Lys.  In short, the queen hath sent to part you two:—­ What more she means to her, I know not.

Phil.  To her, alas!—­Why, will not you protect her?

Lys.  With you I can; but where’s my power alone?

Cand.  You know she loves me not:  You lately heard her,
How she insulted over me:  How she
Despised that beauty, which you say I have.—­
I see, she purposes my death.

Phil.  Why do you fright me with it?  ’Tis in your brother’s power to let us ’scape, And then you run no danger.

Lys.  True, I may; But then my head must pay the forfeit of it.

Phil.  O wretched Philocles! whither would love Hurry thee headlong?

Lys.  Cease these exclamations. 
There’s no danger on your side:  ’tis but to
Live without my sister; resolve that,
And you have shot the gulf.

Phil.  To live without her!  Is that nothing, think you?  The damned in hell endure no greater pain, Than seeing heaven from far with hopeless eyes.

Cand.  Candiope must die, and die for you:—­ See it not unrevenged at least.

Phil.  Ha, unrevenged!  On whom should I revenge it?—­
But yet she dies, and I may hinder it? 
’Tis I then murder my Candiope:—­
And yet, should I take arms against my queen! 
That favoured me, raised me to what I am?—­
Alas! it must not be.

Lys.  He cools again.—­[Aside. 
True, she once favoured you;
But now I am informed. 
She is besotted on an upstart wretch
So far, that she intends to make him master
Both of her crown and person.

Phil.  Knows he that! 
Then, what I dreaded most is come to pass.—­[Aside. 
I am convinced of the necessity;
Let us make haste to raze
That action from the annals of her reign: 
No motive but her glory could have wrought me. 
I am a traitor to her, to preserve her
From treason to herself:  Yet heaven knows,
With what a heavy heart
Philocles turns reformer.  But have care
This fault of her strange passion take no air. 
Let not the vulgar blow upon her fame.

Lys.  I will be careful:—­Shall we go, my lord?

Phil.  Time wastes apace; each first prepare his men.—­ Come, my Candiope. [Exeunt PHIL. and CAND.

Lys.  This ruins him forever with the queen;
The odium’s half his, the profit all my own. 
Those who, like me, by others’ help would climb,
To make them sure, must dip them in their crime. [Exit.

SCENE II.—­The Queen’s apartments.

Enter Queen and ASTERIA.

Queen.  No more news yet from Philocles?

Ast.  None, madam, since Flavia’s return.

Queen.  O, my Asteria! if you loved me, sure You would say something to me of my Philocles!  I could speak ever of him.