_Queen._ I hope you will not think it Fear in me, though timorous as a Dove by nature fram’d: Nor that my Lord, whose Youth’s unskill’d in War, can either doubt his Courage, or his Forces, that makes me seek a Reconciliation on any honourable Terms of Peace. _Bac._ Ah Madam! if you knew how absolutely you command my Fate, I fear but little Honour would be left me, since whatsoe’er you ask me I should grant. _Queen._ Indeed I would not ask your Honour, Sir, that renders you too brave in my esteem. Nor can I think that you would part with that. No, not to save your Life. _Bac._ I would do more to serve your least commands than part with trivial Life. _Queen._ Bless me, Sir, how came I by such a Power? _Bac._ The Gods and Nature gave it you in your Creation, form’d with all the Charms that ever grac’d your Sex. _Queen._ Is’t possible? am I so beautiful? _Bac._ As Heaven, or Angels there. _Queen._ Supposing this, how can my Beauty make you so obliging? _Bac._ Beauty has still a Power over great Souls, and from the moment I beheld your Eyes, my stubborn Heart melted to compliance, and from a nature rough and turbulent, grew soft and gentle as the God of Love. _Queen._ The God of Love! what is the God of Love? _Bac._ ‘Tis a resistless Fire, that’s kindled thus--at every [Takes her by the Hand and gazes on her. gaze we take from such fine Eyes, from such bashful Looks, and such soft Touches--it makes us sigh,--and pant as I do now, and stops the breath when e’er we speak of Pain. _Queen._ Alas for me if this should be Love! [Aside. _Bac._ It makes us tremble when we touch the fair one; and all the Blood runs shivering through the Veins, the Heart’s surrounded with a feeble Languishment, the Eyes are dying, and the Cheeks are pale, the Tongue is faltring, and the Body fainting. _Queen._ Then I’m undone, and all I feel is Love. [Aside. If Love be catching, Sir, by Looks and Touches, let us at distance parley--or rather let me fly, for within view is too near-- [Aside. _Bac._ Ah! she retires--displeas’d I fear with my presumptuous Love,--Oh, pardon, fairest Creature. [Kneels. _Queen._ I’ll talk no more, our Words exchange our Souls, and every Look fades all my blooming Honour, like Sun-beams on unguarded Roses--Take all our Kingdoms --make our People Slaves, and let me fall beneath your conquering Sword: but never let me hear you talk again, or gaze upon your Eyes.-- [Goes out. _Bac._ She loves! by Heaven, she loves! and has not Art enough to hide her Flame, though she have cruel Honour to suppress it. However, I’ll pursue her to the Banquet. [Exit. SCENE II. The Widow _Ranter’s_ Hall. Enter _Surelove_ fan’d by two Negroes, followed by _Hazard_. _Sure._ This Madam _Ranter_ is so prodigious a Treater --oh! I hate a Room that smells of a great Dinner, and what’s worse, a desert of Punch and Tobacco--what! are you taking leave so soon, Cousin?