My Soul into thy Breaft, that could be gone
With Joy! It is a Woman, thou art fair,
And virtuous ftill to Ages, in defpight of Malice.
King. Speak you, where lies his Shame?
End. I am his Daughter.
Cleon. I dare accufe none; but before you two
The Virtue of the Age, I bend my Knee
For Mercy.
Phil. Take it freely; forl know
It was well meant.
Ara. And for me,
I have the Will to pardon Sins as oft
As any Man has Power to wrong me.
Cleon. Noble and worthy!
Phil. But, Endymion,
(For I must call thee ftill fo) tell me why
Thou didft conceal thy Sex? It was a Fault,
A Fault, Endymion, the thy other Deeds
Of Truth outweigh'd it. All thefe Jealoufies
Had flown to nothing, if thou hadst discover d
What now we know.
End. My Father oft would speak
Your Worth and Virtue with a zealous Praife,
Which as I grew in Age encreas'd a Thirft
Of feeing of a Man fo rais'd above the reft.
But this was but the Child of Curiofity,
Till Fate one Day brought you to my Father's,
And I was order'd there to entertain you.
Oh fpare my Blushes; and yet a Flame fo pure
Methinks fhould cause no Shame.
The only Bliss that ever I propos'd,
Was ftill to live and be within your Sight.
For this I did delude my noble Father
With a f.ign Pilgrimage, and dreft my felf
In a Boys Habit, and understanding well,
That when I made Difcovery of my Sex
I could not stay with you. I made a Now
By all the most religious things a Maid
Could call together, never to be known,
Whilft there was Hopes to hide me from Mens Eyes
For other than feemid, that I might ever
Abide with you. Then fate I by the Fountain,
Where first you took me up.
King. Search out a Match,
Greatest in our Kingdoms, and I will
Pay thy Dower my felf.
End. Ne'er, Sir, will I
Marry, it is a thing within my Vow:
But if I may have leave to ferve the Princess,
To fee the Virtues of her Lord and her
I fhall have Hopes to live.
I can't be jealous, tho' you had a Lady
Dreft like a Page to ferve you; nor will I
Sufpect her living here. Come live with
me,
Live free as I do; fhe that loves my Lord,
Curst be the Wife that hates her.
Phil. I grieve fuch Virtue fhould be laid in Earth
Without an Heir. Hear me, my Royal Father,
Wrong not the Freedom of our Soul fo much
To think to take Revenge on this bafe Woman:
Her Malice cannot hurt us; fet her free
As fhe was born, faving from Shame and Sin.
King. Set her at Liberty: But leave the Court:
This is no Place for fuch. You, Thrafomond,
Shall have free Paffage, and fafe Conduct home,
Worthy fo great a Prince. When you come there,
Remember 'twas your Fault that cost you her,
And not my purpos'd Will.
Thraf. I do confefs it, moft renowned Sir.
King Laft join your Hands in one; enjoy Philander, This Kingdom that is yours, and after me
Whatever I call mine; my Bleffing on you:
All happy Hours be at your Marriage Joys,
That you may govern all these happy Lands,
And live to fee your plenteous Branches fpring.
By what has past this Day, let Princes learn
Torule the wilder Paffions of their Blood,
For what Heav'n wills can never be withstood.
EPILOGUE,
To be Spoken by the GOVERNOUr.
By the Duke of Buckingham.
IF by my deep Contrivance, Wit and Skill
Things fall out crofs to what Imean them ftill,
You must not wonder; 'tis the common Fate
Of almost all grave Governours of late:
And one would fwear, as every Plot has fped,
They thought more with their Elbows than their Head;
Yet they go on as brisk, and look as well,
As if they had out wifdom'd Machiavel:
So Curs will wagg their Tails, and think they've won us,
At the fame inftant they make water on us.
Is't not to fee Men should have none,
That have fuch tedious, fulfom Bungling Shown;
For to go Five Years wrong with Art and Pains,
Does fhew a moft prodigious want of Brains;
Nay, tho be ne er judg'dright, yet there was one
Who bragadocied fill himself upon
Being infallible, but he is gone.
O! 'twas a Thought of vast Design and Scope,
Torail fill against Popery and Hope,
He might prefume to be himself a Pepe:
Tho' be might any thing prefume to be
That could deceive Fops fo infallibly;
The most egregious of all Scribes could tell
There never was fuch an Achitophel:
And true Admirers of his Parts and Glory,
Will doubtless have a juft Renown in Story.
Ten Guineas that Lord paid for't, as Fame goes,
Above ten times its worth the World knows
But he'll be better paid yet, I fuppofe.
They were a matchless pair, the one to plot,
The other to extol ftill what was not.
Tet faith the little Lord, when bence be ran,
Did compafs one thing like an able Man :
For fince he could not living act with Reafon,
"Twas shrewdly done of him to die in Seafon.
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