Volume Iv Part 50 (1/2)

_Guil._ Pray let me begin and practise a little now, An't please you, for fear I should not be saucy enough, When we arrive at Court.

_Clo._ I'll warrant you you'll soon learn there.

_Guil._ Oh Lord, _Philibert!_ _Philibert!_ I see a Man a coming Most deadly fine, let's run away.

_Clo._ Thus thou hast serv'd me all this night, There's not a Bush we come at, but thou start'st thus.

_Guil._ 'Tis true you are a Lover, and may stay the danger on't; But I'll make sure for one.

_Clo._ It is the Prince, oh G.o.ds! what makes he here?

With Looks disorder'd too; this Place is fit for Death and sad Despair; the melancholy Spring a sleepy murmur makes, A proper Consort for departing Souls, When mix'd with dying Groans, and the thick Boughs Compose a dismal Roof; Dark as the gloomy Shades of Death or Graves.

--He comes this way, I'll hide my self awhile. [Goes behind a Bush.

Enter _Frederick_.

_Fred._ But yet not this, nor my despight to _Laura_, Shall make me out of love with Life, Whilst I have youthful Fires about my Heart: --Yet I must fight with _Curtius_, And so chastise the Pride of that fond Maid, Whose saucy Virtue durst controul my Flame.

--And yet I love her not as I do _Cloris_; But fain I would have overcome that Chast.i.ty, Of which the foolish Beauty boasts so.

_Clo._ _Curtius_, I thank thee, now I do believe thee.

_Guilliam_, if thou seest any fighting anon, [The Prince walks.

Be sure you run out and call some body.

_Guil._ You need not bid me run away, when I once See them go to that.

Enter _Curtius_.

_Cur._ Sir, I am come as you commanded me.

_Fred._ When you consider what you've lately done, You will not wonder why I sent for you; And when I mean to fight, I do not use to parly: Come draw.

_Cur._ Shew me my Enemy, and then if I am slow--

_Fred._ I am he, needst thou one more powerful?

_Cur._ You, Sir! what have I done to make you so?

_Fred._ If yet thou want'st a further proof of it, Know I'll dispute my Claim to _Laura_.

_Cur._ That must not be with me, Sir; G.o.d forbid that I should raise my Arm against my Prince.

--If _Laura_ have so little Faith and Virtue, To render up that Right belongs to me, With all my heart I yield her To any but to you: And, Sir, for your own sake you must not have her.

_Fred._ Your Reason?

_Cur._ Sir, you're already married.

_Fred._ Thou lyest, and seek'st excuses for thy Cowardice.

_Cur._ I wish you would recal that hasty Injury; Yet this I'll bear from you, who know 'tis false.

_Fred._ Will nothing move thee?