouth,  
If her flame be a crime, I'm guilty only;  
Yes if it be a fault, deign to remember,  
That I am the cause on't, and whom you ought  
Only to punish, be more just without  
Being more gentle, save the innocent.  
And destroy the offender.  Isabel. 
No, against me  
Bend all your fury, if it be a crime  
To love, it is a virtue to be loved:  
The tenderness which I resent for Carlos  
Denotes his merit, and sets forth my weakness:  
And if my passion be worthy death,  
Carlos is free, and I alone am guilty.  Alphonso. 
Perfidious, thou shalt die then.  Carlos 
Oh, abandon  
That thought.  Alphonso. 
Then Carlos with my honour take  
Away my life, that is the only way  
To make her crime safe; nothing but my death  
Can stop her punishment.  Carlos. 
Fear nothing from me,  
I have respect for you, and since I could not  
Appease your anger, I oppose no further  
But rather press you now that Isabel  
May perish  Isabel 
How▪ do you press my destruction?  
Oh now's the fatal moment, wherein I  
Have just cause to complain of destiny  
My heart is pierced with grief to see you here  
With such injustice to become my judge,  
And not my complice. I was well resolved,  
Carlos, to die, and quarrelled not with fate,  
So long as I thought to expire for thee;  
But I believed not in this adventure  
That Love aswell as Nature would betray me,  
And that I should at last go to the grave  
Thus by a Father's stroke, and Lovers sentence.  Carlos. 
Madame. I've said but what I should have said:  
Once more I do repeat it, since your daughter  
Must die, Sir, and I cannot hinder it,  
Content yourself to strike, but pray mistake not  
The bosom, here direct your strokes, 'tis here  
That Isabella's lodged, here she is Mistress,  
here she is criminal, here you must assault her  
To punish her, and in piercing my heart,  
You cannot miss her.  Isabel. 
Oh, believe him not;  
Turn your arms here.  Alphonso aside. Alphonso. 
Ready to shed my blood,  
I feel my tears flow, and my choler's cold:  
I only by a sudden strange effect  
Am vanquished in the fight, let us feign yet,  
Carlos, your cunning for a little time  
Retards her Punishment, but fatisfy me  
Upon a thing that brought me here, and which  
Doth trouble me extremely tell me truly,  
Is my Son here, or no; if he be here,  
His death is but too certain.  Carlos. 
I assure you,  
He is not here, Sir.  Alphonso. 
Since you do assure me,  
I will not doubt it.   

SCENA TERTIA.  Fabritio, Alphonso, Climene, Carlos, Isabel. Fabritio. 
WE are free at last  
From the Duke's hands.  Alphonso. 
O Heaven! ist possible?  
Fabritio yet present him to mine eyes?  
I gave, Sir, too much credit to your words.  — to Carlos, Carlos. 
He was not here, Sir, when I said them to you,  Alphonso. 
Thou blinded Son, through what ingratitude  
Buildest thou thy pleasures upon my disquiet?  
What hath made thee despise a Father's Will,  
whom thou knowst cherisheth thy life so much  
And why in violating all the rights  
Of nature, dost thou make so small account  
Of the light which thou owest me? Ingrateful!  Fabritio. 
The care, Sir, of my safety troubleth you  
Too much, I do not hate the light, but love it  
Less than Climene.  Alphonso. 
I commanded thee  
To quit this residence●  Fabritio. 
But I received  
Another order.  Alphonso. 
How! from whom?  Fabritio. 
From Love.  Alphonso. 
Love makes no laws but for those that will take 'em;  
And reason now forbiddeth thee to embrace it  Fabritio. 
Oh reason, Sir, had left me, and I was  
Too much enchained, to depart.  Alphonso. 
Canst thou  
Stay without shame, after an infidelity?  Fabritio. 
Climene is as constant as she's fair:  
My spirit was struck with an injust suspicion,  
I'm disabused, and she's ready here  
To follow me.  Alphonso. 
To follow thee?  Climene. 
Yes Sir,  
To follow him, I have engaged myself;  
Though his condition be changed, I am not.  Alphonso. 
I always doubted till this very moment.  
Whether a woman could love constantly;  
But if your love hath any reason with it,  
Haste you to go out of his fatal sentry.  Fabritio. 
There's nothing that shall stop my steps to morrow  
Sir, I swear to you.—  Carlos. 
Friend, thou shalt not swear.  Fabritio. 
If you believe it not, I do assure you,  
You are in an extreme error; who can stay us?  Carlos. 
Pehaps, It may be I.  Fabritio. 
You?  Carlos. 
Yes, I will  
Tell you a sad adventure, which should be  
Equally grievous ro us both; Ciimene  
Is by a fatal chance committed to  
My guard, and I'm responsible for her.  
I've the Duke's ordsr for it, and to add  
To the misfortune, I thought to have taken  
Climene, and I took your sister for her.  Isabel. 
What! this was then the cause which troubled you  
So much but now?  Carlos. 
You have but little reason  
To doubt of it; but understand my trouble  
In this extremity, if Climene flies,  
I shall be forced to expose Isabel  
Instead of her to the Duke's passions:  
I love her, and 'tis now no longer time  
To disguise my thoughts to you, judge, I pray you,  
If in this danger I ought to expose her.  Fabritio. 
How great is our misfortune?  Alphonso. 
Not so great  
As it appears unto you; to be free  
Of all fear, get ye gone all four together.  
The Duke will he reduced afterward  
To be appeased.  Carlos. 
This is a most sure way;  
But whence proceeds this noise?   

