_Phil._ 'Tis so _languissant_! _Mel._ _Languissant!_ that word shall be mine too, and my last Indian gown thine for't. That sigh? [_Looks again._ _Phil._ 'Twill make a man sigh, madam. 'Tis a mere _incendiary_. _Mel._ Take my guimp petticoat for that truth. If thou hast most of these phrases, let me die but I could give away all my wardrobe, and go naked for them. _Phil._ Go naked? Then you would be a Venus, madam. O Jupiter! what had I forgot? This paper was given me by Rhodophil's page. _Mel._ [_Reading the letter._] Beg the favour from you.--Gratify my passion--so far--assignation--in the grotto--behind the terrace--clock this evening--Well, for the _billets doux_ there is no man in Sicily must dispute with Rhodophil; they are so French, so _gallant_, and so _tendre_, that I cannot resist the temptation of the assignation. Now, go you away, Philotis; it imports me to practise what to say to my servant when I meet him. [_Exit_ PHILOTIS.] Rhodophil, you'll wonder at my assurance to meet you here;--let me die, I am so out of breath with coming, that I can render you no reason of it.--Then he will make this _repartee_; Madam, I have no reason to accuse you for that which is so great a favour to me.--Then I reply, But why have you drawn me to this solitary place? Let me die, but I am apprehensive of some violence from you.--Then says he, Solitude, madam, is most fit for lovers; but by this fair hand--Nay, now I vow you're rude, sir. O fy, fy, fy; I hope you'll be honourable?--You'd laugh at me if I should, madam.--What, do you mean to throw me down thus? Ah me! ah! ah! ah! _Enter_ POLYDAMAS, LEONIDAS, _and Guards._ O Venus! the king and court. Let me die, but I fear they have found my foible, and will turn me into _ridicule_. [_Exit, running._ _Leon._ Sir, I beseech you. _Poly._ Do not urge my patience. _Leon._ I'll not deny, But what your spies informed you of is true: I love the fair Palmyra; but I loved her Before I knew your title to my blood. _Enter_ PALMYRA _guarded._ See, here she comes, and looks, amidst her guards, Like a weak dove under the falcon's gripe. O heaven, I cannot bear it. _Poly._ Maid, come hither. Have you presumed so far, as to receive My son's affections? _Palm._ Alas, what shall I answer? To confess it Will raise a blush upon a virgin's face; Yet I was ever taught 'twas base to lie. _Poly._ You've been too bold, and you must love no more. _Palm._ Indeed I must; I cannot help my love; I was so tender when I took the bent, That now I grow that way. _Poly._ He is a prince, and you are meanly born. _Leon._ Love either finds equality, or makes it: Like death, he knows no difference in degrees, But plains, and levels all.