Amyntas led me to a Grove,
Where all the Trees did shade us;
The Sun it self, tho it had strove,
Yet could not have betrayed us.
The place secure from human Eyes,
No other fear allows,
But when the Winds that gently rise
Do kiss the yielding Boughs.
Down there we sat upon the Moss,
And did begin to play
A thousand wanton Tricks, to pass
The Heat of all the Day.
A many Kisses he did give,
And I return’d the same:
Which made me willing to receive
That which I dare not name.
His charming Eyes no aid requir’d,
To tell their amorous Tale;
On her that was already fir’d,
’Twas easy to prevail.
He did but kiss, and clasp me round,
Whilst they his thoughts exprest,
And laid me gently on the Ground;
Oh! — who can guess the rest?
After the Song, enter Silvio all undrest, gazing wildly on Cleonte; his Arm ty’d up.
Cleo. My Brother Silvio, at this late hour, and in my Lodgings too! How do you, Sir? are you not well?
Silv. Oh, why did Nature give me being?
Or why create me Brother to Cleonte?
[Aside.
Or give her Charms, and me the sense to adore ‘em?
Cleo. Dear Brother —
[Goes to him.
Silv. Ah, Cleonte —
[Takes her by the Hand and gazes.
Cleo. What would you, Sir?
Silv. I am not — well —
Cleo. Sleep, Sir, will give you ease.
Silv. I cannot sleep, my Wounds do rage and burn so, as they put me past all power of rest.
Cleo. We’ll call your Surgeon, Sir.
Silv. He can contribute nothing to my Cure,
But I must owe it all to thee, Cleonte.
Cleo. Instruct me in the way, give me your Arm,
And I will bathe it in a thousand Tears,
[Goes to untie his Arm.
And breathe so many Sighs into your Wound —
Silv. Let that slight hurt alone, and search this — here.
[To his Heart.
Cleo. How! are you wounded there,
And would not let us know it all this while?
Silv. I durst not tell you, but design’d to suffer,
Rather than trouble you with my Complaints:
But now my Pain is greater than my Courage.
Fran. Oh, he will tell her, that he loves her sure.
[Aside.
Cleo. Sit down and let me see’t.
[He sits down, she puts her Hand into his Bosom.
Fran. Oh foolish Innocence —
[Aside.
Cleo. You have deceiv’d me, Brother, here’s no Wound.
Silv. Oh take away your Hand —
It does increase my Pain, and wounds me deeper.
Cleo. No, surely, Sir, my Hand is very gentle.
Silv. Therefore it hurts me, Sister; the very thoughts
Of Touches by so soft and fair a Hand,
Playing about my Heart, are not to be indur’d with Life.
[Rises in passion.
Cleo. Alas, what means my Brother?
Silv. Can you not guess, fair Sister? have my Eyes
So ill exprest my Soul? or has your Innocence
Not suffer’d you to understand my Sighs?
Have then a thousand Tales, which I have told you,
Of Broken Hearts, and Lovers Languishments,
Not serv’d to tell you, that I did adore you?
Cleo. Oh let me still remain in Innocence,
Rather than sin so much to understand you.
Fran. I can endure no more —
[Goes out.
Silv. Can you believe it Sin to love a Brother? it is not so in Nature.
Cleo. Not as a Brother, Sir; but otherwise,
It is, by all the Laws of Men and Heaven.
Silv. Sister, so ’tis that we should do no Murder,
And yet you daily kill, and I, among the number
Of your Victims, must charge you with the sin
Of killing me, a Lover, and a Brother.
Cleo. What wou’d you have me do?
Silv. Why — I would have thee — do — I know not what —
Still to be with me — yet that will not satisfy;
To let me look — upon thee — still that’s not enough.
I dare not say to kiss thee, and imbrace thee;
That were to make me wish — I dare not tell thee what —
Cleo. I must not hear this Language from a Brother.
[She offers to go.
Silv. What a vile thing’s a Brother?
