Dost know where my _Erminia_ lies to night?
_Alcan_. I guess, Sir.
_Phi_. Where? Nay, prithee speak, Indeed I shall not be offended at it.
_Alcan_. I know not why you should, Sir; She's where she ought, abed with young _Alcippus_.
_Phi_. Thou speak'st thy real Thoughts.
_Alcan_. Why should your Highness doubt it?
_Phi_. By Heaven, there is no faith in Woman-kind; _Alcander_, dost thou know an honest Woman?
_Alcan_. Many, Sir.
_Phi_. I do not think it, 'tis impossible; _Erminia_, if it could have been, were she, But she has broke her Vows, which I held sacred, And plays the wanton in another's arms.
_Alcan_. Sir, do you think it just to wrong her so?
_Phi_. Oh, would thou couldst persuade me that I did so.
Thou know'st the Oaths and Vows she made to me, Never to marry other than my self, And you, _Alcander_, wrought me to believe them.
But now her Vows to marry none but me, Are given to _Alcippus_, and in his bosom breath'd, With balmy whispers, whilst the ravisht Youth For every syllable returns a kiss, And in the height of all his extasy, _Philander's_ dispossess'd and quite forgotten.
Ah, charming Maid, is this your Love to me?
Yet now thou art no Maid, nor lov'st not me, And I the fool to let thee know my weakness.
_Alcan_. Why do you thus proceed to vex your self?
To question what you list, and answer what you please?
Sir, this is not the way to be at ease.
_Phi_. Ah, dear _Alcander_, what would'st have me do?
_Alcan_. Do that which may preserve you; Do that which every Man in love would do; Make it your business to possess the object.
_Phi_. What meanest thou, is she not married?--
_Alcan_. What then? she'as all about her that she had, Of Youth and Beauty she is Mistress still, And may dispose it how and where she will.
_Phi_. Pray Heaven I do not think too well of thee: What means all this discourse, art thou honest?
_Alcan_. As most Men of my Age.
_Phi_. And wouldst thou counsel me to such a Sin?
For--I do understand--thee.
_Alcan_. I know not what you term so.
_Phi_. I never thought thou'dst been so great a Villain, To urge me to a crime would damn us all; Why dost thou smile, hast thou done well in this?
_Alcan_. I thought so, or I'ad kept it to my self.
Sir, e'er you grow in rage at what I've said, Do you think I love you, or believe my life Were to be valued more than your repose?
You seem to think it is not.
_Phi_. Possibly I may.
_Alcan_. The sin of what I have propos'd to you You only seem to hate: Sir, is it so?
--If such religious thoughts about you dwell, Why is it that you thus perplex your self?
Self-murder sure is much the greater sin.
_Erminia_ too you say has broke her Vows, She that will swear and lye, will do the rest.
And of these evils, this I think the least; And as for me, I never thought it sin.
_Phi_. And canst thou have so poor a thought of her?
_Alcan_. I hope you'll find her, Sir, as willing to't As I am to suppose it; nay, believe't, She'll look upon't as want of Love and Courage Should you not now attempt it; You know, Sir, there's no other remedy, Take no denial, but the Game pursue, For what she will refuse, she wishes you.
_Phi_. With such pretensions--she may angry grow.
_Alcan_. I never heard of any that were so, For though the will to do't, and power they want, They love to hear of what they cannot grant.
_Phi_. No more, Is this your duty to your Prince, _Alcander_?
You were not wont to counsel thus amiss, 'Tis either Disrespect or some Design; I could be wondrous angry with thee now, But that my Grief has such possession here, 'Twill make no room for Rage.
_Alcan_. I cannot, Sir, repent of what I've said, Since all the errors which I have committed Are what my passion to your interest led me to, But yet I beg your Highness would recal That sense which would persuade you 'tis unjust.
_Phi_. Name it no more, and I'll forgive it thee.
_Alcan_. I can obey you, Sir.
_Phi_. What shall we do to night, I cannot sleep.
_Alcan_. I'm good at watching, and doing any thing.
_Phi_. We'll serenade the Ladies and the Bride.
--The first we may disturb, but she I fear Keeps watch with me to night, though not like me.
_Enter a_ Page _of the_ Prince's.
_Phi_. How now, Boy, Is the Musick ready which I spoke for?
_Page_. They wait your Highness's command.
_Phi_. Bid them prepare, I'm coming. [_Ex. Page_.
Soft touches may allay the Discords here, And sweeten, though not lessen my Despair.
[_Exeunt_.
SCENE V. _The Court Gallery_.