Phil.  Madam, your breath, which raised me from the dust,
May lay me there again: 
But fate nor time can ever make me lose
The sense of your indulgent bounties to me.

Queen.  You are above them now, grown popular:—­
Ah, Philocles! could I expect from you
That usage!—­no tongue but yours
To move me to a marriage?—­[Weeps. 
The factious deputies might have some end in’t,
And my ambitious cousin gain a crown: 
But what advantage could there come to you? 
What could you hope from Lysimantes’ reign,
That you can want in mine?

Phil.  You yourself clear me, madam.  Had I sought
More power, this marriage sure was not the way. 
But, when your safety was in question,
When all your people were unsatisfied,
Desired a king,—­nay more, designed the man,—­
It was my duty then,—­

Queen.  Let me be judge of my own safety. 
I am a woman;
But danger from my subjects cannot fright me.

Phil.  But Lysimantes, madam, is a person,—­

Queen.  I cannot love. 
Shall I,—­I, who was born a sovereign queen,
Be barred of that, which God and nature gives
The meanest slave, a freedom in my love?—­
Leave me, good Philocles, to my own thoughts;
When next I need your counsel, I’ll send for you.

Phil.  I’m most unhappy in your high displeasure; But, since I must not speak, madam, be pleased To peruse this, and therein read my care.

[He plucks out a paper, and presents it to her; but drops, unknown to him, a picture.  Exit PHI.

Queen. [reads.] A catalogue of such persons,—­
What’s this he has let fall, Asteria? [Spies the box.

Ast.  Your majesty?—­

Queen.  Take that up; it fell from Philocles.

[She takes it up, looks on it, and smiles.

Queen.  How now, what makes you merry?

Ast.  A small discovery I have made, madam.

Queen.  Of what?

Ast.  Since first your majesty graced Philocles, I have not heard him named for any mistress, But now this picture has convinced me.

Queen.  Ha! let me see it.—­ [Snatches it from her. 
Candiope, prince Lysimantes’ sister!

Ast.  Your favour, madam, may encourage him,—­
And yet he loves in a high place for him: 
A princess of the blood; and, what is more,
Beyond comparison the fairest lady
Our isle can boast.

Queen.  How!—­she the fairest Beyond comparison!—­’Tis false! you flatter her; She is not fair.

Ast.  I humbly beg forgiveness on my knees, If I offended you:—­But next yours, madam, Which all must yield to.

Queen.  I pretend to none.

Ast.  She passes for a beauty.

Queen.  Ay, she may pass:—­But why do I speak of her?—­
Dear Asteria, lead me, I am not well o’ the sudden. [She faints.