_Alcip_. I cannot sleep, my Soul is so unfurnish’d Of all that Sweetness which allow’d it rest. --’Tis flown, ‘tis flown, for ever from my breast, And in its room eternal discords dwell, Such as outdo the black intrigues of Hell-- Oh my fortune-- [_Weeps, pulling out his handkerchief, drops a Picture with a Glass on the reverse_. --What’s here? Alas, that which I dare not look on, And yet, why should I shun that Image here, Which I continually about me bear? But why, dear Picture, art thou still so gay, Since she is gone from whom those Charms were borrow’d? Those Eyes that gave this speaking life to thine, Those lovely Eyes are clos’d in endless darkness; There’s not a Star in all the face of Heaven, But now out-shines those Suns: Suns at Noon-day dispens’d not kindlier influence. And thou blest Mirror, that hast oft beheld That Face, which Nature never made a fairer; Thou that so oft her Beauties back reflected, And made her know what wondrous power there lay In every Feature of that lovely Face. But she will smile no more! no more! no more! --Why, who shall hinder her? Death, cruel Death. --’Twas I that murder’d her-- Thou lyest--thou durst as well be damn’d as touch her, She was all sacred; and that impious Hand That had profanely touch’d her, Had wither’d from the Body. --I lov’d her--I ador’d her, and could I, Could I approach her with unhallowed thoughts? --No, no, I durst not-- But as devoutest Pilgrims do the Shrine. --If I had done’t, The Gods who take the part of Innocence, Had been reveng’d-- Why did not Thunder strike me in the Action? Why, if the Gods be just, and I had done’t, Did they not suffer Earth to swallow me, Quick--quick into her bosom? --But yet I say again, it was not I, --Let me behold this face, That durst appear in such a Villany. [_He looks in the glass_. _Enter_ Pisaro, _and_ Erminia _drest like an Angel with Wings_. _Pis_. Look where he is. _Er_. Alas, I tremble at the sight of him. _Pis_. Fear nothing, Madam, I’ll be near you still. _Er_. Pray stay a little longer. _Alcip_.--My Face has Horror in’t pale and disfigur’d, And lean as Envy’s self-- My Eyes all bloody,--and my hanging lids Like Midnight’s mischief, hide the guilty Balls, --And all about me calls me Murderer: --Oh horrid Murderer! That very Sound tears out my hated Soul, --And to compleat my ruin, I’ll still behold this face where Murder dwells. [_He looks in the glass_, Erminia _steals behind him, and looks into it over his shoulder; he is frighted_. Ha--what does this Glass present me? What art thou?--speak--What art thou? [_Turns by degrees towards it_. --Sure I am fixt, what, shall the Devil fright me? --Me shall he fright, Who stood the Execution of a Murder? --But ‘tis that Shape, and not thy Nature frights me, --That calls the blood out of my panting Heart, That Traytor Heart that did conspire thy death. _Er_. Sit down and hear me--