Gal. No matter, out with it.
Fal. Erminia, Madam—
Phi. Erminia, what of her?
Fal. Is dead, Sir.
Alcan. What, hast thou lost thy Wits?
Fal. I had them not about me at the sight, I else had been undone: Alas, Erminia’s dead, Murder’d, and dead.
Alcan. It cannot be, thou ly’st.
Fal. By Jove, I do not, Sir, I saw her dead:
Alas, I ran as I was wont to do,
Without demanding licence, to her Chamber,
But found her not, as I was wont to do, [The Women weep.
In a gay humour, but stone-dead and cold.
Phi. Alcander, am I awake?—or being so, Dost not perceive this senseless Flesh of mine Hardened into a cold benumbed Statue? —Methinks—it does—support me—or I fall; And so—shall break to pieces— [Falls into his Arms. He leads him out.
Gal. Ah, lovely Maid, was this thy destiny?
Did Heaven create thy Beauties to this end?
—I must distrust their Bounties, who neglected
The best and fairest of their handy-work;
This will incourage Sin, when Innocence
Must perish thus, and meet with no defence.