Cleo. By all my Joys I knew it not—but sure This is Enchantment; for it is as certain These Eyes beheld thee dead.
Pim. Ay, and so did I, I’ll be sworn.
Ther. That must be poor Amintas in my Dress, Whose Story, when you know, you will bemoan.
Cleo. But oh my Life! the cruel Wound I gave thee, Let me be well assur’d it is not mortal, Or I am lost again.
King. The Surgeon gives me hopes, and ‘twere convenient You should forbid him not to speak too much—
Enter a Soldier.
Sold. Arm, arm, great Sir, I think the Enemy Is rallying afresh, for the Plain is cover’d With numerous Troops, which swiftly make this way.
King. They dare not break the Truce.
Sold. I know not, Sir, but something of a King I heard them talk of—
Cleo. It is Vallentio that has kept his word—
Receive ‘em, Sir, as Friends, not Enemies;
It is my Brother, who ne’er knew till now
Ought of a peopled World.