_Ura_. Yes, pretty Maid, canst tell me any tidings of him?
_Ly_. I cannot tell, by what marks do you know him?
_Ura_. Why, by these--a tempting Face and Shape, A Tongue bewitching soft, and Breath as sweet, As is the welcome Breeze that does restore Life to a Man half kill'd with heat before; But has a Heart as false as Seas in Calms, Smiles first to tempt, then ruins with its Storms.
_Ly_. Oh, fair Urania! there are many more So like your Love, if such a one he be: That you wou'd take each Shepherd to be he: 'Tis grown the fashion now to be forsworn; Oaths are like Garlands made of finest Flowers, Wither as soon as finish'd; They change their Loves as often as their Scrips, And lay their Mistresses aside like Ribbons, Which they themselves have sullied.
_Pim_. Gad, I'll venture in--
_Val_. Fair Women, and so near the Camp!
What are ye, and from whence?
_Pim_. Ha! 'tis no matter for that; ask no Questions, but fall to.
[_Goes to_ Lyces.
_Ura_. I'm not asham'd to tell the one or t'other; I am a Maid, and one of gentle Birth, A _Scythian_ born, an Enemy to thee, Not as thou art a Man, but Friend to _Dacia_.
_Val_. What Sin have I committed, that so fair a Creature should become my Enemy? but since you are so, you must be my Prisoner, unless your Eyes prevent me, and make me yours.
_Pim_. How, take a Woman Prisoner! I hope you are a finer Gentleman than so.
_Val_. But, Madam, do not fear, for I will use you As well as such a Man as I can do.
_Ura_. Though thou be'st rough, thou hast a noble look, And I believe my Treatment will be gentle.
_Val_. Fair Maid, this Confidence is brave in thee; And though I am not us'd to make returns, Unless in Thunder on my Enemies, Yet name the way, and I will strive to serve you.
_Ura_. Then, Sir, I beg that you would set me free, Nor yet retain me here a Prisoner; But as thou'rt brave, conduct me to the Castle on the Lake, Where young Amintas lies, the Spoil of War.
_Val. Amintas_, Madam, is a gallant Youth, And merits more from Fortune than his Chains; But I could wish (since I have vow'd to serve you) You would command me something Worthy your Beauty, and of that Resolution.
_Ura_. There is no other way to do me service.
_Val_. Then most willingly I will obey you.
_Ura_. But, Sir, I beg this Virgin may depart, Being a _Dacian_, and a neighbouring Villager.
_Val_. All your Commands shall strictly be obey'd.
_Pim_. Pox on her, she's coy, and let her go. Well, Colonel, I doubt you'll be for the Queen by and by.
_Ura_. Here--take this Jewel as a part of payment, For all thy goodness to an unknown Maid. [_To_ Lyces.
And if by chance I ever see thee more, Believe me, _Lyces_, I will quit the score.
[_Ex_. Lyces _weeping_.
[_Exeunt_.
SCENE II. _A Grove of Trees_.
_Within the Scene lies_ Thersander _sleeping, his Cap and Feather at a distance from him_.
_Enter_ Cleomena _drest like an_ Amazon, _with a Bow in her Hand, and a Quiver of Arrows at her Back, with_ Semiris _attired like her_.
_Cleo_. I'm almost tir'd with holding out the Chase.
_Sem_. That's strange! methought your Highness followed not So fast to Day as I have seen you heretofore.
_Cleo_. I do not use to leave the Game unvanquish'd, Yet now by what strange inclination led I know not, The Sport growing dull, I wish to meet a place Far from the noise and business of the Day: Hast thou ty'd fast my Horses?
_Sem_. Madam, I have.
_Cleo_. What place is this, _Semiris_?
_Sem_. I know not, Madam, but 'tis wondrous pleasant.
_Cleo_. How much more charming are the Works of Nature Than the Productions of laborious Art?
Securely here the wearied Shepherd sleeps, Guiltless of any fear, but the disdain His cruel Fair procures him.
How many Tales the Echoes of these Woods Cou'd tell of Lovers, if they would betray, That steal delightful hours beneath their Shades!
_Sem_. You'd rather hear 'em echo back the sound Of Horns and Dogs, or the fierce noise of War.
_Cleo_. You charge me with the faults of Education, That cozening Form that veils the Face of Nature, But does not see what's hid within, _Semiris_: I have a Heart all soft as thine, all Woman, Apt to melt down at every tender Object.
--Oh, _Semiris_! there's a strange change within me.
_Sem_. How, Madam!
_Cleo_. I would thou knew'st it; Till now I durst do any thing--but fear, Yet now I tremble with the thoughts of telling thee What none but thou must know--I am in love.
_Sem_. Why do you blush, my Princess? 'tis no sin; But, Madam, who's the happy glorious Object?
_Cleo_. Why, canst thou not guess then?
_Sem_. How is it possible I should?
_Cleo_. Oh Gods! not guess the Man!
Or, rather think some God! Dull stupid Maid, Hast thou not heard of something more than mortal!
'Twixt Human and Divine! our Country's Genius, Our young God of War! not heard of him!
_Sem_. 'Tis not Prince _Artabazes_, or _Ismenes_?
_Cleo_. Away, thou anger'st me.
_Sem_. Pardon me, Madam, It can be none at Court, if none of these?
And all besides are much below that Glory.
_Cleo_. What call'st thou much below, mistaken thing?
Can a gay Name give Virtue, Wit, or Beauty?