University of Virginia Library

[Scene III.]

The Scene shifts to a pleasant Orange Grove.
Enter Cyane.
Cy.
Shall poor Cyane never bee at rest?
Always have ye Tormentor in her breast?
Thou Legion Love! Great and Powerfull God!
Who rulest the trembling world but with a Nod,
If thou would'st have mee pray unto thy shrine,
Strike Oroandes that hee may bee mine.
To her Daemolgoron.
«Here's ye worst of all my Tormentors come,
One that will never let mee bee alone!»

Daem.
Divine! Adored!

Cy.
What! are y' about to pray?
If that bee your design I'le goe away.

Daem.
To worship here I came, and here I find [Bows to her.

My Glorious Goddess, if she'le bee but kind.
May ne're a blast arise that may convey
My Prayers, as they doe come to her, astray.
My Duty bids mee to ye Gods to bow,
But Love won't all my pray'rs to Heav'n allow.
Much to ye Gods, but more to greater Love I owe.
[Bows to Cy.
Heavens!

Cy.
What silent gods does hee adore?
[She stands unconcerned.
Who can bee deaf when he soe loud does roar?

Daem.
Gods!

Cy.
Methinks they are very deaf today,
Or else they will not hear what you doe say.
Sure, Sir, you have but small acquaintance there,
Or else your gods ill manner'd must appear
To dare to deny a Gentleman's Pray'r.
Doe yee come soe often?

Daem.
I'le pray noe more,
Nor e're again your Ladyship adore. [Stamps.

—What an ill Humour you are in today! [Pauses.


Cy.
'Tis my ill Genius leads me soe away.
Yet since you are soe stout, you this I'le tell:
[Turns to him.
My spirit ne're with Conjuring you'll quell. [Exit.


Daem.
If ever I again to Love incline!
May—hold, how quickly I doe change my mind!
Well, I've found a trick I am sure will doe;
Her haughty spirit now to mee shall bow.
I'le lay her spirit with my Golden Charms
And embrace pleasure with my open arms.
Heav'ns great Emperour this receipt did use
When hee ye guarded virgin did abuse.
The great and mighty Brazen walls were torn;
Nought could resist ye brave and glitt'ring form;
The Port itself was taken in ye storm.
And that my pleasure too I may obtain
I will call back ye golden age again.

Enter one of ye guards.
Guard.
Your Father, Sir.

Daem.
Slave! How dare you t'intrude?

Guard.
The king, Sir, sent mee.

Daem.
Not to bee soe rude.
Retire.
[Exit Guard.
Let my dull, aged, doting Father come.
How long must hee bee troubl'd with a crown?
Enter King Zoroastres attended.
Hail, mighty Sir!
Methinks I see a light shine round your Head,
A burning crown with brightest glory's spread.
Why should not you, O Father, bee a god?
«O that in Heav'n you had but your abode!» [Apart.

For all ye Angels you as God obey,
And if you say ye word, they come away.
«Sure I may tell him now that I doe love.»
Great Sir, may I a question to you move?
'Tis Easey—

Zor.
Well, what is't?

Daem.
I dread to tell.
If I should say I love ye fair—

Zor.
Heav'ns! Hell!
Is this your question, a very easy one?

Daem.
Oh, Sir, bee'nt angry and I will bee gone.
Since you condemn my love, I will retire
And veiw with scorn, what once I did admire,
Yet if you did but know whom I adore,
Sure you could not bee angry any more.

Zor.
S'death, still? Who doe you think I am?

Daem.
A Father.

Zor.
If you don't take care, a King.
Love! which you know I hate as I doe blood,
Nor e're by you would have it understood.
Yet in Cyane you can day and night
In spight of my Commands take your delight.
Goe, Rebell, Slave! goe! to Cyane goe
And see, you wretch, what she for you can doe;
As long as you a Passion for her own,
You'le loose your Title to your Fathers Crown. [Exit.


Daem.
Cyane! how did hee come to know her Name,
Or that 'twas her to whome I paid my flame?
Some envious devill of his this needs must tell.
O that hee and all his Dev'ls were in Hell!
Shall I my love then pass soe silent by,
And tamely see my poor Cyane dye?
Assist mee, Love, with all thy mighty power,
And see what I will act within this hour.
Why should I not love?—
It is noe policy to lay that down
Which may, if manag'd well, bee worth a crown.
O, if I in this pious work doe speed,
Loves Altars sacrifice shall never need!
Give mee but once my love, my Father dead,
Let Jove dart all his thunders at my head.
I'le act ye Roman and will slip to bedd. [Exit.