He in a Night-gown sitting on a Couch; by him the King, Officers, Attendants to them. Enter Cleomena, Semiris, Pimante; Lysander; the King rises to meet Cleo. and seats her in a Chair by him.

Cleo. Thersander, I am come to beg thy pardon, If thou art innocent, as I must believe thee, And here before the King to make confession Of what I did refuse the Queen my Mother. —Know then, I lov’d, and with a perfect Passion, The most unfortunate of Men, Clemanthis. His Birth I never knew, but do believe It was illustrious, as were all his Actions; But I have lost him by a fatal accident, That very day he should have fought with you. [Weeps.

Ther. Gods! where will this end? [Aside.

Cleo. But e’er the fatal moment of his Death, Ismenes beg’d to know who did the Murder: But he could answer nothing but Thersander, And we believ’d it you. Then Love and my Revenge made me a Soldier; —You know the rest— And doubtless you’ve accus’d me with Ingratitude.

Ther. No, I shall ne’er complain of Cleomena, [He kneels before her. If she still love Clemanthis.

Cleo. There needs no more to make me know that Voice. Oh stay, this Joy too suddenly surprizes— [Ready to swound. —Gently distil the Bliss into my Soul, Lest this Excess have the effects of Grief: —Oh, my Clemanthis! do I hold thee fast? And do I find thee in the Prince of Scythia?

King. I lose my Reason by this strange encounter!

Ther. Was’t then a secret to my Cleomena, That her Clemanthis was the Prince of Scythia? I still believ’d that was his only Crime.

Cleo. By all my Joys I knew it not—but sure This is Enchantment; for it is as certain These Eyes beheld thee dead.

Pim. Ay, and so did I, I’ll be sworn.

Ther. That must be poor Amintas in my Dress, Whose Story, when you know, you will bemoan.

Cleo. But oh my Life! the cruel Wound I gave thee, Let me be well assur’d it is not mortal, Or I am lost again.

King. The Surgeon gives me hopes, and ‘twere convenient You should forbid him not to speak too much—

Enter a Soldier.

Sold. Arm, arm, great Sir, I think the Enemy Is rallying afresh, for the Plain is cover’d With numerous Troops, which swiftly make this way.

King. They dare not break the Truce.

Sold. I know not, Sir, but something of a King I heard them talk of—

Cleo. It is Vallentio that has kept his word— Receive ‘em, Sir, as Friends, not Enemies; It is my Brother, who ne’er knew till now Ought of a peopled World.

King. I long to see that Monarch, whose Friendship I Must court for you, fair Princess: If you’ll accept Thersander whom I offer’d, I do not doubt an happy Peace on both sides.

Cleo. Sir. ‘tis an honour which we ought to sue for.

Ther. And ‘tis to me a Blessing— I wanted Confidence to ask of Heaven.

Enter Ors. Val. Hon. Art. Ism. Geron. Soldiers, &c. Ors. drest gay with a Truncheon in his Hand, advances first, is met by the King, who gaze on each other.

Ors. If thou be’st he that art _Orsames’. Enemy, I do demand a Sister at thy Hands.

King. Art thou Orsames?

Ors. So I am call’d by all that yet have view’d me: —Look on me well— Dost see no marks of Grandure in my Face? Nothing that speaks me King?

King. I do believe thou art that King, and here [Gives him Cleo. I do resign that Sister thou demandest.

Ors. It is a Woman too! another Woman! I wou’d embrace thee if I durst approach thee.

Cleo. You need not fear, you may embrace your Sister— [Cleo. embraces him.

Ors. This is the kindest Women I e’er saw.

Cleo. Brother, behold this King no more your Enemy, Since I must pay him Duty as a Father.

Enter Queen, Olympia, Women.

Ors. Hah, Olympia! sure ‘tis an airy Vision—

Ger. Approach her, Sir, and try.

Qu. Permit a wretched Mother here to kneel.

King. Rise, Madam, and receive me as your Friend; This pair of Lovers has united all our Interests. [Points to Cleo. and Thers.

Qu. Heavens! what’s this I see, Clemanthis And the Prince of Scythia?

Ther. Yes, Madam, and a Man that humbly begs The happy Title of your Son—Honorius, Of you I ask the greatest Pardon— [Talks to Olympia.

Ors. I am a King, and do adore thee too, And thou shalt rule a World with me, my Fair; A Sword I’ll give thee, with a painted Bow, Whence thou shalt shoot a thousand gilded Arrows.

Olym. What to do, Sir?

Ors. To save the expence of Cruelty; For they will kill as sure, but rightly aim’d; This noble Fellow told me so. [To Val.

Olym. Sir, I’ll do any thing that you will have me: But now the Queen your Mother, Sir, expects you.

