+Claud.+ No more!---- My grief and shame are passionate, to find So much bad man got near your heart; and shows This sick complexion in your honour, more Tainted than the face of your imposture.---- You have play'd the excellent counterfeit, and your skill Does make you proud: you cannot blush-- [_Exit._ +Des.+ She's gone;-- A star shot from her eye, and light'ned through My blood. I must provide for thunder and Thy revenge, De Flame, as horrid as thought can Shape it. _Enter +Cleara+._ +Cle.+ Sir! +Des.+ Proud love, I'll meet thee with burning sighs And bleeding turtles at thy shrine. [_Aside._ +Cle.+ This is too bold a hazard for your health, Which yet sits wan and troubled on your cheek. +Des.+ Madam! +Cle.+ Indeed, I'll chide ye. [_Aside._ +Des.+ O, cry ye mercy! Some retired meditations. +Cle.+ I shall observe 'em; Let me but leave you with the joy to know I stand not in the hazard of that frown. +Des.+ We'll kiss next time. +Cle.+ Sir! +Des.+ Or never. +Cle.+ Ha! d'ye know me? +Des.+ So well, methinks we should not part so soon: Our hearts have been more ceremonious, and hung In panting sighs upon our lips, to bid adieu. One kiss must now sum up all; and seal their General release. I know Cleara more constant To her virtue and brave mind, than to ask heaven Idle questions. 'Tis fate, not will. [_Exit._ +Cle.+ So. I feel thy marble hand lie here: 'Tis cold, and heavy! How my poor heart throbs under it, and struggles to Find air! not one kind sigh lend thee a gale For yonder haven! It's gone! quite vanish'd! Beshrew me, it was a most horrible apparition! I wou'd not see it again In such a cruel look for all my hopes; Yet it held me gently by the hand, and left a warm farewell there, As my Dessandro us'd. As my Dessandro, said I? O, how fain my hopes would mock my apprehension; And that my sorrow!---- I'll woo thy pity with my groans, kind earth! And lay my throbbing breast to thine! Until I am dissolv'd into a spring, Whose murmurs shall eternally repeat This minute's story. _Enter +De Flame+._ +De F.+ Ha! Cleara, drown'd in her own tears? Sister! Cleara! +Cle.+ I had a gentle slumber; and all the world (Methought) was in a midnight calm. +De F.+ Dear girl, Clear up those sad eyes and my cold doubts. Prythee, tell me, is our Dessandro dead? +Cle.+ Heaven defend! +De F.+ No! what then, in all the volumes of black destiny And nature, can throw you into this posture? Unkind Cleara, why dost dissemble it? I see him Breathless on thy cheek, and lost. +Cle.+ Lost for ever.