_Queen of Dacia_. _Orsames_, her Son, kept from his Infancy in a Castle on a Lake, ignorant of his Quality, and of all the World besides; never having seen any human thing save only his old Tutor. _Cleomena_, his Sister, bred up in War, and design’d to reign instead of _Orsames_; the Oracle having foretold the bloody Cruelties should be committed during his short Reign, if ever suffered to wear the Crown. _Honorius_, General of the Army, and Uncle to _Orsames_ and _Cleomena_. _Olympia_, his Daughter, young and beautiful. _Ismenes_ and | Two Rival Princes in love with _Cleomena_. _Artabazes_, | _Geron_, the old Tutor to _Orsames_. _Pimante_, a Fop Courtier. _Arates_, a Courtier. _Semeris_, Woman to _Cleomena_. _Vallentio_, a Colonel of the Army. _Gorel_, a Citizen. Keeper of the Castle. A Druid. SCYTHIANS. _King of Scythia_. _Thersander_, his Son, under the Name of _Clemanthis_, when on the _Dacian_ side. _Amintas_, a young Nobleman, belov’d by _Thersander_, and Lover of _Urania_. _Lysander_, Page to _Thersander_. _Urania_, in love with _Amintas_. _Lyces_, a Shepherdess. Pages and Attendants, Courtiers (men and women), Officers, Guards, Soldiers, Huntsmen, Shepherds, Shepherdesses, Assassins, and all a Rabble of the Mobile. SCENE, the Court of _Dacia_, between the two Armies just before the Town. ACT I. SCENE I. _A Grove near the Camp_. _Enter_ Pimante _with Letters_. Gone! Well, I have never the Luck, I thank my Stars, to meet with any of these mighty Men of Valour.--_Vallentio_! Noble Colonel. _Enter_ Vallentio. _Val. Pimante_! Why, what the Devil brought thee to the Camp? _Pim_. Affairs, Affairs-- _Val_. They must be wondrous pressing that made thee venture; but the Fighting’s past, and all the Noise over; every Man of Fame gone to receive what’s due to his Merit; and the whole Camp looks now like a City in a great Plague, no stirring--But what’s thy Business here? _Pim_. Why, I brought Letters from the Queen to that same mighty Man of Prowess--what d’ye call him? _Val_. The brave Clemanthis? _Pim_. The same--But, Colonel, is he indeed so very terrible a thing as Fame gives out?--But she was ever a notable Wag at History. _Val_. How dare thy Coward-thoughts venture upon any thing so terrible as the remembrance of that Gallant Man? Is not his Name like Thunder to thy Ears? Does it not make thee shrink into thy self? _Pim_. Lord, Colonel, why so hot? ‘Tis the cursed’st thing in the World to be thus continually us’d to fighting; why, how uncivil it renders a Man! I spake by way of Question. _Val_. Oh! how soft and wanton I could grow in the Description I could make of him--He merits all in Peace as well as War; Compos’d of Charms would take all Womankind, As those of’s Valour overcome the Men.