_Ber._ Still this cant of virtue! This pomp of words, this phrase without a meaning! I grant that honour's something, manly honour; I'd fight, I'd burn, I'd bleed, I'd die for honour: But what's this virtue? _Or._ Ask you what it is? Why 'tis what libertines themselves adore; 'Tis that which wakens love and kindles rapture Beyond the rosy lip or starry eye. Virtue! 'tis that which gives a secret force To common charms; but to true loveliness Lends colouring celestial. Such its power, That she who ministers to guilty pleasures, Assumes its semblance when she most would please. Virtue! 'tis that ethereal energy Which gives to body spirit, soul to beauty. _Exit._ _Ber._ Curse on his principles! Yet I shall shake them; Yes, I will bend his spirit to my will, Now while 'tis warm with passion, and will take Whatever mould my forming hand will give it. 'Tis worthy of my genius! Then I love This Emmelina--true she loves not me-- But should young Rivers die, his father's lands Would all be mine.--Is Rivers then immortal? Come--Guildford's lands, and his proud daughter's hand Are worth some thought.--Aid me, ye spurs to genius! Love, mischief, poverty, revenge, and envy! [_Exit_ BERTRAND. _Enter_ EMMELINA _and_ RIVERS _talking_. _Em._ Yet do not blame Orlando, good my brother; He's still the same, that brave frank heart you lov'd; Only his temper's chang'd, he is grown sad; But that's no fault, I only am to blame; Fond foolish heart, to give itself away To one who gave me nothing in return! _Riv._ How's this? my father said Orlando lov'd thee. _Em._ Indeed I thought so--he was kinder once; Nay still he loves, or my poor heart deceives me. _Riv._ If he has wrong'd thee--yet I know he could not; His gallant soul is all made up of virtues, And I would rather doubt myself than him. Yet tell me all the story of your loves, And let a brother's fondness soothe thy cares. _Em._ When to this castle first Orlando came, A welcome guest to all, to me most welcome; Yes, spite of maiden shame and burning blushes, Let me confess he was most welcome to me. At first my foolish heart so much deceiv'd me, I thought I lov'd him for my brother's sake; But when I closely search'd this bosom traitor, I found, alas! I lov'd him for his own. _Riv._ Blush not to own it; 'twas a well-plac'd flame! I glory in the merit of my friend, And love my sister more for loving him. _Em._ He talk'd of you; I listen'd with delight, And fancied 'twas the subject only charm'd me; But when Orlando chose another theme, Forgive me, Rivers, but I listen'd still With undiminish'd joy--he talk'd of love, Nor was that theme less grateful than the former. I seem'd the very idol of his soul; Rivers, he said, would thank me for the friendship I bore to his Orlando; I believ'd him. Julia was absent then--but what of Julia?