University of Virginia Library

SCENE II.

ASTRAGON, ULFINORE, TIBALT,
Tibalt.
My Alfinore! let me embrace my Friend,
And strain Him to my Heart.—Your reverend Port
And humble Dignity bespeak you Astragon:
That good old Man whose Care and healing Labours
Have piously restor'd to Life and Health,
The noble Gondibert: for which the King,
In Honour of your Virtue, comes to thank you.

Ulfinore.
What says my Tybalt? now I bless my Stars,
My kind, propitious Stars that beam with Love.

[Aside.
Astragon.
Too much He honours with his royal Presence
The meanest of his Servants: but the Duke
Is worthy to receive Him; I'll acquaint Him.

Tibalt.
But stay: a softer Message waits for Gondibert.
Tell Him, the beauteous Rhodolinda comes,
And, with a gallant Train of Worth and Beauty;
Attends the King.

Astragon.
Poor Birtha! wretched Daughter!

[Aside.
Tibalt.
Tell Him, the King designs to bless His Valour
With Rhodolinda's melting Pomp of Charms.

Astragon.
Undone for ever!

[Aside. Exit.
Ulfinore.
Happy, happy Ulfinore!

[Aside.
Tibalt.
Tell Him, like Venus in her rosy Chariot,
She comes to recompence Her God of War
With softer Scenes, and sweeten all his Labours.
—But Astragon is gone: no doubt, He flew
With joyful Haste, nor stay'd to hear the Rest,
Before th'unfinish'd Period had discover'd
The King's Munifence: He knew that Gondibert
Would gladly thank Him for but half the Message.
Now, Ulfinore, here's room to speak my Joy
In thus beholding Thee again: for oft,
Oft have I wish'd, when Pleasure fill'd my Heart,
To make Thee Sharer, and divide the Bliss.
For well I know, such is thy honest Nature,
My Happiness wou'd make my Friend rejoice,
And I am greatly happy, greatly so,
Since I beheld Thee: I am marry'd, Ulfinore,

Ulfinore.
Marry'd? May Rapture dwell upon the Sound,
Eternal Joy, and everlasting Love:
For so I wish my Tibalt: yes, believe me,
I wish thee all the Blessings of the Gods.
But tell me, who, who is that dear one? Laura?

Tibalt.
Yes, charming Laura is at last my own:
At last She list'ned to my tender Vows,
And well rewards me for my Sorrows past.
She waits upon the Princess.—Hark! methought
The Trumpet's sprightly Musick pierc'd my Ear:
'Tis so; the Notes come swelling on the Wind.
The King's at Hand: I long to see my Laura,
For every Minute is an Age to Lovers.
Oh, 'tis a painful Interval of Time
Between the parting and the meeting Hour.
Come, Ulfinore.

Ulfinore.
I come—to thank the Gods
For this most dear and unexpected Mercy.

[Aside.