CLIT. True: not before my father.
But now, meanwhile----
SYRUS. Nor now, meanwhile,
CLIT. Allow me!
SYRUS. No.
CLIT. But a moment!
SYRUS. No.
CLIT. A single kiss!
SYRUS. Away, if you are wise!
CLIT. Well, well, I'm gone.
--What's he to do?
SYRUS. Stay here.
CLIT. O happy----
SYRUS. March! (_Pushes off CLITIPHO._)
[Changes:
_Harper_ Away! quick! don't loiter.
_Colman 1768_ Away! quick, quick! don't loiter.
_Harper_ CLIT. How! what! Bacchis? Tell me, Where d'ye bring her, rogue?
SYRUS. Where do I bring her?
_Colman 1768_ CLIT. How! what! Bacchis?
Where d'ye propose to carry her, rogue?
SYRUS. Where?
_Harper_ SYRUS. Oh, she's well instructed.
_Colman 1768_ SYRUS. Oh, she is well instructed.]
SCENE III
_Enter BACCHIS, and ANTIPHILA at a distance._
BACCH. Well, I commend you, my Antiphila: Happy, that you have made it still your care, That virtue should seem fair as beauty in you!
Nor Gracious Heav'n so help me, do I wonder If ev'ry man should wish you for his own; For your discourse bespeaks a worthy mind.
And when I ponder with myself, and weigh Your course of life, and all the rest of those Who live not on the common, 'tis not strange, Your morals should be different from ours.
Virtue's your int'rest; those, with whom we deal, Forbid it to be ours: For our gallants, Charm'd by our beauty, court us but for that; Which fading, they transfer their love to others.
If then meanwhile we look not to ourselves, We live forlorn, deserted, and distress'd.
You, when you've once agreed to pass your life Bound to one man, whose temper suits with yours, He too attaches his whole heart to you: Thus mutual friendship draws you each to each; Nothing can part you, nothing shake your love.
ANTI. I know not others'; for myself I know, From his content I ever drew my own.
{_CLINIA and SYRUS apart._}
CLIN. (_overhearing_). Excellent maid! my best Antiphila!
Thou too, thy love alone is now the cause That brings me to my native land again.
For when away, all evils else were light Compar'd to wanting thee.
SYRUS. I do believe it.
CLIN. O Syrus, 'tis too much: I can not bear it.
Wretch that I am!--and must I be debarr'd To give a loose to love, a love like this?
SYRUS. And yet if I may judge your father's mind, He has more troubles yet in store for you.
BACCH. Who is that youth that eyes us? (_Seeing CLINIA._)
ANTI. Ha! (_seeing him._)--Support me!
BACCH. Bless me, what now?
ANTI. I faint.
BACCH. Alas, poor soul!
What is't surprises you, Antiphila?
ANTI. Is't Clinia that I see, or no?
BACCH. Whom do you see?
CLIN. Welcome my soul! (_Running up to her._)
ANTI. My wish'd-for Clinia, welcome!
CLIN. How fares my love?
ANTI. O'erjoyed at your return.
CLIN. And do I hold thee, my Antiphila, Thou only wish and comfort of my soul!
SYRUS. In, in, for you have made our good man wait. (_Exeunt._
ACT THE THIRD.