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Updated: May 24, 2025
Hold, Sir, are you grown desperate? Alcippus, what is't you design in this? Alcip. To fight, Pisaro, and be kill'd. Pis. By Heaven, you shall not fight, unless with me, And you have so anger'd me with this rash action, I could almost provoke you to it. Enter Alcander. Alcan. Gods, Sir, that you should thus expose your self, The World's great Heir, against a desperate Madman! Pis.
Sir, I've an humble suit t'your Majesty. King. Conclude it granted then. Er. Falatius, Sir, has long made love t' Isillia, And now he'as gain'd her Heart, he slights the Conquest, Yet all the fault he finds is that she's poor. King. Isillia's Beauty can supply that want; Falatius, what d'ye say to't? Fal. Er. Am. He'd use me scurvily then. Alcan. That's according as you behav'd yourself, Aminta.
Am. Alcander, you so many Vows have paid, So many Sighs and Tears to many a Maid, That should I credit give to what you say, I merit being undone as well as they. No, no, Alcander, I'll no more of that. Alcan. Farewel, Aminta, mayst thou want a Lover, When I shall hate both thee and thy whole Sex; I can endure your sober Cruelty, But do despise it clad in Jollity.
I never heard of any that were so, For though the will to do't, and power they want, They love to hear of what they cannot grant. Phi. No more, Is this your duty to your Prince, Alcander? You were not wont to counsel thus amiss, 'Tis either Disrespect or some Design; I could be wondrous angry with thee now, But that my Grief has such possession here, 'Twill make no room for Rage. Alcan.
What's a Clock, Alcander? Alcan. 'Tis midnight, Sir, will you not go to bed? Phi. To bed, Friend; what to do? Alcan. To sleep, Sir, as you were wont to do. Phi. Sleep, and Erminia have abandon'd me; I'll never sleep again. Alcan. This is an humour, Sir, you must forsake. Phi. Never, never, oh Alcander. Dost know where my Erminia lies to night? Alcan. I guess, Sir. Phi. Where?
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.
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