Pim. Any where to be out of your Sight— A King, quotha? [Exit.
Ors. Come, my fair Virgin, this shall be my Altar, And I will place thee here, my Deity.
Qu. Great Sir, that Throne is only fit for you.
Ors. I say again, I’ll have it fit for two:
Thou art a Woman, thank the Gods for that:
—Ascend, my lovely Virgin, and adorn it;
Ascend, and be immortal as my self.
Art. That Throne she was not born to.
Ors. Into the Sea with that bold Counsellor, And let him there dispute with Winds and Waves. [Art. ex.
Being seated on a Throne, enter several in Masquerades,
and dance.
—Cou’d I be sensible of any Pleasure,
But what I take in thee, this had surpriz’d me.
Olym. A Banquet, Sir, attends you.
Ors. Dispose me as you please, my lovely Virgin; For I’ve resign’d my Being to your Will, And have no more of what I call my own, Than Sense of Joys and Pains, which you create. [They rise, and sit down at a Banquet. He gazes on her.