_Pim_. But ah, Madam, unseen I saw: who did I see-- Ah, who should I see but _Clemanthis_, Madam, Fixt with his Back against yon Cypress-tree, Defending himself against a dozen Murderers. I was, alas, too weak to take the weaker side, And therefore came not forth to his Assistance. Prince _Ismenes_ would have taken his Part, but came too late too; But e’er he died we begg’d to know his Murderers, And he could answer nothing but--_Thersander_. _Cleo_. Remove me to the Body of my Love-- [_They lead her to_ Amin. _who lies wounded; she gazes on him a while, his Face being all bloody_. --I will not now deplore as Women use, But call up all my Vengeance to my Aid. Expect not so much Imbecillity-- From her whose Love nor Courage was made known Sufficiently to thee. Oh, my _Clemanthis_! I wou’d not now survive thee, Were it not weak and cowardly to die, And leave thee unreveng’d. --Be calm, my Eyes, and let my Soul supply ye; A silent broken Heart must be his Sacrifice: Ev’ry indifferent Sorrow claims our Tears, Mine do require Blood, and ‘tis with that These must be washt away-- [_Rises, wipes her Eyes_. Whatever I design to execute, Pimante, and Semiris, I conjure ye, Go not about to hinder, but be silent, Or I will send my Dagger to this Heart. Remove this Body further into the Wood, And strip it of these glittering Ornaments, And let me personate this dear dead Prince. Obey, and dress me strait without reply. There is not far from hence a Druid’s Cell, A Man for Piety and Knowledge famous: Thither convey the breathless sacred Corps, Laid gently in my Chariot, There to be kept conceal’d till further Orders. _Sem_. Ah, Madam, what is’t you intend to do? _Cleo_. What shou’d I do but die--ah! do not weep, But haste to do as I command ye: Haste, haste, the Time and my Revenge require it. _Sem_. For Heaven’s sake, Madam, for your royal self, Do not pursue this cruel fatal Enterprize; Pity the Queen, your Servants, and all Mankind. _Cleo_. Away, thou feeble thing, that never knew’st the real Joys of Love, Or ever heard of any Grief like mine; If thou wou’dst give me Proofs of thy Esteem, Forget all Words, all Language, but Revenge. Let me not see so much of Woman in thee To shed one Tear, but dress thy Eyes with fierceness, And send me forth to meet my Love, as gay, As if intended for my nuptial Day. That Soul that sighs in pity of my Fate, Shall meet returns of my extremes! Hate: Pity with my Revenge must find no room; I’ll bury all but Rage within thy Tomb. [_Exeunt_. ACT IV. SCENE I. _A Flat Wood_. _Enter_ Cleomena _drest in_ Clemanthis’s _Clothes_, Semiris _bearing the Cap and Feather_, Pimante _the Sword_. _Cleo_. Come, my _Semiris_, you must assist a little, And you, _Pimante_, buckle on my Sword. _Pim_. I never parted with a Sword so unwillingly in my Life. _Cleo_. So--How dost thou like me now? Might I not pass, thus habited, for _Clemanthis_?