SCENA QUARTA.  Celin●o to Carlos. Colin. 
Sir, divers men  
Armed with halberds desire speech with you.  Carlos. 
'tis the Duke and his Guards, sure, their design  
Surpriseth me.  Alphonso. 
I have lost all my hope.  
Carlos, assuredly my son's discovered.  Carlos. 
We will be presently cleared on that point.  
Without light let Fabritio stay here,  
And if he doubts that they are come to seek him  
Behind this false wall he may hide himself:  He shows them a wall which is turned upon a pivot of Iron. 
See, how it turns; before his death my Father  
Fearing the malice of his enemies,  
Caused it to be made in secret for him,  
And I know that there is no wit so subtler  
That can find out Fabritio in this place.  Alphonso. 
To save thy life, do this, Son, I conjure thee;  Climene. 
And I Climene pray the●.  Fabritio. 
Lobey  
As son, and I obey no less as Lover.  Carlos. 
Let's cease discourse, and go forth presently.  Exeunt all but Fabritio. Fabritio alone. Fabritio. 
Heaven! must I always be distracted thus  
'twixt fear and hope, and must so just a love  
Have such a rigid fortune? the Duke loves,  
Or abhors her, and I know that there's reason  
To fear all things from him that hopeth nothing;  
And that 'bove all things it is dangerous  
To be competitor with his Prince, and Rival  
Unto his Master. But what! hear I not  
Some person walk, at if he would come to me▪   

SCENA QUINTA.  The Duke, Fabritio. The Duke alone. Duke. 
I've passed through a straight way, now I enter  
Into a greater, yet am still in doubt,  
My hope's confounded, and my spirits dark▪  
Which should light me in these obscurities?  
Am I'mongst mortals? am I in some cave?  
Am I upon the earth, or in is centre?  
Murdered Fabritio offereth himself  
To my remembrance, would Heaven punish 〈◊〉  
For his unjust death? but I hear a noise,  
Who's there?  Fabritio. 
Fabritio.  Duke. 
Fabritio!  
Appears his Fantasme here then for my punishment,  
And am I sunk down into Hell alive  
To suffer for the evils I've made him suffer?  Fabritio. 
I hear the Duke's voice, which I know full well.  
Is it you then, Sir Duke?  Duke. 
The art not deceived.  
I am the author of thy death, I will not  
Say any thing unto thee for to save  
My life thou canst without crime take it from him  
Who hath ta'en thine from thee, all the fear which  
Resteth unto me in this sad misfortune,  
Proceedeth from my crime, not from my death;  
And if now any grief oppresseth me,  
'tis not to die, but to die culpable.  Fabritio aside. Fabritio. 
He thinks me still dead, I will profit by  
This error.— aside.  
Duke, you have just cause to fear  
My fury, your fate now is in my power,  
Nothing can stop the course of my revenge;  
I can now sacrifice your blood to mine;  
But, Sir, you are my Prince, and I le not do it;  
Injustice I abhor, and notwithstanding  
My anger, I would rather suffer it  
Then execute it.  Duke. 
The mote thy respect  
Appears for me, the more unjust's thy death  
And the more black my crime; by this, my fault  
Becomes doubly condemnable, the less  
Sevete thou art in punishing me, the more  
I'm worthy punishment But if thy shadow  
Pretendeth to respect me, what obligeth thee  
To persecute me thus in every place?  
How comes it that thou dost confer upon me  
Imperfect favouts? why dost thou pursue me?  
What ist thou dost desire?  Fabritio. 
Since you ordain it  
I'll speak it then; know, Sir, that this your trouble  
Shall never see an end before you cease,  
To love Climene.  Duke. 
Cease to love Climene?  
Oh! that's too much presumption, I may cease  
To live, but not to love her. to obtain  
Thy wishes, thou shouldst ask a possible thing;  
But I should have abused thee if I had  
Flattered thy hope that I would cease to love  
That charming Beauty.  Fabritio. 
To love in this manner  
Is to love like a tyrant.  Duke. 
Well, I know  
That I love like a tyrant, but no matter:  
Know also that. Love who gives Law to me,  
Is yet a blinder tyrant far then I:  
To force me to love this ingrateful Mistress,  
He hath to much strength, and I so much weakness  
Only the hope that I can give thee is,  
Never to see her more, yet still to love her.  Fabritio. 
He that can lose the object, can lose also  
The flame, the heart holds not what the eye is  
Deprived of, Love from our will hath his power;  
To cease to love, there needs but the desire:  
To put out all your flames, quench all your hope,  
And yield Climene to my constancy.  Duke. 
But if I should do so, what's thy design?  Fabritio. 
To marry her.  Duke. 
To marry her? what! art thou  
Not dead then?  Fabritio. 
What have I said?  Duke. 
Thou shouldst be  
O'th' number of the living for this work;  
Who cherisheth a body, must not be  
A shadow. Speak, and believe that thy death  
Hath cost me tears.  Fabritio. 
He feigneth for to know me,  
And to destroy me afterward.— aside.  Duke. 
He answereth not a word; Let's seek about.  
But lest he should go forth, 'tis requisite  
To keep this port: to know too where I am,  
'tis best to make a noise; hola! who's there?  
Some one come to me.  Fabritio. 
Heaven! whereto am I  
Reduced? but let me, ere they bring a light  
Advance towards the wall, and hide myself  
Behind it.  Duke. 
I'll be cleared in this doubt,  
here comes a light.   

