University of Virginia Library

[Scene II.

A Chamber in Altemera's Palace at Mora.]
Enter Lucidor and a page.
Luc.
Goe, tell Candaces that I begge I may
My parting Sighthes to Altemera pay.
Then lett all thinges bee soe prepar'd to night,
That I may leave the Towne by dawne of Light.
[Exit Page.
[Walkes in great distemper.
How can that heart wc h does her image beare
Admitt of ought soe nigh to sin as feare?
If butt the thought of absence bee such paine,
How can I then th'enduring itt sustaine?
Death I have seene a thousand times and more,
Butt never knew what trembling was before;
Which proves my parting is an ill more high
Than, ere shee lov'd, I thought itt was to die.
Enter Altemera and Candaces.
Can you forgive mee, Madam, that I thus
Present you sorrows soe infectious?

Alt.
I can forgive you all thinges, I declare,
Butt leaving mee, and leaving mee for warre,
For which soe little Argument I finde,
My reason makes that sin the more unkinde.

Luc.
You see my greifs such deepe impressions give,
'Tis better under them to die than live.
Else you cou'd never soe unkinde have bin
As thus to call my punishment, my sin,
Nor to those sorrowes under which I groane,
Could you have thought itt fitt to adde yor owne.

Alt.
'Tis only you have yor owne troubles wrought,
For they, alas! are not impos'd, butt sought.
If you desire to shun them, what I say
Might move you now to cast them all away.
Did you butt creditt what you still professe,—
That I alone can make yor happinesse,—
You wou'd nott yor obedience thus decline,
Butt end by paying itt, yor greifs and mine.

Luc.
Ah, Madam, with what face cou'd I possesse
The most exalted of all happinesse,
And nott in every way of honour strive
To show that I would meritt what you give?
Butt were my Laurells as my myrtells are,
Had I all glories found in peace or warre,
All were as short of meritt, I would vow,
As by yor Love I am above itt now.
Yet, I confesse, I cannott butt designe
To show my failings are fates sins, nott mine.

Alt.
This proves the truth of what I said before:
Though you love mee, yett you love glory more;
Butt Lucidor, your's is nott neere to me
Of soe great value, as yor Company;
And, sure, if mine were butt to you as deare,
You wou'd nott, to Court glory, leave mee heere.

Luc.
Leave you for glory! witnesse, yee blest powers!
My only glory is that I am your's.
And from this warre I hope for this reward,—
Against the Tyrants Lust, to bee yor Guard.
You are soe good, hee ill in such excesse,
'Twere sin to doubt my safety or successe.

Alt.
Yett when I thinke how many dangers are
Waiting for forward courages in warre,
Sorrow invades mee soe, I must confesse,
My reason makes them rather more than lesse.

Luc.
Hee, Madam, that is destin'd unto you,
Must needes bee destin'd unto Triumphes too.
The Justice of the Gods is sure too high
Yor care to give mee, and their owne deny.
I have yor Love, and in yor Quarrell fight:
That makes itt duty, this makes itt delight.
In yor just Cause all dangers I despise.
My Sword shall bee resistlesse as yor Eyes.

Alt.
Since you will hold yor Resolution,
This Comfort yett will stay when you are gone,
For by itt this great Truth will clearer shine,—
Yor want of kindenesse cannot lessen mine.
Yett how you love my life, lett itt be showne
In being carefull to preserve yor owne.
My eyes, I hope, are kinder than my words,
For greife to these a passage scarce affords:
And yett I should not mourne my sorrow growes;
Words cannott speake soe much as silence does.

Luc.
What is't can bringe poor Lucidor releif,
When even yor kindnesse, Madam, makes his greif?

[Exeunt.