Hip. Let her pine and dye;
She remov’d, which like a brighter Sun,
Obscures my beams, I may shine out again,
And as I have been, be admir’d and sought to: 
How long has she to live?

Sulp. Lady, before
The Sun twice rise and set, be confident,
She is but dead; I know my Charm hath found her. 
Nor can the Governours Guard; her lovers tears;
Her Fathers sorrow, or his power that freed her,
Defend her from it.

Enter Zabulon.

Zab. All things have succeeded,
As you could wish; I saw her brought sick home;
The image of pale death, stampt on her fore-head. 
Let me adore this second Hecate,
This great Commandress, of the fatal Sisters,
That as she pleases, can cut short, or lengthen
The thread of life.

Hip. Where was she when the inchantment First seis’d upon her?

Zab. Taking the fresh air,
In the company of the Governour, and Count Clodio,
Arnoldo too, was present with her Father,
When, in a moment (so the servants told me)
As she was giving thanks to the Governour,
And Clodio, for her unexpected freedom,
As if she had been blasted, she sunk down,
To their amazement.

Hip. ’Tis thy master-piece
Which I will so reward, that thou shalt fix here,
And with the hazard of thy life, no more
Make tryal of thy powerful Art; which known
Our Laws call death:  off with this Magical Robe,
And be thy self.

Enter Governour, Clodio, and Charino.

Sulp. Stand close, you shall hear more.

Man. You must have patience; all rage is vain now,
And piety forbids, that we should question
What is decreed above, or ask a reason
Why heaven determines this or that way of us.

Clod. Heaven has no hand in’t; ’tis a work of hell. 
Her life hath been so innocent, all her actions
So free from the suspicion of crime,
As rather she deserves a Saints place here,
Than to endure, what now her sweetness suffers.

Char. Not for her fault, but mine Sir, Zenocia suffers: 
The sin I made, when I sought to rase down
Arnoldo’s love, built on a Rock of truth,
Now to the height is punish’d.  I profess,
Had he no birth, nor parts, the present sorrow
He now expresses for her, does deserve her
Above all Kings, though such had been his rivals.

Clod. All ancient stories, of the love of Husbands To vertuous Wives, be now no more remembred.

Char. The tales of Turtles, ever be forgotten, Or, for his sake believ’d.

Man. I have heard, there has been
Between some married pairs, such sympathy,
That th’ Husband has felt really the throws
His Wife then teeming suffers, this true grief
Confirms, ’tis not impossible.

Clod. We shall find Fit time for this hereafter; let’s use now All possible means to help her.