University of Virginia Library

SCENE the Fourth.

Scythian Tents.
Enter Thersander, Lysander.
Thers.
Leave me, I will be calm,
For this same change of Cleomena's habit,
Has but increas'd my love—and all my softness—
'Twas in that habit that I left Amintas;
Gods! has he betray'd me then?
No, I must not have so mean a thought of him;
'Tis certain that she knows I am Thersander—
But if the bold Clemanthis be Thersander,
Son to the Enemy of Cleomena;
Yet still 'tis that Clemanthis that ador'd her,
And whom she once made happy with her love.
But I have wounded her, and here remains
[Draws his Swords.
The marks of my dishonour in her bloud.
Oh cruel instrument of my shameful Crime!
Must the first service thou hast rendred me
Prove to my Soul so fatal, that Sword I left Amintas?
Wou'd have denied obedience to this hand,
This sacrilegious hand drew it against her.

Enter King, Lysander solus.
King.
How now Thersander, what still melancholy?
Upon the first appearance of your sadness,
I thought 't had been for fighting with a Woman;
But now I fear that could not be the cause,
Unless 'twere fortifi'd by stronger passions;
—'Tis not impossible, but when you saw
The Eyes of Cleomena in the Combate,
They might disarm your rage, and teach you love.
If this be all, I'll offer Peace in such a time
As they're not able to make War against us,
And with it Propositions of a Marriage.

Thers.
Happy mistake! great Sir;
I'll not deny the Eyes of Cleomena
Have given me Wounds which nothing else can cure;
And in that moment when I would have kill'd her,
They stayd my guilty hand, and overcame
The shameful Conquerour—
I'll say no more, nor give Laws to your bounty;
But if your Majesty approve my flame,
I shall receive her as the greatest blessing
Heaven can bestow upon me.

King.
I'm glad to find my son of my opinion;
For I already have propos'd it to 'em,
Which I believe they will with joy embrace.

Thers.
All but the lovely Princess, whose aversion
Is still so great against our Family,
That I despair she ever will be drawn to't.

King.
They'll hardly rally up their routed Forces
To make fresh War upon us; they're at our mercy now,
And as an honour will embrace the Alliance.

Thers.
Pray Heaven they may.

King.
If they refuse, I will recal my mercy,
And make them dearly buy their scorn:
Come, we expect our Herauld from their Tents.

[Exeunt.