Pis.  You wrong her most inhumanly, you do;
Her Blood, yet sensible of the injury,
Flows to her face to upbraid thy Cruelty. 
—­Where dost thou mean, bad Man, to hide thy head? 
Vengeance and Justice will pursue thee close,
And hardly leave thee time for Penitence. 
—­What will the Princess say to this return
You’ve made to all the offers she has sent
This Night by Prince Philander?

Alcip.  Oh, when you name the Princess and Philander,
Such different Passions do at once possess me,
As sink my over-laden Soul to Hell. 
—­Alas, why do I live? ’tis losing time;
For what is Death, a pain that’s sooner ended
Than what I felt from every frown of hers? 
—­It was but now that lovely thing had Life,
Could speak and weep, and had a thousand Charms,
That had oblig’d a Murder, and Madness’t self
To’ve been her tame Adorers. 
Yet now should even her best belov’d, the Prince,
With all his Youth, his Beauties and Desires,
Fall at her Feet, and tell his tale of Love,
She hardly would return his amorous Smiles,
Or pay his meeting Kisses back again;
Is not that fine, Pisaro?

Pis.  Sir, ’tis no time to talk in, come with me, For here’s no safety for a Murderer.

Alcip.  I will not go, alas I seek no Safety.

Pis.  I will not now dispute that vain reply, But force you to security.

[Pisaro draws him out, the Scene closes.

SCENE VII. The Palace.

Enter Philander, Alcander, Galatea, Aminta, and Falatius.

Fal.  Ah, fly, Sir, fly from what I have to tell you.

Alcan.  What’s the news?

Fal.  Ah, Sir, the dismal’st heavy news that e’er was told or heard.

Gal.  No matter, out with it.

Fal.  Erminia, Madam—­

Phi.  Erminia, what of her?

Fal.  Is dead, Sir.

Alcan.  What, hast thou lost thy Wits?

Fal.  I had them not about me at the sight, I else had been undone:  Alas, Erminia’s dead, Murder’d, and dead.

Alcan.  It cannot be, thou ly’st.

Fal.  By Jove, I do not, Sir, I saw her dead: 
Alas, I ran as I was wont to do,
Without demanding licence, to her Chamber,
But found her not, as I was wont to do, [The Women weep. 
In a gay humour, but stone-dead and cold.

Phi.  Alcander, am I awake?—­or being so,
Dost not perceive this senseless Flesh of mine
Hardened into a cold benumbed Statue? 
—­Methinks—­it does—­support me—­or I fall;
And so—­shall break to pieces—­
             [Falls into his Arms.  He leads him out.

Gal.  Ah, lovely Maid, was this thy destiny? 
Did Heaven create thy Beauties to this end? 
—­I must distrust their Bounties, who neglected
The best and fairest of their handy-work;
This will incourage Sin, when Innocence
Must perish thus, and meet with no defence.