SCENA SEXTA.  The Duke, Carlos, Alphonso, Valerio, Climene, Isabel, Guards. Climene. 
Do we not see the Duke?  Duke. 
See I again my Mistress?  Valerio. 
Oh! we sought  
Your Highness every where.  Duke. 
Is this enchantment?  
Where am I?  Carlos. 
In my house.  Duke. 
But where is he?  Alphonso. 
Who, Sir?  Duke. 
Your Son.  Alphonso. 
My Son.  
Your Highness is abused.  Duke. 
I've speaken with him;  
Use no deceit towards me.  Alphonso. 
Those are visions.  Duke. 
They are truths, but he can't come forth, seek carefully  
On every side.  Alphonso speaking to Carlos. 
Oh Carlos how I fear!  Carlos addressing himself to Alphonso. Carlos. 
I say, be not afraid.  Valerio. 
Sir, I've seen nothing.  Duke. 
Heaven! what new prodigy is this? judge all  
If I have reason to believe myself  
Enchanted: I went forth the garden, thinking  
To see before mine eyes Fabritios' Ghost,  
When suddenly I fell into a precipice;  
And passing through places which I know not,  
Arrived here, where to increase the horror  
Of my sad soul, his shadow once again  
Appeared before me, spoke long time unto me,  
And used persuasions to make me cease  
To love Climene, and to yield her to him.  
This discourse gave me much incertainty  
Of his condition; I doubted if  
He was dead▪ but surprised and amazed  
By this success, I need no more to doubt it.  
Would that it plase Heaven he were alive,  
I should be free then of that sad remorse  
Which wounds my conscience, I would do him justice,  
And banishing my fires, would satisfy  
Myself in rendering him happy.  Alphonso. 
Sir,  
It is an easy generosity  
To lament, an oppressed enemy  
That is no longer to be feared, you think  
My son dead, and on that account, bewail him,  
But if he were alive indeed, you would  
Be less humane.  Duke. 
I would not break my word.  
By Heaven, by fair Climene, by all nature,  
I swear to you Alphonso, that if now  
Fabritio yet alive should by a miracle.  
Appear before mine eyes, so far would I  
Be from opposing still his just desires  
That I would willingly resign unto him.  
That Beauty so beloved and Cherished.   

SCENA SEPTIMA.  Fabritio, The Duke, Alphonso, Carlos, Climeno, Isabel, Valorio, Guards. Fabritio coming forth from behind the false wall. Fabritio. 
Behold me living then, most generous Prince,  
Keep your word and your oath, and make me happy.  Duke. 
Is this a Fantasme? Heaven!  Alphonso. 
Shake of your fear.  
It is Fabritio living, and his death  
Is but a feigned thing.  Fabritio. 
Sir, at your feet  
I humbly do expect the blessed effect  
Of what you promised.  Duke. 
I'll keep my word,  
Climene's yours.  Alphonso. 
Sir, favour my poor family  
In every point, gius Carlos too in marriage  
Unto my daughter, and approve with me  
Their innocent desires,  Carlos. 
I humble crave  
That favour from your Highness'  Duke. 
I consent to't;  
Carlos, enjoy your wish, although I am  
Deceived by your artifice; but losing  
My Mistress, I lose my injustice too:  
In not betraying me, you did betray  
My glory, who commands ill, should be ill  
Obeyed▪, unjust designs may justly be  
Destroyed: Come follow me, and whilst your joys  
Are making ready, tell me by what Art  
The Amorous Fantasme played his subtle part.   
The End of the fifth and last Act.    

EPILOGUE to the Court.  
LEt me Star gaze a while, and calculate  
Those Heavens, to know our fortune, or our fate  
Before I dare to speak; I cannot see  
One cloud appear that should discourage me;  
'tis a good omen: Fair Queen of this night,  
Not Cynthia, but a Goddess far more bright,  
To you I kneel. From him, whose glory is  
To offer you a pleasing Sacrifice,  
I meaneth meaneth ambitious Poet I am come,  
Humbly to beg a favourable doom  
Upon his Fantasme, who although he be  
At the full point of his felicity  
A perfect body not, yet if you frown  
Upon his action, and so cry him down,  
No more a feigned Fantasme to be made,  
He dies indeed, and flies into a shade.  
FINIS.