Galatea’s Apartments.
Enter Galatea, Aminta, and Olinda.
Gal. Will Erminia come?
Oli. Madam, I thought she’d been already here.
Gal. But prithee how does she support this news?
Oli. Madam, as those unreconciled to Heaven
Would bear the pangs of death.
Am. Time will convince her of that foolish error,
Of thinking a brisk young Husband a torment.
Gal. What young Husband?
Am. The General,
Madam.
Gal. Why, dost thou think she will consent to it?
Am. Madam, I cannot tell, the World’s inconstant.
Gal. Ay, Aminta, in every thing but Love;
And sure they cannot be in that: What say’st thou, Olinda?
Oli. Madam, my Judgment’s naught.
Love I have treated as a stranger Guest,
Receiv’d him well, not lodg’d him in my Breast.
I ne’er durst give the unknown Tyrant room;
Lest he should make his resting place his home.
Gal. Then thou art happy; but if Erminia fail, I shall not live to reproach her.
Am. Nay, Madam, do not think of dying yet: There is a way, if we could think of it.
Gal. Aminta, when will thou this Humour lose?
Am. Faith, never, if I might my Humour chuse.
Gal. Methinks thou now should’st blush to bid me live.
Am. Madam, ’tis the best counsel I can give.
Gal. Thy Counsel! Prithee, what dost counsel now?
Am. What I would take my self I counsel you.
Gal. You must my Wounds and my Misfortunes bear
Before you can become my Counsellor.
You cannot guess the Torments I endure:
Not knowing the Disease you’ll miss the Cure.
Am. Physicians, Madam, can the Patient heal
Although the Malady they ne’er did feel;
But your Disease is epidemical,
Nor can I that evade that conquers all.
I lov’d, and never did like pleasure know,
Which Passion did with time less vigorous grow.
Gal. Why, hast thou lost it?
Am. It, and half a score.
Gal. Losing the first, sure thou couldst love no more.
Am. With more facility, than when the Dart
Arm’d with resistless fire first seiz’d my Heart;
’Twas long then e’er the Boy could entrance get,
And make his little Victory compleat;
And now he’as got the knack on’t, ’tis with ease
He domineers, and enters when he please.
Gal. My Heart, Aminta, is not like to thine.
Am. Faith,
Madam, try, you’ll find it just like mine.
The first I lov’d was Philocles, and then
Made Protestations ne’er to love again,
Yet after left him for a faithless crime;
But then I languisht even to death for him;
— But Love who suffer’d me to take no rest,
New fire-balls threw, the old scarce dispossest;
And by the greater flame the lesser light,
Like Candles in the Sun extinguished quite,
And left no power Alcander to resist,
Who took, and keeps possession of my breast.
Gal. Art thou a Lover then, and look’st so gay,
But thou hast ne’er a Father to obey. [Sighing.
Am. Why, if I had I would obey him too.
Gal. And live?
Am. And live.
Gal. ’Tis more than I can do.
Enter Erminia weeping.
— Thy Eyes,
Erminia, do declare thy Heart
[Gal. meets her, embraces her, and weeps.
Has nothing but Despairs and Death t’impart,
And I alas, no Comfort can apply,
But I as well as you can weep and die.
Er. I’ll not reproach my Fortune, since in you
Grief does the noblest of your Sex subdue;
When your great Soul a sorrow can admit,
I ought to suffer from the sense of it;
Your cause of grief too much like mine appears,
Not to oblige my Eyes to double tears;
And had my heart no sentiments at home,
My part in yours had doubtless fill’d the room.
But mine will no addition more receive,
Fate has bestow’d the worst she had to give;
Your mighty Soul can all its rage oppose,
Whilst mine must perish by more feeble blows.
Gal. Indeed I dare not say my cause of grief
Does yours exceed, since both are past relief.
But if your Fates unequal do appear,
Erminia, ’tis my heart that odds must bear.
Er. Madam, ’tis just I should to you resign,
But here you challenge what is only mine:
My Fate so cruel is, it will not give
Leave to Philander (if I die) to live:
Might I but suffer all, ‘twere some content,
But who can live and see this languishment?
You, Madam, do alone your Sorrows bear,
Which would be less, did but Alcippus share;
As Lovers we agree, I’ll not deny,
But thou art lov’d again, so am not I.
Am. Madam, that grief the better is sustain’d,
That’s for a loss that never yet was gain’d;
You only lose a man that does not know
How great the honour is which you bestow;
Who dares not hope you love, or if he did,
Your Greatness would his just return forbid;
His humble thoughts durst ne’er to you aspire,
At most he would presume but to admire;
Or if it chanc’d he durst more daring prove,
You still must languish and conceal your Love.
Gal. This which you argue lessens not my Pain,
My Grief’s the same were I belov’d again.
The King my Father would his promise keep,
And thou must him enjoy for whom I weep.
Er. Ah, would I could that fatal gift deny;
Without him you; and with him, I must die;
My Soul your royal Brother does adore,
And I, all Passion, but from him, abhor;
But if I must th’unsuit Alcippus wed,
I vow he ne’er shall come into my Bed.
Gal. That’s bravely sworn, and now I love thee more
Than e’er I was oblig’d to do before,
— But yet, Erminia, guard thee from his Eyes,
Where so much love, and so much Beauty lies;
Those charms may conquer thee, which made me bow,
And make thee love as well as break this Vow.
Er. Madam, it is unkind, though but to fear
Ought but Philander can inhabit here. [Lays her hand on her heart.
Gal. Ah, that Alcippus did not you approve,
We then might hope these mischiefs to remove;
The King my Father might be won by Prayer,
And my too powerful Brother’s sad despair,
To break his word, which kept will us undo:
And he will lose his dear Philander too,
Who dies and can no remedies receive:
But vows that ’tis for you alone he’ll live.
Er. Ah,
Madam, do not tell me how he dies,
I’ve seen too much already in his Eyes:
They did the sorrows of his Soul betray,
Which need not be confest another way:
’Twas there I found what my misfortune was,
Too sadly written in his lovely face.
But see, my Father comes: Madam, withdraw a while,
And once again I’ll try my interest with him.
[Exeunt.