Volume Ii Part 40 (1/2)

_Ther_. So, now thou dost appear so like _Clemanthis_, That not a _Dacian_ but will be mistaken in thee.

_Amin_. My Lord, I know not how I may appear, But I am ignorant how I am to act.

_Ther_. Remain within the Covert of this Wood, Until the Sign be given for the Combat, And then appear upon the Place appointed, Where I will meet and fight with thee; But so I'll order all the Blows I give, They shall not wound nor hurt thee, For still remember I must be the Victor.

_Amin_. I will endeavour to perform it so, [_Noise_.

That none shall know the Fallacy.

_Ther_. Be gone, I hear a Noise; farewel, dear _Amintas_, Remember that you act Clemanthis well.

[_Ex_. Ther.

_Enter some Fellows in Clokes_.

1 _Fel_. That's he that goes into the Wood, I know him by his Plume; are ye all ready?

2 _Fel_. Yes, for a greater Murder than the killing of one single Man; and here's a Place as fit as we could wish; shall we set upon him altogether?

1 _Fel_. Ay, ay, Neatness in this Affair is not required: kill him, and _Artabazes_ desires no more.

[The Fellows go behind the Trees, they fight, Amintas falls.

Enter _Ismenes_.

_Ism_. Into this Wood he went, as if he knew my Business, Here we unseen may end the Difference-- [Noise within.

--Hark--what Noise of fighting's that?

Perhaps my Aid's requir'd.

[_Exit_.

Ism. _goes in, Scene draws open, discovers_ Amintas _lying as dead all b.l.o.o.d.y_, Pimante _peeping_; Ism. _re-enters_.

_Ism_. It is _Clemanthis_, and this barbarous Deed Is done by _Artabazes_.

[_Exit_.

_Enter_ Pimante.

_Pim_. Had ever Cavalier such d.a.m.n'd Luck? I have heard it disputed, that this same Danger was to be courted by the Brave and Bold; but I, who took the best Care I could whilst the Fight lasted to secure my self by this Retreat, find my self even here surrounded with it; and poor Clemanthis, who, I'll warrant, came too with my Design, has met here what he endeavour'd to shun: Yonder's Ismenes too--well, we are all but Men.

_Ism_. Here's yet some Breath remaining; oh, _Pimante_, lend thy a.s.sistance.

--_Clemanthis_, if thou yet hast so much Sense, Inform us how thou cam'st thus wounded?

_Amin_. Know, Sir, _Thersander_--Prince of _Scythia_--_Thersander_-- Prince of _Scythia_.

[_Faints_.

_Pim_. Alas, he's dead, Sir, trouble him no further.

_Ism_. The Prince of _Scythia_ do this!

_Pim_. Ay, ay, this mighty Prince fearing to encounter a single Man, has set a dozen to kill him; Mercy upon us, 'twas a b.l.o.o.d.y Fight: but, Sir, what shall we do with the Body?

_Ism_. If I could command thee any thing it should be Silence, Till I have met _Thersander_ in his Room.

[Ism. _exit_.