Stay, take this Dagger, and add one Wound more
[He kneels and offers her a Dagger, and holds her by the Coat.
To those your Eyes have given, and after that
You’ll find no trouble from my Sighs and Tears.
Enter Francisca.
Fran. By this she understands him, curse on her Innocence, ’Tis fuel to his flame — [Aside.] Madam, there is below a Lady, who desires to speak with the Mistress of the House.
Cleo. At this hour a Lady! who can it be?
Fran. I know not, but she seems of Quality.
Cleo. Is she alone?
Fran. Attended by a Gentleman and an old Woman.
Cleo. Perhaps some one that needs a kind Assistance; my Father is in Bed, and I’ll venture to know their Business; bring her up.
Fran. ‘Twere good you should retire, Sir.
[To Silvio, and Exit.
Silv. I will, but have a care of me, Cleonte,
I fear I shall grow mad, and so undo thee:
Love me — but do not let me know’t too much.
[Goes out.
Enter Francisca with Lights; follow’d by Alonzo, Clarinda,
and Dormida: Alonzo gazes on Cleonte a while.
Cleo. Is’t me you would command?
Clar. I know not what to say, I am so disorder’d.
[Aside.
Alon. What Troops of Beauties she has! sufficient to take whole Cities in — Madam, I beg —
[Takes Clarinda by the Hand, and approaches Cleonte.
Cleo. What, Sir?
Alon. That you would receive into Protection —
Cleo. What pray, Sir?
Alon. Would you would give me leave to say, a Heart
That your fair Eyes have lately made unfit
For its old Quarters.
Cleo. I rather think you mean this Lady, Sir.
[Alonzo looks with wonder on Clarinda.
Alon. She’s heavenly fair too, and has surpriz’d my Heart,
Just as ’twas going to the other’s Bosom,
And rob’d her at least of one half of it.
[Aside.
Clar. Madam, I am a Virgin in distress,
And by misfortune forc’d to seek a Sanctuary,
And humbly beg it here.
Cleo. Intreaties were not made for that fair Mouth;
Command and be obey’d.
But, Sir, to whom do you belong?
Alon. I belong to a very fair Person,
But do not know her Name.
Cleo. But what are you, pray, Sir?
Alon. Madam, a Wanderer; a poor lost thing,
That none will own or pity.
Cleo. That’s sad indeed; but whoe’er you are, since you belong to this fair Maid, you’ll find a Welcome every where.
Alon. And if I do not, I am cashier’d.
[Aside.
Madam, if telling you I am her Brother,
Can make me more acceptable,
I shall be yet more proud of the Alliance.
Cleo. What must I call your Sister, Sir, when I would pay my Duty?
Alon. There I am routed again with another hard Question.
[Aside.
Clar. Madam, my Name’s Clarinda.
Alon. Madam, I’ll take my leave, and wish the Heart I leave with you to night, may persuade you to suffer my Visits to morrow, till when I shall do nothing but languish.
Cleo. I know not what loss you have suffer’d to night; but since your fair Sister’s Presence with us allows it, you need not doubt a welcome.
Alon. I humbly thank you, Madam.
[Kisses her Hand, and looks amorously on Clarinda.
Fran. Madam, pray retire, for Don Marcel is come into the House all bloody, inrag’d against somebody.
Clar. I’m troubled at his Hurt, but cannot fear his Rage. Good night, Sir.
[They go out.
Alon. They are gone; now had I as much mind to have kist the other’s Hand, but that ’twas not a Ceremony due to a Sister — What the Devil came into my Head, to say she was so? nothing but the natural itch of talking and lying: they are very fair; but what’s that to me? Euphemia surpasses both: But a Pox of her terms of Marriage, I’ll set that to her Beauty, and then these get the Day, as far as natural Necessity goes: But I’ll home and sleep upon’t, and yield to what’s most powerful in the Morning.
To night these Strangers do my Heart possess,
But which the greatest share, I cannot guess:
My Fate in Love resembles that in War,
When the rich Spoil falls to the common share.
[Goes out.