_Ger_. The Anger of the Gods, Who will not have their high Decrees reveal’d, Till they themselves unfold ‘em in their Oracles. _Ors_. What are those Oracles? _Ger_. Heavenly Voices, Sir, that expound what’s writ In the Eternal Book of Destiny. _Ors_. I’ll know what’s writ in that eternal Book, Or let thee know what it contains of thee. _Ger_. What will you do? _Ors_. Throw thee into the Sea; by Jupiter, I will. [_Offers to take him up_. _Ger_. Stay, _Orsames_-- ’.is true, I have Commands from _Cleomena_, But yet the Time is hardly ripe for the Design. [_Aside_. _Ors_. Begin your Story--or, by Heaven-- _Ger_. I shall--When you consider who I am, With how much Care and Toil I’ve brought you up; How I have made my aged Arms your Cradle, And in my Bosom lull’d you to your rest; How when you wept, my Tears kept time with yours, And how your Smiles would dry again those Showers; You will believe ‘tis my Concern for you, And not your Threats, makes me declare a Truth. _Ors_. Forward, my dearest _Geron_, Whilst I as silent as a healthy Sleep, As growth of Flowers, or motion of the Air, Attend each long’d-for Syllable thou breath’st. _Ger_. Be pleas’d to walk into the Garden, Sir, And there I’ll tell you Wonders to ensue; But first, great Sir, your Pardon for the past. [_Kneels_. _Ors_. I give it thee--Gods, this is fine indeed! Thy Language and thy Mien are altered. Oh, how my Soul’s inlarg’d already! go, lead the way. [_Exeunt_. SCENE IV. _The_ Scythian _Tents_. _Enter_ Thersander, Lysander. _Ther_. Leave me, I will be calm, [_Exit_ Lysander. For this same change of _Cleomena’s_ Habit Has but increas’d my Love--and all my Softness-- ’.was in that Habit that I left _Amintas_. Gods! has he betray’d me then? No, I must not have so mean a Thought of him; ’.is certain that she knows I am _Thersander_-- But if the bold _Clemanthis_ be _Thersander_, Son to the Enemy of _Cleomena_; Yet still ‘tis that _Clemanthis_ that ador’d her, And whom she once made happy with her Love. But I have wounded her, and here remain [_Draws his Sword_. The Marks of my Dishonour in her Blood. Oh cruel Instrument of my shameful Crime! Must the first Service thou hast render’d me Prove to my Soul so fatal? That Sword I left _Amintas_, Wou’d have deny’d Obedience to this Hand, This sacrilegious Hand drew it against her. _Enter_ King.