Volume Iv Part 44 (2/2)

[Exeunt.

_Isab._ So, so, disguise it how you will, I know you are a real Lover; And that secret shall advance my Love-design.

Yes, Madam, now I will be serv'd by you, Or you shall fail to find a Friend of me. [Ex. _Isab._

SCENE III. The Street.

Enter _Lorenzo_ drunk, with a _Page_, and Musick, as in the dark.

_Lor._ Here's the Door, begin and play your best, But let them be soft low Notes, do you hear? [They play.

Enter _Antonio_.

_Ant._ Musick at my Lodgings! it is _Alberto_; Oh, how I love him for't--if _Clarina_ stand his Courts.h.i.+p, I am made; I languish between Hope and Fear.

_Lor._ Stay, Friend, I hear somebody. [Musick ceases.

_Pag._ 'Tis n.o.body, Sir.

Enter _Isabella_.

_Isab._ 'Tis _Lorenzo_, and my Plot's ripe; [Aside.

[_Lorenzo_ being retir'd the while a little further.

'Twill not sure be hard to get him, under pretence Of seeing _Clarina_, into my Chamber, And then I'll order him at my pleasure; _Ismena_ is on my side, for I know all her Secrets, And she must wink at mine therefore. [She retires.

_Lor._ Thou art in the right, Boy, I think indeed 'twas nothing. [Plays again.

Enter _Alberto_.

_Alb._ She yields, bad Woman!

Why so easily won?

By me too, who am thy Husband's Friend: Oh dangerous Boldness! unconsidering Woman!

I lov'd thee, whilst I thought thou couldst not yield; But now that Easiness has undone thy Interest in my Heart, I'll back, and tell thee that it was to try thee.

_Lor._ No, no, 'twas my Fears, away with the Song, I'll take it on your word that 'tis fit for my purpose.

_Fid._ I'll warrant you, my Lord.

SONG.

_In vain I have labour'd the Victor to prove Of a Heart that can ne'er give attendance to Love; So hard to be done.

That nothing so young Could e'er have resisted a Pa.s.sion so long.

Yet nothing I left unattempted or said, That might soften the Heart of this pitiless Maid; But still she was shy, And would blus.h.i.+ng deny, Whilst her willinger Eyes gave her Language the lye.

Since, _Phillis_, my Pa.s.sion you vow to despise, Withdraw the false Hopes from your flattering Eyes: For whilst they inspire A resistless vain Fire, We shall grow to abhor, what we now do admire._ [Ex. _Musick_.

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