University of Virginia Library

SCENE I.

A Grove near the House of Agenor.
AGENOR, DORIS, LYCIDAS.
Ag.
Hence from my sight! or with repentant speed
Restore thy heart to Lycidas.

Dor.
My hand
('Tis all I can) I yield him.

Ag.
See, the swain
With virtuous pride disclaims it!

Lyc.
Not from pride,
But grief, Agenor, I decline a gift,
That Doris yields so coldly.

Dor.
Take it, Youth,
And know, tho' Phaon claims my adoration,
He ne'er shall be thy rival. If his charms
Surpass (as sure they do) whate'er is human,
May I not pay to him that tribute chaste,
We give to bright Apollo?

Lyc.
But his heart,
Wayward and false; his bold licentious tongue;
Does that bespeak divinity?

Ag.
If so,
'Tis such as frights us in the Satyr troop,
That follow Faunus, or the Cyclops rude,
Which oft, at eve, from Etna's burning womb
Are seen to climb, and cool them on yon cliff,
Carolling strains uncouth.

Lyc.
Or boldly daring,
Like ruthless Polypheme, to lure the faith
Of one more heav'nly fair than Galatea
From one, as true as Acis.

Dor.
Hapless Youth!
Much do I pity thee, and much myself.
Yet all I can, in offering here my hand,
I give thee. Ah! my Father, check thy frowns.

Ag.

[Agenor and Doris exeunt different ways.