 | Philodamus |  |
SCENE VI.
EPICRATES, ERATO.Epicrates.
My loveliest Erato, I can perceive
A sweet confusion in your look, that tells me
You are not unacquainted with my errand.
Will not this gentle hand confirm the promise
This best of days has giv'n me from thy father?
Erato.
You have it. But I fear, Epicrates,
[giving her hand.
You knew too well before to need the question:
For surely you had eyes to read my heart,
However it impos'd upon itself.
May not a time arrive, when you'll despise me,
For the facility with which you win me?
Epicrates.
Yes, could a time arrive, when imposition,
10
Of giving pain, should grow more meritorious,
Than noble plainness, and free honesty,
Which lift thee from the level of most women,
And make thee ev'ry thing my heart could wish.
Erato.
Such may you think me still, and I'm too happy!
All that I know, is, that in pure affection,
And reverent submission to your pleasure,
It will be hard indeed for me to err,
Since they're so much my bent and inclination,
I shall not know they are a debt to duty.
Epicrates.
Thank thee, my gentle love! I am not one
T'out-passion passion, and to o'er-stretch sense,
To rant, in wild hyperbole and rapture,
Such stuff as takes the triflers of thy sex.
My love, obedient to my reason, grew;
Which weigh'd, and study'd thee, and still discover'd
More and new virtues for its admiration.
The search has justified excess of love;
And my best judgment gives thee all my soul.
Erato.
Grant, Heaven, you do not over-rate my worth!
How poor, and how deserted, shall I seem,
When the imaginary virtues vanish,
And my defects step forward to your view?
Epicrates.
There I have not a fear. But see! Philippus.
What mean his downcast look, and haggard eye?
| Philodamus | |