Gal.  Brother, I am glad to meet you. Aminta has some welcome News for you.

Am.  My Lord! Erminia yet is hardly brought to yield; She wants but some encouragement from you, That may assist her weakness to subdue, And ’twas but faintly she deny’d to see you.

Phi.  However, I will venture, She can but chide, and that will soon be past:  A Lover’s Anger is not long to last.

Am.  Isillia I have won to give you entrance.

Phi.  Love furnish me with powerful Arguments:  Direct my Tongue, that my disorder’d Sense May speak my Passion more than Eloquence. [Aside.

Gal.  But is Alcippus gone?

Alcan.  Madam, an hour since.

Phi.  ’Tis well; and Sister,
Whilst I persuade Erminia to this flight,
Make it your business to persuade the King,
Hang on his neck, and kiss his willing cheek: 
Tell him how much you love him, and then smile,
And mingle Words with Kisses; ’twill o’ercome him
Thou hast a thousand pretty Flatteries,
Which have appeas’d his highest fits of Passion: 
A Song from thee has won him to that rest,
Which neither Toil nor Silence could dispose him to. 
Thou know’st thy power, and now or never use it.

Gal.  ’Twas thither I was going.

Phi.  May’st thou be prosperous.

[Exeunt Phi. and Gal.  Aminta and Alcander stay.

Am.  What now, Alcander?

Alcan.  As ’twas, Aminta.

Am.  How’s that?

Alcan.  Such a distracted Lover as you left me.

Am.  Such as I found you too, I fear, Alcander.

Alcan.  Ah, Madam, do not wrong me so;
Till now I never knew the joys and sorrows
That do attend a Soul in love like mine: 
My Passion only fits the Object now;
I hate to tell you so, ’tis a poor low means
To gain a Mistress by, of so much wit: 
Aminta, you’re above that common rate
Of being won. 
Mean Beauties should be flatter’d into praise,
Whilst you need only Sighs from every Lover,
To tell you who you conquer, and not how,
Nor to instruct you what attracts you have.

Am.  This will not serve to convince me, But you have lov’d before.

Alcan.  And will you never quit that error, Madam?

Am.  ’Tis what I’ve reason to believe, Alcander,
And you can give me none for loving me: 
I’m much unlike Lucinda whom you sigh’d for,
I’m not so coy, nor so reserv’d as she;
Nor so designing as Florana your next Saint,
Who starv’d you up with hope, till you grew weary;
And then Ardelia did restore that loss,
The little soft Ardelia, kind and fair too.

Alcan.  You think you’re wondrous witty now, Aminta, But hang me if you be.