Phil.  He, who with your possession once is blest,
On easy terms will part with all the rest. 
All my ambition will in you be crowned;
And those white arms shall all my wishes bound. 
Our life shall be but one long nuptial day,
And, like chafed odours, melt in sweets away;
Soft as the night our minutes shall be worn,
And chearful as the birds, that wake the morn.

Cand.  Thus hope misleads itself in pleasant way,
And takes more joys on trust, than love can pay: 
But, love with long possession once decayed,
That face, which now you court, you will upbraid.

Phil.  False lovers broach these tenets, to remove The fault from them, by placing it on love.

Cand.  Yet grant, in youth you keep alive your fire,
Old age will come, and then it must expire: 
Youth but a while does at love’s temple stay,
As some fair inn, to lodge it on the way.

Phil.  Your doubts are kind; but, to be satisfied I can be true, I beg I may be tried.

Cand.  Trials of love too dear the making cost; For if successless, the whole venture’s lost.  What you propose, brings wants and care along.

Phil.  Love can bear both.

Cand.  But is your love so strong?

Phil.  They do not want, who wish not to have more; Who ever said an anchoret was poor?

Cand.  To answer generously, as you have done,
I should not by your arguments be won: 
I know, I urge your ruin by consent;
Yet love too well, that ruin to prevent.

Phil.  Like water given to those whom fevers fry, You kill but him, who must without it die.

Cand.  Secure me, I may love without a crime; Then, for our flight, appoint both place and time.

Phil.  The ensuing hour my plighted vows shall be; The time’s not long; or only long to me.

Cand.  Then, let us go where we shall ne’er be seen By my hard mother.

Phil.  Or my cruel queen.

[Exeunt PHIL. and CAND.

Queen above.  O, Philocles, unkind to call me cruel! 
So false Aeneas did from Dido fly;
But never branded her with cruelty. 
How I despise myself for loving so!

Ast.  At once you hate yourself, and love him too.

Queen.  No, his ingratitude has cured my wound:  A painful cure indeed!

Ast.  And yet not sound. 
His ignorance of your true thoughts
Excuses this; you did seem cruel, madam.

Queen.  But much of kindness still mixed with it.  Who could mistake so grossly, not to know A Cupid frowning, when he draws his bow?

Ast.  He’s going now to smart for his offence.

Queen.  Should he, without my leave, depart from hence?

Ast.  No matter; since you hate him, let him go.