Alon. What’s this, a mumping Matron? I hope the other’s young, or I have offer’d my Service to little purpose. Clar. Sir, if you will have the Charity to assist us, Do it speedily, we shall be very grateful to you. Alon. Madam, I will, but know not where to carry ye; my Lodging is in an Inn, and is neither safe nor honourable: but Fortune dares no less than protect the Fair, and I’ll venture my Life in your Protection and Service. [Exeunt. Enter _Marcel_ faintly. Mar. Stay, Traytor, stay—oh they are out of sight, But may my Curse o’ertake them in their flight. [Exit. Scene VI. Chamber of _Cleonte_. She is discover’d in her Night-Gown, at a Table, as undressing, _Francisca_ by her. Cleo. _Francisca_, thou art dull to Night. [Sighs. Fran. You will not give me leave to talk. Cleo. Not thy way indeed, hast thou no Stories but of Love, and of my Brother _Silvio?_ Fran. None that you wish to hear: But I’ll do what you please, so you will not oblige me to sigh for you. Cleo. Then prithee sing to me. Fran. What Song, a merry, or a sad? Cleo. Please thy own Humour, for then thou’lt sing best. Fran. Well, Madam, I’ll obey you, and please my self. 255 SINGS. _Amyntas_ led me to a Grove, Where all the Trees did shade us; The Sun it self, tho it had strove, Yet could not have betrayed us. The place secure from human Eyes, No other fear allows, But when the Winds that gently rise Do kiss the yielding Boughs. Down there we sat upon the Moss, And did begin to play A thousand wanton Tricks, to pass The Heat of all the Day. A many Kisses he did give, And I return’d the same: Which made me willing to receive That which I dare not name. His charming Eyes no aid requir’d, To tell their amorous Tale; On her that was already fir’d, ’Twas easy to prevail. He did but kiss, and clasp me round, Whilst they his thoughts exprest, And laid me gently on the Ground; Oh! —who can guess the rest? After the Song, enter _Silvio_ all undrest, gazing wildly on _Cleonte_; his Arm ty’d up. Cleo. My Brother _Silvio_, at this late hour, and in my Lodgings too! How do you, Sir? are you not well? Silv. Oh, why did Nature give me being? Or why create me Brother to _Cleonte?_ [Aside. Or give her Charms, and me the sense to adore ’em? Cleo. Dear Brother— [Goes to him. Silv. Ah, _Cleonte_— [Takes her by the Hand and gazes. 256 Cleo. What would you, Sir? Silv. I am not—well— Cleo. Sleep, Sir, will give you ease. Silv. I cannot sleep, my Wounds do rage and burn so, as they put me past all power of rest. Cleo. We’ll call your Surgeon, Sir. Silv. He can contribute nothing to my Cure, But I must owe it all to thee, _Cleonte_. Cleo. Instruct me in the way, give me your Arm, And I will bathe it in a thousand Tears, [Goes to untie his Arm. And breathe so many Sighs into your Wound— Silv. Let that slight hurt alone, and search this—here. [To his Heart. Cleo. How! are you wounded there, And would not let us know it all this while?