Er.  And then my Honour by that flight’s o’erthrown.

Gal.  That being Philander’s, he’ll preserve his own; And that, Erminia, sure you’ll ne’er distrust.

Er.  Ah, Madam, give me leave to fear the worst.

    Enter Aminta.

Am.  Madam, Alcippus waits for your Commands, He’s going to the Camp.

Gal.  Admit him.

    Enter Alcippus and Pisaro.

Gal.  Alcippus, ’tis too soon to leave Erminia.

Alcip.  I wish she thought so, Madam,
Or could believe with what regret I do so;
She then would think the fault were much too small
For such a Penance as my Soul must suffer.

Am.  No matter, Sir, you have the Year before you.

Alcip.  Yes, Madam, so has every Galley Slave,
That knows his Toil, but not his Recompence: 
To morrow I expect no more content,
Than this uneasy Day afforded me;
And all before me is but one grand piece
Of endless Grief and Madness: 
—­You, Madam, taught Erminia to be cruel,
A Vice without your aid she could have learnt;
And now to exercise that new taught Art,
She tries the whole experience on my Heart.

Gal.  If she do so, she learnt it not of me,
I love, and therefore know no Cruelty: 
Such outrage cannot well with Love reside,
Which only is the mean effect of Pride: 
—­I merit better thoughts from you, Alcippus.

Alcip.  Pardon me, Madam, if my Passion stray
Beyond the limits of my high respect; [He kneels. 
—­’Tis a rude gust, and merits your reproaches: 
But yet the saucy Flame can ne’er controul
That Adoration which I owe my Princess: 
That, with Religion, took possession here,
And in my Prayers I mix with you the Deities.

Gal.  I’ad rather you should treat me as a Mortal, Rise and begin to do so.

[He rises and bows.

Alcip.  Now, Madam, what must I expect from you?

Er.  Alcippus, all that’s to your Virtue due.

Alcip.  In that but common Justice you allow.

Er.  That Justice, Sir, is all I can bestow.

Alcip.  In justice then you ought to me resign,
That which the Holy Priest intitled mine;
Yet that, without your Heart, I do despise,
For uncompell’d I’d have that sacrifice: 
—­Come ease me of that Pain that presses here,
Give me but Hope that may secure my Fear,
I’m not asham’d to own my Soul possest
With Jealousy, that takes away my rest. 
—­Tell me you’ll love, or that my Suit is vain,
Do any thing to ease me of my pain. 
Gods, Madam, why d’ye keep me in suspence? 
This cannot be the effects of Innocence;
By Heaven, I’ll know the cause, where e’er it lies,
Nor shall you fool me with your feign’d disguise.