SCENE I. _A Temple, with an _Indian_ God placed upon it, Priests and Priestesses attending: Enter _Indian King_ on one side attended by _Indian_ Men; the _Queen_ enters on the other with Women. All bow to the Idol, and divide on each side of the Stage. Then the Musick playing louder, the Priests and Priestesses dance about the Idol with ridiculous Postures, and crying (as for Incantations) thrice repeated, _Agah Yerkin, Agah Boah, Sulen Tawarapah, Sulen Tawarapah_._ _After this soft Musick plays again: then they sing something fine: after which the Priests lead the _King_ to the Altar, and the Priestesses the _Queen_; they take off little Crowns from their Heads, and offer them at the Altar._ _King._ Invoke the God of our Quiocto to declare what the Event shall be of this our last War against the _English_ General. [Soft Musick ceases. [The Musick changes to confused Tunes, to which the Priests and Priestesses dance, antickly singing between, the same Incantation as before; and then dance again, and so invoke again alternately: Which Dance ended, a Voice behind the Altar cries, while soft Musick plays, The _English_ General shall be A Captive to his Enemy; And you from all your Toils be freed, When by your Hand the Foe shall bleed: And e’er the Sun’s swift course be run, This mighty Conquest shall be won. _King._ I thank the Gods for taking care of us; prepare new Sacrifice against the Evening, when I return a Conqueror, I will my self perform the Office of a Priest. _Queen._ Oh, Sir, I fear you’ll fall a Victim first. _King._ What means _Semernia_? why are thy Looks so pale? _Queen._ Alas, the Oracles have double meanings, their Sense is doubtful, and their Words Enigmas: I fear, Sir, I cou’d make a truer Interpretation. _King._ How, _Semernia_! by all thy Love I charge thee, as you respect my Life, to let me know your Thoughts. _Queen._ Last Night I dream’d a Lyon fell with hunger, spite of your Guards, slew you, and bore you hence. _King._ This is thy Sex’s fear, and no Interpretation of the Oracle. _Queen._ I cou’d convince you farther. _King._ Hast thou a Secret thou canst keep from me? thy Soul a Thought that I must be a Stranger to? This is not like the Justice of _Semernia_: Come unriddle me the Oracle. _Queen._ The _English_ General shall be a Captive to his Enemy; he is so, Sir, already, to my Beauty, he says he languishes for Love of me. _King._ Hah! the General my Rival--but go on-- _Queen._ And you from all your War be freed: Oh, let me not explain that fatal Line, for fear it mean, you shall be freed by Death. _King._ What, when by my Hand the Foe shall bleed?--away--it cannot be-- _Queen._ No doubt, my Lord, you’ll bravely sell your Life, and deal some Wounds where you’ll receive so many. _King._ ‘Tis Love, _Semernia_, makes thee dream while waking: I’ll trust the Gods, and am resolv’d for Battel. Enter an _Indian_.