Andel. That which did allure
My sovereign’s son, the wonder of the place.
Agrip. This curious heap of wonders, which an Empress
Gave him, he gave me, and by Venus’ hand,
The warlike Amorato needs would swear,
He left his country Cyprus for my love.
Athelst. If by the sovereign magic of thine eye,
Thou canst enchant his looks to keep the circles
Of thy fair cheeks, be bold to try their charms,
Feed him with hopes, and find the royal vein,
That leads this Cypriot to his golden mine.
Here’s music spent in vain, lords, fall to dancing.
Cypr. My fair tormentor, will you lend a hand?
Agrip. I’ll try this stranger’s cunning[389] in a dance.
Andel. My cunning is but small, yet who’ll not prove
To shame himself for such a lady’s love?
Orle. These Cypriots are the devils that torture me.
He courts her, and she smiles, but I am born
To be her beauty’s slave, and her love’s scorn.
Andel. I shall never have the face to ask the question twice.
Agrip. What’s the reason? Cowardliness or pride?