_Ors_. Come, my fair Virgin, this shall be my Altar, And I will place thee here, my Deity. _Qu_. Great Sir, that Throne is only fit for you. _Ors_. I say again, I’ll have it fit for two: Thou art a Woman, thank the Gods for that: --Ascend, my lovely Virgin, and adorn it; Ascend, and be immortal as my self. _Art_. That Throne she was not born to. _Ors_. Into the Sea with that bold Counsellor, And let him there dispute with Winds and Waves. [_Art. ex_. _Being seated on a Throne, enter several in Masquerades, and dance_. --Cou’d I be sensible of any Pleasure, But what I take in thee, this had surpriz’d me. _Olym_. A Banquet, Sir, attends you. _Ors_. Dispose me as you please, my lovely Virgin; For I’ve resign’d my Being to your Will, And have no more of what I call my own, Than Sense of Joys and Pains, which you create. [_They rise, and sit down at a Banquet. He gazes on her_. _Olym_. Will you not please to eat? _Ors_. It is too gross a Pleasure for a King. Sure, if they eat, ‘tis some celestial Food, As I do by gazing on thy Eyes-- Ah, lovely Maid-- _Olym_. Why do you sigh, Sir? _Ors_. For something which I want; yet having thee, What more can Heaven bestow to gratify My Soul and Sense withal? _Olym_. Sir, taste this Wine; Perhaps ‘twill alter that deceiv’d Opinion, And let you know the Error of your Passion; ’.will cause at least some Alteration in you. _Ors_. Why shouldst thou ask so poor a Proof of me? But yet, I will obey,--give me the Wine. [_They put something into the Bowl_. _Olym_. How do you like it, Sir? _Ors_. Why--well; but I am still the same. Come, give it me again--’tis very pleasant-- Will you not taste it too?-- Methinks my Soul is grown more gay and vigorous; What I have drank, has deify’d thee more, Heightens the Pleasure which I take to gaze on thee, And sends a thousand strange uneasy Joys, That play about my Heart, and more transport me-- Drink, my fair Virgin, and perhaps thy Eyes May find some Charms in me to make thee thus. _Olym_. Alas, they’ve found already but too many. [_Aside_. _Ors_. I thought I must have gaz’d on thee for ever; --But oh! my Eyes grow heavy in the Play, As if some strange Divinity about me Told me my Safety lay in their Declension. --It is not Sleep!--sure, Kings do never sleep; That were a low submission to a Power A Monarch shou’d despise--but yet ‘tis so: Ye Gods, am I but mortal then? Or do you ever sleep? I find ye do! But I must--and lose this lovely Object: Grant, oh ye Gods, that I may find it in a Dream, Let her Idea hover about my Soul, And keep it still in this harmonious Order --And gently blow the Flame’t has kindled there. [_Falls asleep_. _Enter_ Geron, Pimante, _and_ Arates. _Pim_. Are you sure he’s asleep? _Ger_. How do you like him, Madam? _Qu_. I fear he is a Tyrant in his Nature. _Ger_. But since he can be tam’d by Love and Beauty, You should not doubt but he’ll be fit to reign.