Queen. Dost think if Bacon find us, he will not know me? Alas, my Fears and Blushes will betray me.
Ana. ’Tis certain, Madam, if we stay we perish; for all the Wood’s surrounded by the Conqueror.
Queen. Alas, ’tis better we should perish here, than stay to expect the Violence of his Passion, to which my Heart’s too sensibly inclin’d.
Ana. Why do you not obey its Dictates then? why do you fly the Conqueror?
Queen. Not fly—not fly the Murderer of my Lord?
Ana. What World, what Resolution can preserve you? and what he cannot gain by soft [submission], Force will at last o’ercome.
Queen. I wish there were in Nature one excuse, either by Force or Reason to compel me:—For Oh, Anaria—I adore this General;—take from my Soul a Truth—till now conceal’d—at twelve Years old—at the [Pauwomungian] Court, I saw this Conqueror. I saw him young and gay as new-born Spring, glorious and charming as the Mid-day’s Sun; I watch’d his Looks, and listned when he spoke, and thought him more than mortal.
Ana. He has a graceful Form.
Queen. At last a fatal Match concluded was between my Lord and me; I gave my Hand, but oh, how far my Heart was from consenting, the angry Gods are Witness.
Ana. ’Twas pity.