PHILOCLES enters, and meets ASTERIA going out.

Phil.  Asteria, where’s the queen?

Ast.  Ah, my lord! what have you done?  I came to seek you.

Phil.  Is it from her you come?

Ast.  No; but on her behalf:—­Her heart’s too great, In this low ebb of fortune, to entreat.

Phil.  Tis but a short eclipse, Which past, a glorious day will soon ensue.—­ But I would ask a favour too from you.

Ast.  When conquerors petition, they command:  Those, that can captive queens, who can withstand?

Phil.  She, with her happiness, might mine create;
Yet seems indulgent to her own ill fate: 
But she in secret hates me, sure; for why,
If not, should she Candiope deny?

Ast.  If you dare trust my knowledge of her mind, She has no thoughts of you that are unkind.

Phil.  I could my sorrows with some patience bear,
Did they proceed from any one but her: 
But from the queen! whose person I adore,
By duty much, by inclination more.

Ast.  He is inclined already; did he know, That she loved him, how would his passion grow! [Aside.

Phil.  That her fair hand with destiny combines! 
Fate ne’er strikes deep, but when unkindness joins: 
For, to confess the secret of my mind,
Something so tender for the queen I find,
That even Candiope can scarce remove,
And, were she lower, I should call it love.

Ast.  She charged me, not this secret to betray;
But I best serve her, if I disobey. 
For, if he loves, ’twas for her interest done;
If not, he’ll keep it secret for his own. [Aside.

Phil.  Why are you in obliging me so slow?

Ast.  The thing’s of great importance, you would know; And you must first swear secresy to all.

Phil.  I swear.

Ast.  Yet hold; your oath’s too general:  Swear that Candiope shall never know.

Phil.  I swear.

Ast.  No; not the queen herself.

Phil.  I vow.

Ast.  You wonder why I am so cautious grown,
In telling what concerns yourself alone: 
But spare my vow, and guess what it may be,
That makes the queen deny Candiope: 
’Tis neither heat, nor pride, that moves her mind;
Methinks the riddle is not hard to find.

Phil.  You seem so great a wonder to intend, As were, in me, a crime to apprehend.

Ast.  ’Tis not a crime to know; but would be one, To prove ungrateful when your duty’s known.

Phil.  Why would you thus my easy faith abuse: 
I cannot think the queen so ill would chuse. 
But stay, now your imposture will appear;
She has herself confessed she loved elsewhere: 
On some ignoble choice has placed her heart,
One, who wants quality, and more, desert.