Ari. Oh! by what friendly Means? Be swift to an fwer, Nor waste the precious Minutes with Delay. Seof. The King, now absent from the Palace, feems To yield a fair Occafion for your Wishes; A private Postern opens to my Gardens, Ari. Oh! do not, do not blaft the springing Hopes Let my devoted Head Seof. Nay!-'tis not much, Tis but my Life; and I would gladly give it, To buy your Peace of Mind. Ari. Alas! what mean'ft thou? Seof. Does it not follow plain? fhall not the King To find out Tortures equal to my Falfhood? A fmeary Foam works o'er my grinding Jaws, Ari, Oh! my Friend! my Father! It It must not be, it never can, it sha'not. Wouldst thou be kind, and save my Ethelinda, The Crime, the Falfhood, fhall be all my own. Ari. Thou shalt accufe me to him. [Afide. Thou know'ft his own Admittance gave me Entrance: Swear that I ftole her, that I forc'd her from thee; Frame, with thy utmoft Skill, fome artful Tale, And I'll avow it all. Seof. Then have you thought Upon the Danger, Sir? Ari, Ob, there is none, Can be no Danger while my Love is fafe. Seof. Methinks indeed it leffens to my View. Hafte to remove her from this cursed Place; Seof. Too near I know it. Ari. She has a Brother there, the noble Lucius, Ari. Half my Fears Are over now [Afide. [Going Seof. Seef. One thing I had forgot. It will import as much, that you should feem A kind refpectful Look, join'd with a Sigh, Aribert folus. [Exit Seofrid Ari. She comes indeed! Now where fhall I begin, How fhall I teach my Tongue to frame a Language So different from my Heart? Oh Etbelinda ! My Heart was made to fit and pair with thine, Enter Rodogune. Rodo. Why do I stay, Why linger thus within this hated Place, him? } Find out, my Soul, in thy rich Store of Thought, Let Let Beauty mix with Majesty and Youth, Let manly Grace be temper'd well with Softnefs; whither would I wander? [Seeing Ari. Ari. When, faireft Princefs, you avoid our Court, And lonely thus from the full Pomp retire, Love and the Graces follow to your Solitude; They croud to form the shining Circle round you, And all the Train seems yours; while Purple Majesty, And all thofe outward Shews which we call Greatness, Languish and droop, feem empty and forfaken, And draw the wondering Gazer's Eyes no more. Rodo, The Courtier's Art is meanly known in Britain, If yours prefent their Service, and their Vows, At any Shrine but where their Master kneels. You know your Brother pays not his to me, Nor would I that he should. Ari. The Hearts of Kings Are plac'd, 'tis true, beyond their Subject's fearch; Rodo. That you can flatter, Is common to your Sex; you say indeed, And our undoing Joy And still we hear you ftill you go on, But, to change the Theme, I'll find a fitter for you than my Beauty. Ari. Then let it be the Love of Royal Hengift. Rodo. The King, your Brother, could not chuse an Ad vocate, Whom I would fooner hear on any Subject, Bating that only one, his Love, than you; Tho' you perhaps (for fome have wondrous Arts) Rodo. But not of his. Ari. 'Tis true, I should not grace the Story much, Rude and unskilful in the moving Passion, I should not paint its Flames with equal Warmth; Strength, Life, and glowing Colours would be wanting, And languid Nature speak the Work imperfect. Rodo. Then happ'ly yet your Breaft remains untouch'd; Though that feems ftrange: You've feen the Court of Britain; There, as I oft have heard, imperial Beauty Reigns in its native Throne, like Light in Heaven; The faint Reflections of the Glory there. Ari. If e'er my Heart incline to Thoughts of Love, Methinks I fhould not (tho' perhaps I err) Expect to meet the gentle Paffion join'd With Pomp and Greatnefs: Courts may boaft of Beauty, But Love is feldom found to dwell amongst 'em. Rodo. Then Courts are wretched. |