Volume Ii Part 28 (2/2)

_Enter_ Cleomena _drest like an_ Amazon, _with a Bow in her Hand, and a Quiver of Arrows at her Back, with_ Semiris _attired like her_.

_Cleo_. I'm almost tir'd with holding out the Chase.

_Sem_. That's strange! methought your Highness followed not So fast to Day as I have seen you heretofore.

_Cleo_. I do not use to leave the Game unvanquish'd, Yet now by what strange inclination led I know not, The Sport growing dull, I wish to meet a place Far from the noise and business of the Day: Hast thou ty'd fast my Horses?

_Sem_. Madam, I have.

_Cleo_. What place is this, _Semiris_?

_Sem_. I know not, Madam, but 'tis wondrous pleasant.

_Cleo_. How much more charming are the Works of Nature Than the Productions of laborious Art?

Securely here the wearied Shepherd sleeps, Guiltless of any fear, but the disdain His cruel Fair procures him.

How many Tales the Echoes of these Woods Cou'd tell of Lovers, if they would betray, That steal delightful hours beneath their Shades!

_Sem_. You'd rather hear 'em echo back the sound Of Horns and Dogs, or the fierce noise of War.

_Cleo_. You charge me with the faults of Education, That cozening Form that veils the Face of Nature, But does not see what's hid within, _Semiris_: I have a Heart all soft as thine, all Woman, Apt to melt down at every tender Object.

--Oh, _Semiris_! there's a strange change within me.

_Sem_. How, Madam!

_Cleo_. I would thou knew'st it; Till now I durst do any thing--but fear, Yet now I tremble with the thoughts of telling thee What none but thou must know--I am in love.

_Sem_. Why do you blush, my Princess? 'tis no sin; But, Madam, who's the happy glorious Object?

_Cleo_. Why, canst thou not guess then?

_Sem_. How is it possible I should?

_Cleo_. Oh G.o.ds! not guess the Man!

Or, rather think some G.o.d! Dull stupid Maid, Hast thou not heard of something more than mortal!

'Twixt Human and Divine! our Country's Genius, Our young G.o.d of War! not heard of him!

_Sem_. 'Tis not Prince _Artabazes_, or _Ismenes_?

_Cleo_. Away, thou anger'st me.

_Sem_. Pardon me, Madam, It can be none at Court, if none of these?

And all besides are much below that Glory.

_Cleo_. What call'st thou much below, mistaken thing?

Can a gay Name give Virtue, Wit, or Beauty?

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