High Pr.  Old prophecies foretel our fall at hand, When bearded men in floating castles land.  I fear it is of dire portent.

Mont.  Go see
What it foreshows, and what the gods decree. 
Meantime proceed we to what rites remain.—­
Odmar, of all this presence does contain,
Give her your wreath, whom you esteem most fair.

Odm.  Above the rest I judge one beauty rare,
And may that beauty prove as kind to me, [He gives ALIBECH the wreath. 
As I am sure fair Alibech is she.

Mont.  You, Guyomar, must next perform your part.

Guy.  I want a garland, but I’ll give a heart:  My brother’s pardon I must first implore, Since I with him fair Alibech adore.

Odm.  That all should Alibech adore, ’tis true; But some respect is to my birthright due.  My claim to her by eldership I prove.

Guy.  Age is a plea in empire, not in love.

Odm.  I long have staid for this solemnity, To make my passion public.

Guy.  So have I.

Odm.  But from her birth my soul has been her slave;
My heart received the first wounds which she save: 
I watched the early glories of her eyes,
As men for daybreak watch the eastern skies.

Guy.  It seems my soul then moved the quicker pace; Yours first set out, mine reached her in the race.

Mont.  Odmar, your choice I cannot disapprove;
Nor justly, Guyomar, can blame your love. 
To Alibech alone refer your suit,
And let her sentence finish your dispute.

Alib.  You think me, sir, a mistress quickly won. 
So soon to finish what is scarce begun: 
In this surprise should I a judgment make,
’Tis answering riddles ere I’m well awake: 
If you oblige me suddenly to chuse,
The choice is made, for I must both refuse: 
For to myself I owe this due regard,
Not to make love my gift, but my reward. 
Time best will show, whose services will last.

Odm.  Then judge my future service by my past.  What I shall be, by what I was, you know:  That love took deepest root, which first did grow.

Guy.  That love, which first was set, will first decay; Mine, of a fresher date, will longer stay.

Odm.  Still you forget my birth.

Guy.  But you, I see, Take care still to refresh my memory.

Mont.  My sons, let your unseemly discord cease, If not in friendship, live at least in peace.  Orbellan, where you love, bestow your wreath.

Orb.  My love I dare not, even in whispers, breathe.

Mont.  A virtuous love may venture any thing.

Orb.  Not to attempt the daughter of my king.

Mont.  Whither is all my former fury gone? 
Once more I have Traxalla’s chains put on,
And by his children am in triumph led: 
Too well the living have revenged the dead!