_Mir._ Come to my Bed, and press the Roses down; and lend more sweetness to ‘em than they bring. [She leading him to her Bed, the _Prince_ enters, with _Lejere_, holding his Sword in Hand; he takes hold of _Olivia_. _Prince._ Love--thus I fling thy gaudy Fetters off, and am no more a Slave to faithless Beauty. [The _Prince_ holding _Olivia_ by the Bosom of her Coat, her Breast appears to _Mirtilla_. _Mir._ Ha! what do I see?--Two Female rising Breasts. By Heav’n, a Woman.--Oh fortunate Mischance! [This while _George_ is arguing with the _Prince_ not to hurt _Olivia_. _Prince._ No, I will not hurt thee, cease thy trembling. _Mir._ Oh, Sir, ‘twere Sin to hurt the lovely Youth. _Prince._ No, Madam, since I have taken back my Heart, I can present you with another Lover. [Gives _Olivia_ to her. _Mir._ Ha! another Lover!--What means my Prince? _Prince._ Eternally to leave you to your Frailty. _Mir._ Can you so easily cancel all your Vows? Then kill me at your Feet, I do implore it. [Kneels and weeps. _Prince._ Away, I do forgive thee, wretched Woman.--But yet be gone--lest Love and Rage return, and I should kill you yet with your young Darling. _Mir._ Whom mean you, Sir, this lovely Maid? _Oliv._ Maid!--What means she? Sure she cannot know me. _Prince._ Talk on, false Woman! till thou hast persuaded my Eyes and Ears out of their native Faculties, I scorn to credit other Evidences. _Mir._ Try ‘em once more, and then repent, and die. [Opens _Olivia’s_ Bosom, shews her Breasts. _Prince._ Ha--By Heav’n, a Woman! _Mir._ You that wou’d smile at my suppos’d undoing, present yourself no more before my Eyes. ‘Twas to perplex you that I feign’d this Passion. I saw you had your Spies to watch for Mischief, [To _George_. And poison all my Happiness with the Prince.-- And since I am thought so criminal, I’ll take an everlasting leave of you. [To the _Prince_. When I am dead, may she you honour next repay your Tenderness as I have done--But may she never meet my wretched Fate. [She snatches _Olivia’s_ Sword out. _Prince._ Hold, thou most valu’d Treasure of the World, or turn the pointed Weapon to my Heart. _Mir._ No, I’m false, unworthy of your Love. _Geo._ Yes, by Heaven. But thou hast jilted him so handsomly, thou’st vanquish’d all my Rage. _Mir._ Yes, I am false; false to this Gallant Man,-- [To _George_. false to my Husband, to my Sex’s Fame; for you more charming, I alas am perjur’d. _Prince._ _Lejere_, have I then injur’d thee? _Geo._ This is the fatal Beauty, Sir, for whom so often you have seen me languish. _Prince._ Ah! wouldst thou see me on a Precipice, and not prevent my Danger?