_Ors_. I say again, I'll have it fit for two: Thou art a Woman, thank the Gods for that: --Ascend, my lovely Virgin, and adorn it; Ascend, and be immortal as my self.
_Art_. That Throne she was not born to.
_Ors_. Into the Sea with that bold Counsellor, And let him there dispute with Winds and Waves. [_Art. ex_.
_Being seated on a Throne, enter several in Masquerades, and dance_.
--Cou'd I be sensible of any Pleasure, But what I take in thee, this had surpriz'd me.
_Olym_. A Banquet, Sir, attends you.
_Ors_. Dispose me as you please, my lovely Virgin; For I've resign'd my Being to your Will, And have no more of what I call my own, Than Sense of Joys and Pains, which you create.
[_They rise, and sit down at a Banquet. He gazes on her_.
_Olym_. Will you not please to eat?
_Ors_. It is too gross a Pleasure for a King.
Sure, if they eat, 'tis some celestial Food, As I do by gazing on thy Eyes-- Ah, lovely Maid--
_Olym_. Why do you sigh, Sir?
_Ors_. For something which I want; yet having thee, What more can Heaven bestow to gratify My Soul and Sense withal?
_Olym_. Sir, taste this Wine; Perhaps 'twill alter that deceiv'd Opinion, And let you know the Error of your Passion; 'Twill cause at least some Alteration in you.
_Ors_. Why shouldst thou ask so poor a Proof of me?
But yet, I will obey,--give me the Wine.
[_They put something into the Bowl_.
_Olym_. How do you like it, Sir?
_Ors_. Why--well; but I am still the same.
Come, give it me again--'tis very pleasant-- Will you not taste it too?-- Methinks my Soul is grown more gay and vigorous; What I have drank, has deify'd thee more, Heightens the Pleasure which I take to gaze on thee, And sends a thousand strange uneasy Joys, That play about my Heart, and more transport me-- Drink, my fair Virgin, and perhaps thy Eyes May find some Charms in me to make thee thus.
_Olym_. Alas, they've found already but too many. [_Aside_.
_Ors_. I thought I must have gaz'd on thee for ever; --But oh! my Eyes grow heavy in the Play, As if some strange Divinity about me Told me my Safety lay in their Declension.
--It is not Sleep!--sure, Kings do never sleep; That were a low submission to a Power A Monarch shou'd despise--but yet 'tis so: Ye Gods, am I but mortal then?
Or do you ever sleep? I find ye do!
But I must--and lose this lovely Object: Grant, oh ye Gods, that I may find it in a Dream, Let her Idea hover about my Soul, And keep it still in this harmonious Order --And gently blow the Flame't has kindled there.
[_Falls asleep_.
_Enter_ Geron, Pimante, _and_ Arates.
_Pim_. Are you sure he's asleep?
_Ger_. How do you like him, Madam?
_Qu_. I fear he is a Tyrant in his Nature.
_Ger_. But since he can be tam'd by Love and Beauty, You should not doubt but he'll be fit to reign.
_Qu_. Remove him now into his own Apartment, And still continue to impose upon him, Till you receive new Orders.
[_Exeunt_.
SCENE II. _A Grove near the Camp_.
_Enter_ Cleo. _with a Truncheon in her Hand, a Sword and a Quiver of Arrows by her side, with_ Semiris.
_Sem_. Madam, you are sad, As if you doubted your Success to day.
_Cleo_. There are some Moments wherein I do repent me The too rash Banishment of poor _Clemanthis_.
How did he take the Letter which I sent?
_Sem_. As Persons innocent and full of Health Receive unlookt-for Sentences of Death; He sigh'd, and said he wou'd obey your Will: And, Madam, had you seen his silent Grief, You wou'd have thought him innocent.
_Cleo_. Innocent! banish that foolish Pity from your Heart, That wou'd persuade thee he is innocent.
Did I not see him courting of Olympia?
And can my Eyes deceive me?
_Sem. Olympia_, Madam! Gods, what do I hear!
Till now I did not know his Fault of Banishment.
_Cleo_. And was't not cause enough?
_Sem_. Ah, Madam, what Injustice have you done?
Before _Clemanthis_ came into your Cabinet, He entertain'd me for a pretty while With the Intentions of your generous Uncle; He told me how he offer'd him _Olympia_, And that he durst not seem to disesteem it, Being your Uncle, and a Man to whom He ow'd so much; but most to hide his Passion: And then was coming to consult with you, How he should manage this Affair with him.
_Cleo_. And is this Truth thou tell'st me, dear _Semiris_?
_Sem_. Madam, I do not use t'abuse your Credit.
_Cleo_. Fly then, _Semiris_, and reverse his Doom.
_Sem_. Would I knew whither, Madam.
_Cleo_. Why, is he no longer then in the Camp?
_Sem_. Ah, Madam, is he longer in the World?
For 'tis impossible to be imagin'd He parted hence with any Thought of Life.
_Cleo_. Send ev'ry way to find him--hark, I'm call'd-- [_Trumpets sound_.
And he that finds him first, is made for ever.
Oh Jealousy, thou Passion most ingrate!
Thy Ills procure more Mischief than thy Hate.
'Tis thou art Tyrant, when Love bears the blame, 'Tis pity thou'rt consistent with Love's Flame.