Her. That he may know that his unquestion'd power
Hath forc'd me to that error which himself
And I must ever mourn unpitied.[358]
Lys. Now you throw oil upon the wound you make:
I may be ignorant of all things else,
But of my want of merit to deserve
I am most perfect in: be happy, lady,
He that enjoys you shall not need that prayer—
My father's business calls me.
Her. Let me entreat you, that you'll see a lady,
Whose virtue does deserve the honour of
Your knowledge.
Lys. What is she?
Her. An Egyptian lady, lately come to Cirrha.
Lys. I have heard of her; they say she knows
Our actions pass'd and future.
Her. When you her know, you will believe,
That virtue chose that dark inhabitation,
To hide her treasure from the envious world,
I'll call her to your grace. [Acanthe!]
Enter Acanthe.
Her. Madam, this is the prince. [He salutes her.