_Pla._ Oh! _Bassino! Bassino!_ Oh! wretched Woman! Oh! that I had dy'd E'er I had known him false: Then I were happy: And tho' contented with his second Choice, He with a pitying Sigh, perhaps, had grac'd My Memory---- Oh! all ye Powers that virtuous Love inspire, Assist me now: Inform my vocal Organs With angel Eloquence, such as can melt His Heart of Flint, and move his former Kindness. (_Aside._) But if that fail, I will remove the Cause Of both our Woes----Yes, that happy Charmer, That Rival of my Love shall surely die. _Arm._ Doubt not of the Success; What Heart of Steel Could e'er resist such Beauty dress'd in Tears? _Enter a Servant._ _Serv._ Sir, Count _Bassino_ enquires if you are within. _Pla._ Oh! Heavens! how I tremble! _Arm._ Lucky Opportunity----shew him up. Madam, be pleas'd to step into that Closet. Till I can sound the utmost of his Thoughts, And shew him naked to your secret View, Then when he's in the height of impious Passion, You like a Bolt from Heav'n shall rush on him, And strike his Folly dumb. _Pla._ Almighty Powers, whose providential Care Is ever kind to virtuous Innocence, Oh! help me now in this Extremity. [_Exit_ Placentia. _Enter_ Bassino. _Bass._ How does my Friend _Armando_? _Arm._ My Lord, _Armando_'s well, And wishes you were so. _Bass._ Dost thou discover aught that gives thee Cause To doubt I am not well? Indeed I think I am in perfect Health---- _Arm._ My Lord, I should be glad To find that Fever of your Mind abated In which I left you last---- _Bass._ (_Aside._) I must dissemble now, Else I'll ne'er gain my Ends--my dear _Armando_, That Fever thou speak'st of, is now succeeded By a cold Ague-Fit: The bare Remembrance Of my unlawful Passion shakes my Soul. _Arm._ Such sudden Cures have often prov'd pernicious, And we have Reason to suspect a Wound Too quickly heal'd---- _Bass._ Not when thou know'st what Balsam I applied. _Arm._ There's scarce a Balm for the deep Wounds of Love, Besides Possession, and I cannot think You have enjoy'd _Aurelia_. _Bass._ I swear I have not---- But I enjoy my Reason, my free Reason: And who possesses that, can never cherish A Thought against himself: For such I call Whatsoever keeps me from my lawful Wife, My dear _Placentia_, to whose Arms I'll fly With all the eager Haste of a fond Bridegroom. There I shall revel in the virtuous Pleasures Of a chaste Bed--Oh! my Friend _Armando_! My dear _Placentia_'s Friend! can'st thou forgive? Indeed I'm penitent, and will offend no more. _Arm._ My Lord, these are the Words you spoke before: What greater Reason have I now to think You'll keep your Promise?