Volume Ii Part 46 (2/2)

_Gorel_. What Questions this ignorant Fellow asks!

_3 Cit_. Good lack-a-day, 'tis as a Man may say--'tis just such another Body as one of us, only he looks a little more terrably.

_Ger_. Sir, why do you let him kneel?

_Ors_. Rise, and let me look upon thee.

_Val_. Great Sir, we come to offer you a Crown, That long has waited for this great Support; It ought to have been presented in a more glorious order, But Time and your Affairs permit not that.

A thousand Dangers wait upon Delay; But though the World be yours, it is not safe Depending on a fickle Mult.i.tude, Whom Interest, and not Reason renders just.

_Ors_. Thou art a wondrous Man.

_1 Cit_. Good _Gorel_, stand back, and let me see a little; my Wife loves Newalties abominationly, ami I must tell her something about the King.

_Gorel_. What a Pox have we to do with your Wife? stand back.

_Val_. Now deign, great Sir, to arm your Hand with this-- [_Gtves_ Ors. _a Sword, he gazes on it_.

Nay, view it well, for though it be but homely, It carries that about it can make the Wearer proud; --An Edge--pray feel it, Sir,--'t has dealt Many a mortal Wound-- See how it dares the Sun for Brightness, Sir!

Or if there be a Stain, it is an Ornament, Dy'd in the Blood of those that were your Enemies: It never made a Blow or Thrust in vain.

--How do you like it, Sir?

_Ors_. So well, I know not whether this or thee Be most agreeable to me; You need not teach me how I am to use it, That I will leave for those that dare offend me.

Look, _Geron_, is it not a glorious Object?

There's nothing but my bright _Olympia's_ Eyes That can out-glitter this.

_1 Cit_. Hah, _Simon_, did he not talk bravely?

_Val_. Come, Sir, 'tis time you left this Dungeon for a Throne; For now's the time to make the World your own.

All shouting--Vive le Roy, Vive le Roy.

[_Exeunt_.

SCENE IV. _A Tent_.

_Enter_ Cleomena _and_ Semiris, _drest as Women again_.

_Sem_. Dear Madam, I cou'd wish you'd sleep awhile.

_Cleo_. That Peace I have not been acquainted with Since my _Clemanthis'_ Death; Yet now methinks my Heart's more calm and still, And I perhaps may thus expire in silence-- Prithee, _Semiris_, take thy Lute and sing to't, Whilst I will try to sleep.

[_Lies down on a Couch, Sem. plays and sings_.

SONG, made by _J. Wright_ Esq:

_Fair Nymph, remember all your Scorn Will be by Time repaid; Those Glories which that Face adorn, And flourish as the rising Morn, Must one day set and fade.

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