Alcip.  But why, Erminia, did you give it so?

Er.  T’obey a King and cruel Father too. 
A Friendship, Sir, I can on you bestow,
But that will hardly into Passion grow;
And ’twill an Act below your Virtue prove,
To force a Heart you know can never love.

Alcip.  Am I the mask to hide your Blushes in,
I the contented Fool to veil your Sin? 
Have you already learnt that trick at Court,
Both how to practise and secure your sport? 
Brave Mistress of your Art, is this the way,
My Service and my Passion to repay? 
Will nothing but a Prince your pleasure fit,
And could you think that I would wink at it? 
Recal that Folly, or by all that’s good,
I’ll free the Soul that wantons in thy Blood.
        [He in rage takes her by the arm, shews a dagger.

Er.  I see your Love your Reason has betray’d,
But I’ll forgive the Faults which Love has made: 
’Tis true, I love, and do confess it too;
Which if a Crime, I might have hid from you;
But such a Passion ’tis as does despise
Whatever Rage you threaten from your Eyes. 
—­Yes—­you may disapprove this flame in me,
But cannot hinder what the Gods decree;
—­Search here this truth; Alas, I cannot fear;
Your Steel shall find a welcome entrance here.

[He holds her still and gazes on her.

Alcip.  Where dost thou think thy ungrateful Soul will go, Loaded with wrongs to me, should I strike now?

Er.  To some blest place, where Lovers do reside,
Free from the noise of Jealousy and Pride;
Where we shall know no other Power but Love,
And where even thou wilt soft and gentle prove;
So gentle, that if I should meet thee there,
Thou would’st allow, what thou deny’st me here.

Alcip.  Thou hast disarm’d my Rage, and in its room
A world of Shame and softer Passions come,
Such as the first efforts of Love inspir’d,
When by thy charming Eyes my Soul was fir’d.

Er.  I must confess your Fears are seeming just,
But here to free you from the least mistrust,
I swear, whilst I’m your Wife I’ll not allow
Birth to a Thought that tends to injuring you.

Alcip.  Not to believe thee, were a sin above
The Injuries I have done thee by my Love. 
—­Ah, my Erminia, might I hope at last
To share the pity of that lovely Breast,
By slow degrees I might approach that Throne,
Where now the blest Philander reigns alone: 
Perhaps in time my Passion might redeem
That now too faithful Heart y’ave given to him;
Do but forbear to hear his amorous Tales,
Nor from his moving Eyes learn what he ails: 
A Fire that’s kindled cannot long survive,
If one add nought to keep the flame alive.

Er.  I will not promise; what I mean to do My Virtue only shall oblige me to.