_Pim_. As I was passing through a Street of Tents, I saw a wounded Man stretcht on the ground; And going, as others did, to learn his Fate, I heard him say to those that strove to help him, Alas, my Friends, your Succours are in vain; For now I see the Gods will be reveng’d For brave _Clemanthis’. Murder. How! cry’d I out, are you then one of those _Thersander_ sent to kill that Cavalier? _Thersander_, cry’d he, had no hand in it; But _Artabazes_ set us on to kill him. Here he began to faulter in his Speech; And sure he spoke the truth, for ‘twas his last. _Cleo_. This looks like Truth. _Thersander’s_ every Action Declar’d too much of Virtue and of Honour, To be the Author of so black a Deed. --Tell him, I’ll visit him, and beg his pardon. [_To_ Lys. _who bows and goes out_. --Generous _Thersander_, if this News be true, My Eyes shall spare some drops for injuring you. [_Excunt_. SCENE V. _Changes to_ Thersander’s _Tent_. _He in a Night-gown sitting on a Couch; by him the_ King, _Officers, Attendants to them. Enter_ Cleomena, Semiris, Pimante; Lysander; _the_ King _rises to meet_ Cleo. _and seats her in a Chair by him_. _Cleo. Thersander_, I am come to beg thy pardon, If thou art innocent, as I must believe thee, And here before the King to make confession Of what I did refuse the Queen my Mother. --Know then, I lov’d, and with a perfect Passion, The most unfortunate of Men, _Clemanthis_. His Birth I never knew, but do believe It was illustrious, as were all his Actions; But I have lost him by a fatal accident, That very day he should have fought with you. [_Weeps_. _Ther_. Gods! where will this end? [_Aside_. _Cleo_. But e’er the fatal moment of his Death, _Ismenes_ beg’d to know who did the Murder: But he could answer nothing but _Thersander_, And we believ’d it you. Then Love and my Revenge made me a Soldier; --You know the rest-- And doubtless you’ve accus’d me with Ingratitude. _Ther_. No, I shall ne’er complain of _Cleomena_, [_He kneels before her_. If she still love _Clemanthis_. _Cleo_. There needs no more to make me know that Voice. Oh stay, this Joy too suddenly surprizes-- [_Ready to swound_. --Gently distil the Bliss into my Soul, Lest this Excess have the effects of Grief: --Oh, my _Clemanthis_! do I hold thee fast? And do I find thee in the Prince of _Scythia_? _King_. I lose my Reason by this strange encounter! _Ther_. Was’t then a secret to my _Cleomena_, That her _Clemanthis_ was the Prince of _Scythia_? I still believ’d that was his only Crime. _Cleo_. By all my Joys I knew it not--but sure This is Enchantment; for it is as certain These Eyes beheld thee dead. _Pim_. Ay, and so did I, I’ll be sworn. _Ther_. That must be poor _Amintas_ in my Dress, Whose Story, when you know, you will bemoan.