_Cleo_. Thy Silence seems to license me to speak, And tell thee, King, that now our Faults are equal; My Father thou hast kill’d, and I thy Son; This will suffice to tell thee who I am. --Now take my Life, since I have taken his, And thou shalt see I neither will implore Thy needless Clemency by any Word or Sign: But if my Birth or Sex can merit ought, Suffer me not to languish any longer Under these shameful Irons. [_With scorn_. _King_. Cruel as Fair, ‘tis with too much injustice Thou say’st our Crimes are equal: For thou hast kill’d a Prince that did adore thee; And I depriv’d thy Father of his Life, When he assaulted mine in open Field, And so, as cannot leave a stain on thee, Or give thee Cause to say I’ve done thee wrong, But if I had, wherefore (oh, cruel Maid) Didst thou not spare that Heart that dy’d for thee, And bend thy Rage against thy Father’s Foe? But thou well know’st, in killing of _Tkersander_, The Father’s Life would quickly follow after. _Cleo_. I will not seek excuses for my actions, But I protest to thee before the Gods, It was not to revenge my self on thee I kill’d thy Son; But what he suffered was for his own Sin, For he has banish’d from me all on Earth That could compleat my Happiness-- [_Weeps_. --And now dispose my Destiny as you please, Only remember that I am a Woman. _King_. What thou hast said will find but little credit: --But yet if _Thersander_ lives, And if it please the Gods to spare that Life, I shall have Generosity enough To set thee free in favour of thy Sex, And my _Thersander’s_ Love. _Cleo_. Not dead? Why should the Gods protect him? _King_. Her Soul’s possest with some despair. Madam, I doubt you need not fear his Life, He will obey, and die as you desire-- [_Weeps_. But not with Satisfaction, till he see you Conducted into _Dacia_. I should not of my self have been so generous, T’ have given you freedom with the Life of him Who did deserve a kinder Destiny; But ‘tis his Will--and possible his last. Therefore you’re free, and may depart this Camp Whene’er you please; only this favour grant, (If an unhappy King may hope for any) You’ll suffer him to take his last farewel. _Cleo_. Immortal Gods! how can it be? a Man Whose Wickedness arm’d me against his Life, Shou’d shew such Virtue in the rest of’s Actions. --Sir, I will see the Prince, Not as the Price of what you offer’d me, But that he may confess he did deserve A Death less glorious than I have given him: And I shall take it well if he will own That which may justify my Offence to you. _King_. Madam, I thank you-- Dismiss her Fetters, and if she please, Let her have Garments suitable to her Sex, Only the Guards attend her at a distance. [_Go out severally_. SCENE II. _The Grove_. _Enter_ Amintas, _drest like a Shepherd_, Urania _like a Shepherdess, the Druid_, Lyces, _and other dancing Swains, &c_.