_Druid_. Sir, I’m afraid you have made too bold a venture; And though your Wounds were more numerous than dangerous, I am not willing you should trust ‘em to the Air. _Amin_. Father, your Skill has wrought a perfect Cure, For which, the Life you sav’d you shall command. _Ura_. Me too h’ has freed of all my jealous Fears, By this eternal Knot ‘twixt thee and me Which he has tied, and Fate can ne’er undo. --Father--to you I owe _Amintas’. Liberty-- To you his Life; and now for all my Joys, Which if my future Service can repay, Command with Freedom her you have preserv’d. _Amin_. Come, dear _Urania_, let’s hasten to the Camp; For I impatient grow to see my Prince; Heaven knows what my Mishap may have procur’d him. _Ura_. How loth I am to leave these pretty Shades, The Gods and Nature have design’d for Love: Oh, my _Amintas_, wou’d I were what I seem, And thou some humble Villager hard by, That knew no other pleasure than to love, To feed thy little Herd, to tune a Pipe, To which the Nymphs should listen all the Day; We’d taste the Waters of these Crystal Springs, With more delight than all delicious Wines; And being weary, on a Bed of Moss, Having no other Canopy but Trees, We’d lay us down, and tell a thousand Stories. _Amin_. For ever so I’d be content to dwell, I wou’d put off all frightful Marks of War, And wou’d appear as soft and calm to thee, As are thy Eyes when silently they wound. An Army I wou’d quit to lead thy Flock, And more esteem a Chaplet wreath’d by thee, Than the victorious Laurel. --But come, Love makes us idle. _Druid_. My Prayers ever go along with you, And your fair Bride, _Urania_.--I cou’d wish My Youth and Vigour were as heretofore, When only Courts and Camps cou’d make me happy; And then I wou’d not bid farewel so soon To so much Virtue as I’ve found in you. _Amin_. I humbly thank you, Father, for a Goodness That shames my poor Returns. Come, pretty _Lyces_, and thou, honest _Damon_, With all the rest of our kind Train; Let’s hasten to the Camp, during this Truce, Your little rustick Sports will find a welcome. _Ura_. There are no Women in the Camp, my Lord. _Amin_. No matter, thou canst not hate a Soldier, Since I am one; and you must be obedient, And learn to bear my Bow and Arrows now, It is the Duty of a _Scythian’s_ Wife. _Ura_. She that can claim _Amintas_ by such Ties, May find a Safety wheresoe’er she flies. [_Exeunt_. SCENE III. _A Prison_. _Enter_ Orsames _joyful, and_ Geron. _Ors_. Am I indeed a King? And is there such a thing as fair _Olympia_? Hadst thou not been the first had told me this, By Heaven, thou’dst dy’d for thus concealing it; Not all the Obligations of my Youth Should have preserv’d thee. _Ger_. Till now I wanted Opportunity; For had you known your Quality before, You wou’d have grown impatient of the Crown, And by that Haste have overthrown your Interest. _Ors_. And canst thou now provide against my Ignorance?