_Guil._ Because she was a Woman--and that’s all. [Ex. _Guil._ _Cur._ Farewel, and thank thee. --Poor _Cloris_ dead, and banish’d too from _Laura_! Was ever wretched Lover’s Fate like mine! --And he who injures me, has power to do so; --But why, where lies this Power about this Man? Is it his Charms of Beauty, or of Wit? Or that great Name he has acquir’d in War? Is it the Majesty, that holy something, That guards the Person of this Demi-god? This awes not me, there must be something more. For ever, when I call upon my Wrongs, Something within me pleads so kindly for him, As would persuade me that he could not err. --Ah, what is this? where lies this Power divine, That can so easily make a Slave of mine? [Exeunt. SCENE III. _Frederick’s_ Chamber. Enter _Frederick_, and _Cloris_ finely dress’d. _Fred._ ‘Tis much methinks, a Boy of so dejected, Humble Birth, should have so much of Sense And Soul about him. _Clo._ I know not that; but if I have a thought Above that humble Birth or Education, It was inspir’d by Love. _Fred._ Still you raise my Wonder greater; --Thou a Lover? _Clo._ Yes, my Lord, though I am young, I’ve felt the power of Beauty; And should you look upon the Object, Sir, Your Wonders soon would cease; Each Look does even animate Insensibles, And strikes a reverend Awe upon the Soul: Nothing is found so lovely. _Fred._ Thou speak’st prettily, I think Love Indeed has inspir’d thee. _Clo._ These were the Flatteries, Sir, she us’d to me; Of her it was I learn’d to speak, and sigh, And look, as oft you say, I do on you. _Fred._ Why then, it seems she made returns? _Clo._ Ah! Sir, ‘twas I that first was blest, I first the happy Object was belov’d; For, ‘twas a Person, Sir, so much above me,-- It had been Sin to’ve rais’d my Eyes to her; Or by a glance, or sigh, betray my Pain. But Oh! when with a thousand soft Expressions, She did encourage me to speak of Love! --My God! how soon extravagant I grew, And told so oft the story of my Passion, That she grew weary of the repeated Tale, And punish’d my presumption with a strange neglect. [Weeps. _Fred._ How, my good _Philibert_? _Clo._ Would suffer me to see her Face no more. _Fred._ That was pity; without a Fault? _Clo._ Alas, Sir, I was guilty of no Crime, But that of having told her how I lov’d her; For all I had I sacrific’d to her; --Poor worthless Treasures to any but a Lover; And such you know accept the meanest things, Which Love and a true Devotion do present. When she was present, I found a thousand ways To let her know how much I was her Slave; And absent, still invented new ones, And quite neglected all my little Business; Counting the tedious Moments of the Day By Sighs and Tears; thought it an Age to night, Whose Darkness might secure our happy meeting: But we shall meet no more on these kind Terms. [Sighs.