Pis.  Come, Sir, I am a kind of Prophet,
And can interpret Dreams too. 
We’ll walk a while, and you shall tell me all,
And then I would advise you what to do.

[Exeunt.

SCENE III. The King’s Chamber.

    Enter Philander with the King.

King.  Thou’st entertain’d me with a pretty Story,
And call’d up so much Nature to thy Cause,
That I am half subjected to its Laws;
I find thy lovely Mother plead within too,
And bids me put no force upon thy Will;
Tells me thy Flame should be as unconfin’d
As that we felt when our two Souls combin’d. 
Alas, Philander, I am old and feeble,
And cannot long survive: 
But thou hast many Ages yet to number
Of Youth and Vigour; and should all be wasted
In the Embraces of an unlov’d Maid? 
No, my Philander, if that after death
Ought could remain to me of this World’s Joys,
I should remember none with more delight,
Than those of having left thee truly happy.

Phi.  This Goodness, Sir, resembles that of Heaven,
Preserving what it made, and can be paid
Only with grateful Praise as we do that.

King.  Go, carry on your innocent design, And when you’ve done, the last act shall be mine.

[Exeunt

SCENE IV. The Court Gallery.

    Enter Aminta followed by Alcander, Erminia and Galatea;
    they go out:  re-enter Alcander, and stays Aminta.

Alcan.  Stay, dear Aminta, do not fly so fast.

Am.  Methinks, Alcander, you should shun that Maid,
Of whose too much of kindness you’re afraid. 
’Twas not long since you parted in such feud,
And swore my treatment of you was too rude;
You vow’d you found no Beauty in my eyes,
And can you now pursue what you despise? [Offers to go.

Alcan.  Nay, do not leave me yet, for still your Scorn Much better than your Absence may be borne.

Am.  Well, Sir, your business, for mine requires haste.

Alcan.  Say, fair Aminta, shall I never find
You’ll cease this Rigour, and be kind? 
Will that dear Breast no Tenderness admit? 
And shall the Pain you give no Pity get? 
Will you be never touch’d with what I say? 
And shall my Youth and Vows be thrown away? 
You know my Passion and my Humour too,
And how I die, though do not tell you so.

Am.  What arguments will you produce to prove You love? for yet I’ll not believe you love.

Alcan.  Since, fair Aminta, I did thee adore,
Alas, I am not what I was before: 
My Thoughts disorder’d from my Heart do break;
And Sighs destroy my Language when I speak. 
My Liberty and my Repose I gave,
To be admitted but your Slave;
And can you question such a Victory? 
Or must I suffer more to make it sure? 
It needs not, since these Languishments can be
Nought but the Wounds which you alone can cure.