When my_ Alexis _present is, Then I for_ Damon _sigh and mourn; But when_ Alexis _I do miss_, Damon _gains nothing but my Scorn: And, if it chance they both are by, For both, alas! I languish, sigh, and die. Cure then, thou mighty winged God, This raging Fever in my Blood. One golden-pointed Dart take back; But which, O_ Cupid, _wilt thou take? if_ Damon’s, _all my hopes are crost: Or, that of my_ Alexis, _I am lost_. _Enter Dancers, which dance an Antick_. _Car_. Come, my dear _Julia_, let’s retire to shades. [_Aside to her_. Where only thou and I can find an entrance; These dull, these necessary delays of ours Have drawn my Love to an impatient height. --Attend these Captives, at a respectful distance. [_Ex. all but _Isa_. who stays_ Guil. _Guil_. What wou’d the Great _Sultana_? _Isa_. Ah! do not pierce my Heart with this unkindness. _Guil_. Ha, ha, ha,--Pages,--give order, I have Letters writ to _Sevil_, to my Merchant,--I will be ransomed instantly. _Isa_. Ah, cruel Count! _Guil_. Meaning me, Lady! ah, fy! no, I am a Scoundrel; I a Count, no, not I, a Dog, a very Chim--hum,--a Son of a Whore, I, not worthy your notice. _Isa_. Oh, Heavens! must I lose you then? no, I’ll die first. _Guil_. Die, die, then; for your Betters must be served before you. _Isa_. Oh! I shall rave; false and lovely as you are, did you not swear to marry me, and make me a Viscountess. _Guil_. Ay, that was once when I was a Lover; but, now you are a Queen, you’re too high i’th’ mouth for me. _Isa_. Ah! name it not; will you be still hard-hearted? _Guil_. As a Flint, by _Jove_. _Isa_. Have you forgot your Love? _Guil_. I’ve a bad memory. _Isa_. And will you let me die? _Guil_. I know nothing of the matter. _Isa_. Oh Heavens! and shall I be no Viscountess? _Guil_. Not for me, fair Lady, by _Jupiter_,--no, no,--Queen’s much better,--Death, affront a man of Honour, a Viscount that wou’d have took you to his Bed,--after half the Town had blown upon you,--without examining either Portion or Honesty, and wou’d have took you for better for worse--Death, I’ll untile Houses, and demolish Chimneys, but I’ll be revenged. [_Draws and is going out_. _Isa_. Ah, hold! your Anger’s just, I must confess: yet pardon the frailty of my Sex’s vanity; behold my Tears that sue for pity to you. [_She weeps, he stands looking on her_. _Guil_. My rage dissolves. _Isa_. I ask but Death, or Pity. [_He weeps_. _Guil_. I cannot hold;--but if I shou’d forgive, and marry you, you wou’d be gadding after honour still, longing to be a she Great _Turk_ again. _Isa_. Break not my heart with such suspicions of me. _Gull_. And is it pure and tender Love for my Person, And not for my glorious Titles? _Isa_. Name not your Titles, ‘tis your self I love, Your amiable, sweet and charming self, And I cou’d almost wish you were not great, To let you see my Love.