_Phil._ Rest thee, sweet. [_She sleeps_] Ah, not too soon I spiced her cup. The way Grows perilous, and I must mount with care To my high seat, lest I should rise to fall; For though the path to crowns be long and slant, There's no way down but by a precipice. [_Enter Theano bearing an urn which she places on table by cup_] _The._ You're faithful, sir. [_Bends over Nauresta_] Her brow is calm again. _Phil._ Now were I ill 'twould quickly make me well To have so fair a face above my bed. _The._ Hear, my lord, you'd die ere mine should be there! _Phil._ Surely 'tis no offence to call you fair. _The._ Beauty lives not upon your commendation, Nor with your silence dies. Spare me, my lord, The cymbal clap of words that add no jot To fairness. _Phil._ Pardon me, dear girl. I was Your father's friend---- _The._ I strive not to forget it. _Phil._ And could I have your love---- _The._ All that is good In you I love. Now thou'st the measure, sir, For my affection. Is it small enough? _Phil._ By heaven, you do not mince it! _Nau._ [_Waking_] Is that my daughter? _The._ See, mother, I have brought this drink for you. [_Pours beverage into cup and offers to Nauresta_] There's health in 't. Is there not, Phillistus? _Phil._ Ay, Health and long life. [_Nauresta drinks_] _Nau._ There's virtue in the cup. Even now I'm better. _The._ Now? _Nau._ O, I could rise! [_Sits up_] _The._ No, dear. Be patient yet. _Nau._ Nay, I'll be up! Pray call Methone, love, to dress me.... Ah, Whence comes this lighter heart? How good to have it! I feel like a new-pardoned prisoner Tasting the air. Smile, sweet! Those lily lids Shall droop no more with woe I lay upon them. [_Enter Methone with robes_] Now, now, Methone, make me young again. O, not that robe! Tis for a grandame that. My sky-gray mantle with its falling softness Broidered like sunset clouds! [_Exit Methone_] _The._ I beg you, sweet---- _Nau._ Wilt smooth my hair? Nay, let it be as 'tis. This way. Ah--now--[_Falls back_] O! Help me! Help; Let go, ye furies! _The._ Mother! _Meth._ [_Entering_] Mistress! mistress! _Nau._ 'Tis poison! poison! I am murdered. O! My daughter--tell her--tell her--ah--Ocrastes----[_Dies_] _The._ Have mercy, Heaven! O, Phillistus, help her! [_Faints. Phillistus holds her_] _Phil._ [_To Methone_] Go call your comrades here. [_Exit Methone_]