_Eug._ Of that We'll think hereafter _Lucio_: our thoughts now Must have no object but thy Fathers welcome, To which thy help-- _Luc._ With humble gladness, Madam. [_Exeunt._ _Scæna Tertia._ _Enter_ Alvarez, Clara. _Alv._ Where lost we _Syavedra_? _Cla._ He was met Ent'ring the City by some Gentlemen Kinsmen, as he said of his own, with whom For compliment sake (for so I think he term'd it) He was compell'd to stay: though I much wonder A man that knows to do, and has done well In the head of his troop, when the bold foe charg'd home, Can learn so sodainly to abuse his time In apish entertainment: for my part (By all the glorious rewards of war) I had rather meet ten enemies in the field All sworn to fetch my head, than be brought on To change an hours discourse with one of these Smooth City-fools, or Tissue-Cavaliers, The only Gallants, as they wisely think, To get a Jewel, or a wanton Kiss From a Court-lip, though painted. _Alv._ My Love _Clara_, (For _Lucio_ is a name thou must forget With _Lucio_'s bold behaviour) though thy breeding I' th' Camp, may plead something in the excuse Of thy rough manners, custom having chang'd, Though not thy Sex, the softness of thy nature, And fortune (then a cruel stepdame to thee) Impos'd upon thy tender sweetness, burthens Of hunger, cold, wounds, want, such as would crack The sinews of a man, not born a Soldier: Yet now she smiles, and like a natural mother Looks gently on thee, _Clara_, entertain Her proffer'd bounties with a willing bosom; Thou shalt no more have need to use thy sword; Thy beauty (which even _Belgia_ hath not alter'd) Shall be a stronger guard, to keep my _Clara_, Than that has been, (though never us'd but nobly) And know thus much. _Cla._ Sir, I know only that It stands not with my duty to gain-say you, In any thing: I must, and will put on What fashion you think best: though I could wish I were what I appear. _Alv._ Endeavour rather [_Musick._ To be what you are, _Clara_, entring here, As you were born, a woman. _Enter_ Eugenia, Lucio, _Servants_. _Eug._ Let choice Musick In the best voice that e'er touch'd humane ear, For joy hath ti'd my tongue up, speak your welcome. _Alv._ My soul (for thou giv'st new life to my spirit) Myriads of joyes, though short in number of Thy virtues, fall on thee; Oh my _Eugenia_, Th' assurance that I do embrace thee, makes My twenty years of sorrow but a dream, And by the Nectar, which I take from these, I feel my age restor'd, and like old _Æson_ Grow young again.