Phil.  Madam, like you, I have repented too, And dare not rail on one, I do not know.

Queen.  This, Philocles, like strange perverseness shews, As if whate’er I said you would oppose; How come you thus concerned for this unknown?

Phil.  I only judge his actions by my own.

Queen.  I’ve heard too much, and you too much have said. 
O heavens, the secret of my soul’s betrayed! 
He knows my love, I read it in his face,
And blushes, conscious of his queen’s disgrace. [Aside. 
Hence quickly, hence, or I shall die with shame. [To him.

Phil.  Now I love both, and both with equal flame. 
Wretched I came, more wretched I retire: 
When two winds blow it, who can quench the fire? [Exit PHILOCLES.

Queen.  O my Asteria!  I know not whom to accuse; But either my own eyes, or you, have told My love to Philocles.

Ast.  Is’t possible that he should know it, madam?

Queen.  Methinks, you ask that question guiltily. [Lays her hand on ASTERIA’S shoulder.
Confess, for I will know, what was the subject
Of your long discourse i’th’ antichamber with him.

Ast.  It was business to convince him, madam,
How ill he did, being so much obliged,
To join in your imprisonment.

Queen.  Nay, now I am confirmed my thought was true;
For you could give him no such reason
Of his obligements, as my love.

Ast.  Because I saw him much a malecontent,
I thought to win him to your interest, madam,
By telling him it was no want of kindness,
Made your refusal of Candiope. 
And he, perhaps—­

Queen.  What of him now?

Ast.  As men are apt, interpreted my words, To all the advantage he could wrest the sense, As if I meant you loved him.

Queen.  Have I deposited within thy breast
The dearest treasure of my life, my glory,
And hast thou thus betrayed me! 
But why do I accuse thy female weakness,
And not my own, for trusting thee! 
Unhappy queen, Philocles knows thy fondness,
And needs must think it done by thy command.

Ast.  Dear madam, think not so.

Queen.  Peace, peace, thou should’st for ever hold thy tongue: 
For it has spoke too much for all thy life. [To her. 
Then Philocles has told Candiope,
And courts her kindness with his scorn of me. 
O whither am I fallen! 
But I must rouse myself, and give a stop
To all these ills by headlong passion caused. 
In hearts resolved weak love is put to flight,
And only conquers, when we dare not fight. 
But we indulge our harms, and, while he gains
An entrance, please ourselves into our pains.

Enter LYSIMANTES.

Ast.  Prince Lysimantes, madam.

Queen.  Come near, you poor deluded criminal;
See how ambition cheats you: 
You thought to find a prisoner here,
But you behold a queen.