’Twas I that kill’d Erminia, yes ’twas I;
Then from his almost frantick Head he’d tear
Whole handfuls of his well-becoming Hair: 
Thus would he, till his Rage was almost spent,
And then in softer terms he would lament: 
Then speak as if Erminia still did live,
And that Belief made him forget to grieve. 
—­The Marble Statue Venus he mistook
For fair Erminia, and such things he spoke,
Such unheard passionate things, as e’en wou’d move
The marble Statue’s self to fall in love;
He’d kiss its Breast, and say she kind was grown,
And never mind, alas, ’twas senseless Stone;
He took its Hand, and to his Mouth had laid it,
But that it came not, and its stay betray’d it;
Then would he blush, and all asham’d become,
His Head declining, for awhile be dumb: 
His Arms upon his Breast across would lay,
Then sensibly and calmly walk away;
And in his walk a thousand things he said,
Which I forgot, yet something with me staid;
He did consult the nature of the Crime,
And still concluded that ’twas just in him;
He run o’er all his life, and found no act
That was ungenerous in him, but this fact,
From which the Justice took off the Disgrace,
And might even for an act of Virtue pass;
He did consult his Glory and his Pride;
And whilst he did so, laid his grief aside;
—­Then was as calm as e’er he seem’d to be.

Gal.  And all this while did he ne’er mention me?

Pis.  Yes, Madam, and a thousand things he said,
By which much Shame and Passion he betray’d: 
And then ’twas, Madam, I stept in and gave
Counsels, I thought him fittest to receive;
I sooth’d him up, and told him that the Crime
I had committed, had the case been mine. 
I all things said that might his Griefs beguile,
And brought him to the sweetness of a Smile. 
—­To all I said he lent a willing ear,
And my reproaches too at last did hear. 
With this insensibly I drew him on,
And with my flatteries so upon him won,
Such Gentleness infus’d into his Breast,
As has dispos’d his wearied Soul to rest: 
Sleeping upon a Couch I’ve left him now,
And come to render this account to you. [Bows.

Gal. Pisaro, ’twas the office of a Friend,
And thou’st perform’d it to a generous end: 
Go on and prosper in this new design,
And when thou’st done, the glory shall be thine.

[Exeunt.

SCENE II. The Bedchamber of Alcippus.

    Draws off, discovers Alcippus rising from the Couch.

Alcip.  I cannot sleep, my Soul is so unfurnish’d
Of all that Sweetness which allow’d it rest. 
—­’Tis flown, ’tis flown, for ever from my breast,
And in its room eternal discords dwell,
Such as outdo the black intrigues of Hell—­
Oh my fortune—­

    [Weeps, pulling out his handkerchief, drops a
    Picture with a Glass on the reverse.