University of Virginia Library

SCENE II.

Aristarchus enters with Attendants.
Aristarchus.
If she is lost, the Idol of my Eyes,
The richest Jewel that adorn'd my Crown,
If she is lost, within my Walls no more
Be hear'd the Voice of Joy; henceforth may Peace
Forsake my Dwelling: let these hoary Locks
Henceforth be circled with a Crown of Thorns,
This purple Robe, the Badge of Royalty,
Be chang'd to Sackcloth. Till my Child returns
Nightly the marble Floor shall catch my Tears,
This aged Body shall no more enjoy
A gentle slumber on the Bed of Down.

Philocles.
Be patient, Sir, the Hand of sad Affliction
May soon withdraw, and the lost Maid may come
To bless your Age with greater Happyness
Than ever yet you tasted.

Aristarchus.
Wou'd she come,
And was Philander but an humble Slave,
He shou'd receive her to his longing Arms.
[Philocles aside to Dion.
Haste, Dion, to relieve the wretched King,
And wipe the Tears from weeping Majesty.

[Dion goes.