Alcan.  Sir, do you think it just to wrong her so?

Phi.  Oh, would thou couldst persuade me that I did so. 
Thou know’st the Oaths and Vows she made to me,
Never to marry other than my self,
And you, Alcander, wrought me to believe them. 
But now her Vows to marry none but me,
Are given to Alcippus, and in his bosom breath’d,
With balmy whispers, whilst the ravisht Youth
For every syllable returns a kiss,
And in the height of all his extasy,
Philander’s dispossess’d and quite forgotten. 
Ah, charming Maid, is this your Love to me? 
Yet now thou art no Maid, nor lov’st not me,
And I the fool to let thee know my weakness.

Alcan.  Why do you thus proceed to vex your self?  To question what you list, and answer what you please?  Sir, this is not the way to be at ease.

Phi.  Ah, dear Alcander, what would’st have me do?

Alcan.  Do that which may preserve you;
Do that which every Man in love would do;
Make it your business to possess the object.

Phi.  What meanest thou, is she not married?—­

Alcan.  What then? she’as all about her that she had, Of Youth and Beauty she is Mistress still, And may dispose it how and where she will.

Phi.  Pray Heaven I do not think too well of thee:  What means all this discourse, art thou honest?

Alcan.  As most Men of my Age.

Phi.  And wouldst thou counsel me to such a Sin?  For—­I do understand—­thee.

Alcan.  I know not what you term so.

Phi.  I never thought thou’dst been so great a Villain,
To urge me to a crime would damn us all;
Why dost thou smile, hast thou done well in this?

Alcan.  I thought so, or I’ad kept it to my self. 
Sir, e’er you grow in rage at what I’ve said,
Do you think I love you, or believe my life
Were to be valued more than your repose? 
You seem to think it is not.

Phi.  Possibly I may.

Alcan.  The sin of what I have propos’d to you
You only seem to hate:  Sir, is it so? 
—­If such religious thoughts about you dwell,
Why is it that you thus perplex your self? 
Self-murder sure is much the greater sin.
Erminia too you say has broke her Vows,
She that will swear and lye, will do the rest. 
And of these evils, this I think the least;
And as for me, I never thought it sin.

Phi.  And canst thou have so poor a thought of her?

Alcan.  I hope you’ll find her, Sir, as willing to’t
As I am to suppose it; nay, believe’t,
She’ll look upon’t as want of Love and Courage
Should you not now attempt it;
You know, Sir, there’s no other remedy,
Take no denial, but the Game pursue,
For what she will refuse, she wishes you.

Phi.  With such pretensions—­she may angry grow.