_Cleo_. Hell! Now I’m confirm’d, he fears that she should see Him die, lest it should cost her but a Tear; --Why should I want the Strength? --But Oh, I cannot. [_Offers to present the Dagger_. But canst thou live, false Man, and see me frown? _Ther_. No, Madam, I can die--thus-- [_Offers to fall on his Sword_. _Cleo_. Stay-- Thou shalt not so much Glory gain: No, live, and prove wretched enough to know How very poorly thou hast lost my Heart. [_Ex. raving_. [Ther. _gazes after her_. _Ther_. Must I then live?--I will obey--farewel, The fairest and unkindest of thy Sex; If e’er it be thy chance to meet with one That loves more than _Thersander_, if thou canst Treat him worse than thou hast done me-- For oh! how miserable is the Wretch, whose Prayer Repuls’d, like me, lives only to despair. [_Exit_. ACT III. SCENE I. _The Curtain is let down--being drawn up, discovers_ Orsames _seated on a Throne asleep, drest in Royal Robes, the Crown and Sctpter lying by on a Table_. Geron _near the Throne. On either side of the Stage, Courtiers ready drest, and multitude of Lights. Above is discovered the_ Queen, Olympia, _and Women_, Pimante, Artabazes, Ismenes; _Soft Musick plays;--whilst he wakes by degrees, and gazes round about him, and on himself with Wonder_. _Ors_.--Gods! what am I? --Or, is there any other God but I? _Ger_. Yes, my great Lord; But you’re a King, a mighty Monarch, Sir. _Ors_. I understand thee, ‘tis some God thou mean’st. _Ger_. On Earth it is: your Power too is as great; Your Frowns destroy, and when you smile you bless; At every Nod the whole Creation bows, And lay their grateful Tributes at your Feet; Their Lives are yours, and when you deign to take ‘em, There’s not a Mortal dares defend himself: But that you may the more resemble Heaven, You should be merciful and bountiful. _Ors_. I do believe I am the King thou speak’st of. _Ger_. Behold this Crown--this sacred Thing is yours. [_Kneels and gives him the Scepter and Crown; he puts it on, and walks about_. _Ors_. It is a glorious Object-- And fit for none but me-- _Olymp_. Madam, methinks the King is the finest Man That e’er I saw--shall he not still be King? _Qu_. I hope he will deserve it. _Ors_. So, now methinks I move like Heaven itself, All circled round with Stars, --Hah! what’s this that kneels? [_The_ Queen _kneels, he snatches her up_. _Ger_. The Queen your Mother, Sir.-- _Ors_. By my great self it is another Woman, Which I have burnt with a desire of seeing. --Be gone, and leave us here alone together; I’ve something to impart to this fair Thing, Must not be understood by you. _Qu_. Why, Sir, what is it you can impart to me, Which those about you must not understand?