_Alb._ _Clarina_, why so cruel to my Heart? ‘Tis true, I love you, but with as chaste an Ardour, As Souls departing pay the Deities, When with incessant Sighs they haste away, And leave Humanity behind. Oh! so did I Abandon all the lesser Joys of Life, For that of being permitted but t’adore ye. Alas, if ‘twere displeasing to you, Why did your self encourage it? I might have languish’d, as I did before, And hid those Crimes which make you hate me now. --Oh, I am lost? _Antonio_, thou’st undone me; [He rises in Rage. --Hear me, Ungrate; I swear by all that’s good, I’ll wash away my Mischief with thy Blood. _Isab._ _Antonio_ hears you not, Sir, for he’s departed. _Ism._ Is _Antonio_ gone? [She looks pertly up, who before lay half dead. _Alb._ How’s this, has she but feign’d? _Ism._ Know it was but feign’d; I hope this proof Of what I’ve promis’d you, does not displease you. _Alb._ Am I thus fortunate, thus strangely happy? _Ism._ Time will confirm it to you--go, do not Now thank me for’t, but seek _Antonio_ out; Perhaps he may have too great a Sense of the Mischiefs his Jealousies had like to have caus’d: But conjure him to take no notice of what’s past to me; This easy slight of mine secures our Fears, And serves to make _Antonio_ confident, Who now will unbelieve his Eyes and Ears; And since before, when I was innocent, He could suspect my Love and Duty too, I’ll try what my dissembling it will do. --Go haste.-- _Alb._ Madam, I go, surpriz’d with Love and Wonder. [Ex. _Alb._ _Ism._ You’ll be more surpriz’d, when you know [Aside. That you are cheated too as well as _Antonio_. [Exeunt. SCENE II. A Street. Enter _Curtius_ disguis’d in a black Peruke and Beard, with _Pietro_ disguised also. _Cur._ Well, what hast thou learn’d? _Piet._ News enough, Sir, but none good; That the Prince’s Wounds are small, So that he intends to take the Air this Evening; That he sollicits _Laura_ hard; And, Sir, that you are proclaim’d Traitor. _Cur._ So, what says the Messenger you sent to _Cloris_? _Piet._ Sir, he brings sad tidings back. _Cur._ What tidings? is she dead? That would revive my Soul, And fortify my easy Nature with some wicked Notions, As deep as those this flattering Prince made use of, When he betray’d my Sister, pretty _Cloris_: --Come, speak it boldly, for nothing else Will make me do her Justice. _Piet._ No, Sir, she is not dead, But fled, and none knows whither; Only _Guilliam_ attends her. _Cur._ Worse and worse; but what of _Laura_? _Piet._ She, Sir, is kept a Prisoner by her Father, And speaks with none but those that come from _Frederick_.