Ura. How loth I am to leave these pretty Shades,
The Gods and Nature have design’d for Love:
Oh, my Amintas, wou’d I were what I seem,
And thou some humble Villager hard by,
That knew no other pleasure than to love,
To feed thy little Herd, to tune a Pipe,
To which the Nymphs should listen all the Day;
We’d taste the Waters of these Crystal Springs,
With more delight than all delicious Wines;
And being weary, on a Bed of Moss,
Having no other Canopy but Trees,
We’d lay us down, and tell a thousand Stories.
Amin. For ever so I’d be content to dwell,
I wou’d put off all frightful Marks of War,
And wou’d appear as soft and calm to thee,
As are thy Eyes when silently they wound.
An Army I wou’d quit to lead thy Flock,
And more esteem a Chaplet wreath’d by thee,
Than the victorious Laurel.
—But come, Love makes us idle.
Druid. My Prayers ever go along with you,
And your fair Bride, Urania.—I cou’d wish
My Youth and Vigour were as heretofore,
When only Courts and Camps cou’d make me happy;
And then I wou’d not bid farewel so soon
To so much Virtue as I’ve found in you.
Amin. I humbly thank you, Father, for a Goodness
That shames my poor Returns.
Come, pretty Lyces, and thou, honest Damon,
With all the rest of our kind Train;
Let’s hasten to the Camp, during this Truce,
Your little rustick Sports will find a welcome.
Ura. There are no Women in the Camp, my Lord.
Amin. No matter, thou canst not hate a Soldier,
Since I am one; and you must be obedient,
And learn to bear my Bow and Arrows now,
It is the Duty of a Scythian’s Wife.
Ura. She that can claim Amintas by such Ties, May find a Safety wheresoe’er she flies.
[Exeunt.
SCENE III. A Prison.
Enter Orsames joyful, and Geron.