_Cleo_. Ah, do not call my Blushes to my Face, But pardon all my weakness: May not my Eyes have leave to gaze a while? Since after this there’s not another Object Can merit their Attention-- But I’ll no longer view that pleasing Form-- [_Turns from him_. And yet I’ve lost all power of removing-- [_Turns and gazes_. Even now I was in love with mere Report, With Words, with empty Noise; And now that Flame, like to the Breath that blew it, Is vanish’d into Air, and in its room An Object quite unknown, unfam’d, unheard of, Informs my Soul; how easily ‘tis conquer’d! How angry am I with my Destiny! Till now, with much disdain I have beheld The rest of all his Sex; and shall I here Resign a Heart to one I must not love? Must this be he must kill the King of _Scythia_? For I must lay no claim to any other: Grant, Oh ye Gods, who play with Mortals thus, That him for whom ye have design’d your Slave, May look like this Unknown, And I’ll be ever grateful for the Bounty. --But these are vain imaginary Joys. [Thersander _wakes, rises, and gazes_. _Ther_. Am I awake, or do my Dreams present me Ideas much more bright and conquering, Than e’er approach’d my waking Sense by far? --Sure ‘tis _Diana_, the Goddess of these Woods, That Beauty and that Dress confirm me ‘tis. [_Kneels_. --Great Goddess, pardon an unlucky Stranger, The Errors he commits ‘gainst your Divinity, Who, had he known this Grove had sacred been, He wou’d not have profan’d it by his Presence. _Cleo_. Rise, Sir, I am no Deity; Or if I were, I cou’d not be offended [_He rises_. To meet so brave a Man--Gods, how he looks! _Ther_. Can you be mortal! What happy Land contains you? or what Men Are worthy to adore you? _Cleo_. I find you are a Stranger to this place, You else had known me to be _Cleomena_. _Ther_. The Princess _Cleomena_! my mortal Enemy! [_Aside_. _Cleo_. You seem displeas’d at the knowledge of my Name; But give me leave to tell you, yours on me Wou’d have another Sense. _Ther_. The knowledge of your Name has not displeas’d me; [_Kneels_. But, Madam, I had sooner took you for The Sovereign of the World than that of Dacia; Nor ought you to expect less Adoration From all that World, than those who’re born your Slaves. --And amongst those devout ones number him, Whom happy Fate conducted to your Feet, And who’ll esteem himself more fortunate, If by that little service he had rendred you, _Clemanthis’. Name have ever reach’d your Ear.