Gal.  Indeed I dare not say my cause of grief
Does yours exceed, since both are past relief. 
But if your Fates unequal do appear,
Erminia, ’tis my heart that odds must bear.

Er.  Madam, ’tis just I should to you resign,
But here you challenge what is only mine: 
My Fate so cruel is, it will not give
Leave to Philander (if I die) to live: 
Might I but suffer all, ’twere some content,
But who can live and see this languishment? 
You, Madam, do alone your Sorrows bear,
Which would be less, did but Alcippus share;
As Lovers we agree, I’ll not deny,
But thou art lov’d again, so am not I.

Am.  Madam, that grief the better is sustain’d,
That’s for a loss that never yet was gain’d;
You only lose a man that does not know
How great the honour is which you bestow;
Who dares not hope you love, or if he did,
Your Greatness would his just return forbid;
His humble thoughts durst ne’er to you aspire,
At most he would presume but to admire;
Or if it chanc’d he durst more daring prove,
You still must languish and conceal your Love.

Gal.  This which you argue lessens not my Pain,
My Grief’s the same were I belov’d again. 
The King my Father would his promise keep,
And thou must him enjoy for whom I weep.

Er.  Ah, would I could that fatal gift deny;
Without him you; and with him, I must die;
My Soul your royal Brother does adore,
And I, all Passion, but from him, abhor;
But if I must th’unsuit Alcippus wed,
I vow he ne’er shall come into my Bed.

Gal.  That’s bravely sworn, and now I love thee more
Than e’er I was oblig’d to do before,
—­But yet, Erminia, guard thee from his Eyes,
Where so much love, and so much Beauty lies;
Those charms may conquer thee, which made me bow,
And make thee love as well as break this Vow.

Er.  Madam, it is unkind, though but to fear
Ought but Philander can inhabit here.
                       [Lays her hand on her heart.

Gal.  Ah, that Alcippus did not you approve,
We then might hope these mischiefs to remove;
The King my Father might be won by Prayer,
And my too powerful Brother’s sad despair,
To break his word, which kept will us undo: 
And he will lose his dear Philander too,
Who dies and can no remedies receive: 
But vows that ’tis for you alone he’ll live.

Er.  Ah, Madam, do not tell me how he dies,
I’ve seen too much already in his Eyes: 
They did the sorrows of his Soul betray,
Which need not be confest another way: 
’Twas there I found what my misfortune was,
Too sadly written in his lovely face. 
But see, my Father comes:  Madam, withdraw a while,
And once again I’ll try my interest with him.

[Exeunt.