University of Virginia Library

SCENE II.

Philander and Dion.
Philander.
How happyer, Dion, are my Vassals here
Than is their Lord! They never felt the Pangs
Which the ambitious feel, when their proud Hopes
Are vanish'd like a morning Dream away;
They never, ne'er like me, unwisely left
Their Beds of Vi'lets, and their Shades of Lime,
For the vain Glory of the Camp or Court.
O! righteous Heav'n, you've heap'd Afflictions on me,
And I deserve them all: you gave this Wretch
A goodly Heritage, a Land of Plenty,
That pays the Lab'rer's Toil, who smiling comes,
And gives his first and fairest Fruits to me;
Yet I ingrateful left the Scene of Bliss
To range about the World and gather Woe.

Dion.
Cease your Complaints, and, as a brave Man shou'd,
Bear your Misfortunes with an equal Mind.
You know not what is in the Womb of Time
Reserv'd for you.

Philander.
Urania's lost to me;
And that's a Loss which Time cannot repair:
That is the poyson'd Arrow which adheres
Close to my Heart, and preys upon my Life.

Dion.
From this bright Eminence, where Nature smiles
Untainted by the Luxurys of Art,
Philander, cast thine Eyes on yonder Spires,
Which proudly rise to speak the Wealth of Cyprus,
Cast thine Eyes on them with Contempt and Pity:
Beneath those golden Roofs Ambition waits
To tempt the heedless Youth; there Falsehood lys,
And Envy there, with damn'd Ingratitude.
Here Nature with a lavish Hand adorns
The Scene with Objects to delight the Eye;
Here rising Hills, and here the flow'ry Vales,
And silver Brooks, invite to Meditation:
Here may the philosophic Soul indulge
Her Thirst for Knowledge undisturb'd by Noise;
And here, by reas'ning, may the love-sick Mind
Find out a Cure.

Philander.
Indeed you talk, my Friend,
Like one that never groan'd beneath the Pangs
Of disappointed Love. O! flatt'ring Hope!
I once had treasur'd all my Views of Joy
In my Urania; still I call her mine,
So ready speaks my Tongue the usual Words:
In her I center'd ev'ry Wish: I fram'd
In my fond Mind no Scheme of future Pleasure,
Propos'd no Comfort in my Days to come,
Without consulting what I thought wou'd please
My dear Urania most: she was the Soul
Of ev'ry Act, of ev'ry Wish; and when,
Invited by the Mistress of the Feast,
I was prepar'd to taste the luscious Banquet,
An unkind Hand repell'd me, flung me down
Upon Despair, and shatter'd all my Hopes.
Perhaps beneath the Roofs we now behold,
The Prince of Rhodes is rifling all the Sweets,
Which with a thousand thousand Sighs I sought,
Which with my Blood thro armed Bands I courted.

[A Woman sings near them, but is not seen by them.
To me in vain
The Suns arise,
And deck the Plain
With various Dys,
While my belov'd's away.

Philander.
This, Dion, is a wretched Maid, whose Case
Is not unlike my own. Whoe'er thou art,
Approach me, mournful fair one, and improve
This Scene of Lamentation, and Despair.

[She sings again.
[Woman]
Ye Minutes run,
Bring on the Hour,
That gives my Sun,
That has the Pow'r
To make the Midnight Day.

Philander.
Again, thou charming Minister of Sorrow!
This is a rich Repast for wretched Lovers.

[She sings again.
[Woman]
To me in vain
The Suns arise,
And deck the Plain
With various Dys,
While my belov'd's away.

Philander.
'Tis she, 'tis she, or a Delusion sent
To mock my Griefs, and to compleat my Ruin!

[He runs out, and Dion follows him.