Ors. Instruct my Eyes, Olympia, for ‘tis lately I’ve learnt of some such thing.

Olym. This, Sir, you ought to kneel to her.

Ors. Must I then kneel to ought but Heaven and thee? [Kneels.

Qu. My dear Orsames, let my Tears make way. Before I can assure thee of my Joy.

Ors. Gods! how obliging is this kind Concern! Not all my Passion for my fair Olympia Cou’d ever yet betray me to a Tear. [Weeps.

Qu. Thou’st greater need of Anger than of Tears, Having before thy Eyes thy worst of Enemies, One that has long depriv’d thee of a Crown, Through what she thought her Duty to the Gods; But now repents her superstitious Error, And humbly begs thy Pardon.

Ors. I will, if you’ll implore Olympia but to love me.

Qu. I will, my Orsames; and ‘tis the only Present I can make to expiate my Fault.

Ors. And I’ll receive her as the only thing Can make me both a happy Subject and a King. Oh, Geron, still if this should prove a Dream!

Ger. Sir, Dreams of Kings are much less pleasant.

Enter Lysander.

Lys. Sir, there are without some Shepherdesses, Who say they wou’d present you [To Ther. Something that will not be unwelcome to your Highness.

Ther. Let them come in—

They seat themselves. Enter Amin. Ura. maskt, Shepherds, Shepherdesses, followed with Pipes, or Wind-Musick. They dance; after which Amin. kneels to the Prince, Ura. to the Princess.

—My dear Amintas, do I find thee live? Fortune requites my Sufferings With too large a share of Happiness.

Amin. Sir, I do live to die again for you.

Ther. This, my Divine, is he who had [To Cleo. The Glory to be bewail’d by you; for him you wept; For him had almost dy’d.

Amin. That Balm it was, that like the Weapon-salve Heals at a distance—

Cleo. But why, Amintas, did you name Thersander, When you were askt who wounded you?

Amin. Madam, if loss of Blood had given me leave, I wou’d have told you how I came so habited, And who I was, though not how I was wounded.

King. Still I am in a mist, and cannot see the happy path I tread.

Ther. Anon we will explain the Mystery, Sir.

Hon. Now, great Orsames, ‘tis but just and fit That you receive the Rites of Coronation, Which are not to be paid you in a Camp; The Court will add more to that joyful Day.

King. And there we’ll join our Souls as well as Swords, Our Interests as our Families.

Ors. I am content that thou should’st give me Laws: Come, my Vallentio, it shall ne’er be said I recompense thy Services With any thing less grateful than a Woman: —Here, I will chuse for thee— And when I know what ‘tis I more can do, If there be ought beyond this Gift, ‘tis thine. [Gives him Sem.

Ther. Scythia and Dacia now united are: The God of Love o’ercomes the God of War. After a Dance of Shepherds and Shepherdesses, the Epilogue is spoken by Mrs. Barry, as a Nymph; at his Royal Highness’s second Exile into Flanders.

EPILOGUE.

_After our showing Play of mighty Pains, We here present you humble Nymphs and Swains. Our rustick Sports sometimes may Princes please, And Courts do oft divert in Cottages, And prize the Joys with some young rural Maid, On Beds of Grass beneath a lovely Shade, ’.ove all the Pride of City-Jilts, whose Arts Are more to gain your Purses than your Hearts; Whose chiefest Beauty lies in being fine; And Coyness is not Virtue, but Design. We use no Colours to adorn the Face, No artful Looks, nor no affected Grace, The neighbouring Stream serves for a Looking-glass. Ambition is not known within our Groves; Here’s no Dispute for Empire, but for Loves; The humble Swain his Birth-right here enjoys, And fears no Danger from the publick Voice; No Wrong nor Insolence from busy Powers, No Rivals here for Crowns, but those of Flowers, His Country and his Flocks enjoy with ease, Ranges his native Fields and Groves in Peace; Nor forc’d by Arbitrary Votes to fly To foreign Shores for his Security. Our humble Tributes uncompell’d we pay, And cheerful Homage to the Lord of May; No Emulation breaks his soft Repose, Nor do his Wreaths or Virtues gain him Foes: No publick Mischiefs can disturb his Reign, And Malice would be busy here in vain. Fathers and Sons just Love and Duty pay; This knows to be indulgent, that t’obey. Here’s no Sedition hatcht, no other Plots, But to entrap the Wolf that steals our Flocks. Who then wou’d be a King, gay Crowns to wear, Restless his Nights, thoughtful his Days with Care; Whose Greatness, or whose Goodness cant secure From Outrages which Knaves and Fools procure?

Greatness, be gone, we banish you from hence, The noblest State is lowly Innocence. Here honest Wit in Mirth and Triumph reigns, Musick and Love shall ever bless our Swains, And keep the Golden Age within our Woods and Plains_.