Sem. ‘Tis most likely; but I should never fall in love with Fame alone.
Cleo. I hope it is not Love—but strange Curiosity
To see this brave Unknown—and yet I fear—
I’ve hid this new Impatience of my Soul,
Even from thee, till it grew too importunate;
And strove by all my lov’d Divertisements,
To chase it from my Bosom, but in vain:
’.is too great for little Sports to conquer;
The Musick of the Dogs displeas’d to day,
And I was willing to retire with thee,
To let thee know my Story:
And this lone Shade, as if design’d for Love,
Is fittest to be conscious of my Crime.
—Therefore go seek a Bank where we may sit;
And I will sigh whilst thou shall pity me.
[Stands with her Arms across.
[Sem. looks about, finds the Cap and Feathers.
Sem. See, Madam, what I’ve found.
Cleo. ‘Tis a fine Plume, and well adorn’d,
And must belong to no uncommon Man:
—And look, Semiris, where its Owner lies
—Ha! he sleeps, tread softly lest you wake him:
—Oh Gods! who’s this with so divine a Shape?
Sem. His Shape is very well.
Cleo. Gently remove the Hair from off his Face,
[Sem. puts back his Hair.
And see if that will answer to the rest:
—All lovely! all surprizing! Oh, my Heart,
How thou betray’st the weakness of our Sex!
—Look on that Face, where Love and Beauty dwells—
And though his Eyes be shut, tell me, Semiris,
Has he not wondrous Charms?
Sem. Yes, Madam, and I wou’d excuse you, if you shou’d now fall in Love, here’s Substance; but that same Passion for Fame alone, I do not like.
Cleo. Ah, do not call my Blushes to my Face,
But pardon all my weakness:
May not my Eyes have leave to gaze a while?
Since after this there’s not another Object
Can merit their Attention—
But I’ll no longer view that pleasing Form—
[Turns from him.
And yet I’ve lost all power of removing—
[Turns and gazes.
Even now I was in love with mere Report,
With Words, with empty Noise;
And now that Flame, like to the Breath that blew it,
Is vanish’d into Air, and in its room
An Object quite unknown, unfam’d, unheard of,
Informs my Soul; how easily ‘tis conquer’d!
How angry am I with my Destiny!
Till now, with much disdain I have beheld
The rest of all his Sex; and shall I here
Resign a Heart to one I must not love?
Must this be he must kill the King of Scythia?
For I must lay no claim to any other:
Grant, Oh ye Gods, who play with Mortals thus,
That him for whom ye have design’d your Slave,
May look like this Unknown,
And I’ll be ever grateful for the Bounty.
—But these are vain imaginary Joys.
[Thersander wakes, rises, and gazes.