Enter Pimante.
Pim. Madam, there waits without a Servant to the Prince.
Cleo. He may come in.
Enter Lysander.
Lys. Madam, my dying Prince begs you may know
How willingly he does obey your Will,
And dying still implores you wou’d believe
He’s guilty of no fault but having lov’d you,
For which presumption he deserves to die;
—But ‘tis not by your Dagger, but your Eyes:
That was too weak to exercise your Will,
Your Cruelty had power alone to kill;
And now from you one visit he implores,
And after that he’ll trouble you no more. [Weeps.
Cleo. That I will grant to satisfy the King.
Lys. When he is dead—
He’ll send the Spirit of Clemanthis to you,
Who shall upbraid you with your Cruelty,
And let you see, in wounding of Thersander,
You’ve found the readiest way to kill Clemanthis.
Cleo. What means he by these Words?
Lys. He humbly begs you’ll pardon the rough treatment
You’ve had among the Scythians,
Whose Crown, he says, Clemanthis promis’d you,
And he intreats you would accept it from him.
Cleo. To send the Spirit of Clemanthis to me— How this agrees with my sad Dream! How did thy Master know— Clemanthis promis’d me the Crown of Scythia?— [Advances towards Lys. and she starts. —Sure I have seen that Face before— Art not Lysander, Page to Clemanthis?