_Ther_. Urge it no more, _Lysander_,’.is in vain, My Liberty past all retrieve is lost; But they’re such glorious Fetters that confine me, I wou’d not quit them to preserve that Life Thou justly say’st I hazard by my Love. _Lys_. The _Scythian_ Gods defend it! _Ther_. The Gods inspire it, ‘tis their Work alone; --I know she is my Enemy, hates _Thersander_, Has sent for all the neighbouring Kings for aid, That hither Artabases and Ismenes Have brought their Powers t’ assist against my Crown. But what of this? She loves me as _Clemanthis_, Which will surmount her Hatred to the _Scythians_. Oh, my _Lysander_! didst thou know her Charms, Thou’dst also know ‘tis not a mortal Force That can secure the Heart: She’s all divine! All Beauty, Wit, and Softness! and she loves! Already I have found the grateful Secret; She scorns the little Customs of her Sex, And her belief of being so much above me, Permits her to encourage my Design; She gives a Boldness to my bashful Flame, And entertains me with much Liberty. _Lys_. Were all this true, you’re equally unhappy; She must be only his that conquers you, That wins your Crown, and lays it at her Feet. _Ther_. Love ne’er considers the Event of things, The Path before me’s fair, and I’ll pursue it; Fearing no other Forces than her Eyes, Bright as the Planets under which they’re born. _Lys_. And will you let her know you are in love? _Ther_. If all my Sighs, if Eyes still fix’d on hers With Languishment and Passion, will inform her, I’ll let her know my Flame, or perish in th’ Attempt. _Lys_. Dare you declare it as you now appear? And can you hope, that under the Degree Of what indeed you are, she will permit it? And your Discovery is your certain ruin. _Ther_. Thy Counsel, dear _Lysander_, comes too late, She’s in the Grove, where now I must attend her, And see where she approaches-- _Enter_ Cleomena, Semiris. _Cleo_. The Stranger, say you, grown of late so pensive! --I must enquire the Cause--what if it shou’d be Love? And that too not for me! hah, my _Semiris_! That Thought has given me Pains I never felt; --Gods! why comes he not? I grow impatient now; --Say, didst thou bid him wait me in the Grove? _Sem_. Madam, I spoke to him my self-- _Cleo_. And told him I wou’d speak with him? _Sem_. As you commanded me, I said. _Cleo_. It seems he values my Commands but little, Who is so slow in his Obedience: --Where found you him? _Sem_. I’th’ Antick Gallery, Madam. _Cleo_. Gallery! what did he there? tell me exactly, --I have no Picture there. _Sem_. Madam, he was viewing that of _Olympia_, your fair Cousin, But for the Excellency of the Work, not Beauty.