University of Virginia Library

SCENE I.

Enter Gonz. Arm. Euph.
Gon.
I say you must not, must not, my Armida,
Think more of Rodomond.

Arm.
Who can but think of that Illustrious Prince,
Who thinking not admires, and then
Not turn their Admiration into Love.

Gon.
There are Eternal Bars between you,
You know that he's design'd for bright Cimene,
And with her Love, the Throne.

Arm.
My thoughts, my Lord, are scarce so vain
To hope I shall be happy in my Love,
All that I ask of Heav'n and You,
Is Leave to Love, what I must ne'er possess,
Love him alone, and never hear of others.

Gon.
Not hear of others? O what means thy Folly,
When at thy Feet a dying Monarch lies,
The Glory, and the Terrour of the World,
Armida, change thy inauspicious Love,
And mount the mighty Almerick's Throne.

Arm.
You know, my Lord, the Prince and I
Have underneath one Roof been bred,
That Habit first contracted such a Friend,
As knit by Just Degrees to Love,
That Love, to such a Noble, Ardent Passion
So deeply rooted, and so firm,
It cannot now transplanted be nor touch'd,
Without destroying of the Tree.

Gon.
The Change of Soil may meliorate the Plant,
The King designs to visit you to night,
Receive that Honour with good Grace.

Arm.
What! Change my Love, my Rodomond?
With all the Charms of Majesty, and Youth,
Cover'd with Lawrels, and adorn'd with Fame,
For the Addresses of a Prince, whose Age
May justly bid me call him Father.

Gonz.
By Heav'n thou know'st not what is good, Armida,
The King's not young 'tis true, nor is he old,
Just on the Summit of the Hill of Life,
He sees as much before him, as behind,
An Easie, Gentle, Long Descent of Time,
Where with the Heighth's Advantage he looks round,
While they who climb, can have but half the Prospect,
Yet thou prefer'st the Spring of giddy Youth,
To that Mature, and far more perfect Age,
Fraught with the Noble Harvest of Man's Life,
Experience, Temper, and consummate Wisdom:
Thy Rodomond, 'tis true has all the Charms,
And shining Qualities, of a Glorious Prince,
Virtues, which without Title to a Crown,
Would give a Subject merit to pretend,
But yet believe me, O believe me, Child,
Whose silver Hairs with Ills have dearly bought
A long Experience; The Fire of Youth's too hot,
Too furious to last long, is but a Lamp,
Whose Flame too great, most greedily drinks up
That Unctuous Liquor, which shou'd feed its Being,
Then dies, and vanishes in Smoak,
Such is the Love of Youth.

Arm.
'Tis that bright Fire so warms the Heroe's Blood,
And makes the difference in Men.

Gon.
No, No, too hot, too like the Summer Sun,
When on the Lion's back, with Beams direct
He Burns, and Withers, what he should but Nourish,
But riper Age when grown Sedate,
Like a fine Autumn Day, has every Charm,
Bright without dazling, without Scorching Warm.
Exit Gon.

Arm.
How strange a Fate attends my Love,
What can the Happiest of my Sex desire,
But what I seem to have? I Love, and find
My Love with Interest return'd, the bravest Man
The Spacious Earth sustains, is proud to lay
His Laurels at my Feet
But still the fatal Passion of the King
Obstructs our Wishes, and destroys our hopes.

Eup.
I always thought, Love was the greatest good,
In all the pretty tales I ever read,
Tho' lowring Fortune for a while did frown,
Some kinder Stars at last shin'd out to make
The Lovers happy.

Arm.
O shun that Passion, as thou would'st thy bane,
The deadliest foe to human Happiness,
That Poysons all our Joys, destroys our Quiet.
If thy well guarded Breast has yet secur'd,
Thy tender Heart, Euphelia, from his rage,
Congratulate thy Stars, thrice happy Maid,
And by my Wreck, the fatal Shelf avoid,
Love, Like a Beauteous Field, at first appears,
Whose pleasing Verdure ravishes the Sight,
But all within the hollow, treacherous Ground,
Is nought but Caverns of Perdition.

Eup.
'Tis, Madam, time to wait upon the Princess.

Arm.
I goe, Euphelia, to see
The best of Women, and the best of Friends,
Into her gentle Bosom pour my Sighs,
The only Balm to my afflicted Mind,
Her generous Pity softens every Grief,
For all the wretched Love to be condol'd,
Such is the Use, and Noble End of Friendship
To bear a part in every Storm of Fate,
And by Dividing, Lighter make the Weight.

[Exeunt.