ACT II., SCENE 1.

_Enter_ HERMIONE, IRENE, _and_ PHILLIDA.

IRE. Have you sent for the Egyptian lady?

HER. I have; and she'll be here within this half-hour.

IRE. She speaks our language.

HER. Her father was of Greece a wealthy merchant, and his business enforcing him to leave his country, he married a lady of that place, where he lived, who, excellent in the mystery of divination, hath left that knowledge to her daughter, enriched with thousand other modest virtues, as is delivered to me by those are frequent with her.

IRE. Do you believe what Phillida say'th is the voice of all your friends?

HER. What is't?

IRE. That you shall marry with Prince Lysicles.

PHIL. I heard your uncle say the governor did receive it with all appearances of joy, in hope this match will free him from this deep melancholy: and 'tis determined the next feast joins your hands.

HER. The grave must be my bed then. With what harsh fate doth heaven afflict me, That all those blessings which make others happy Must be my ruin! But if this lady's knowledge Shall inform me that I shall ne'er enjoy Eugenio, Darkness shall seize me, ere [the] tapers light My blushes to the forsworn Hymen's rites.

IRE. Why should you labour your disquiet, cousin? Anticipating thus your knowledge, you will make Your future sufferings present; and so call Lasting griefs upon you, which your hopes might Dissipate, till heaven had made your mind Strong enough to encounter them.

HER. Dear Irene, Our stars, whose influence doth govern us, Are not malignant to us, but whilst we Remain in this false earth. He that hath courage To divest himself of that, removes with it Their powers to hurt him; and injur'd Love, Who sees that fortune would usurp his power, I know will not be wanting. See, the lady

_Enter_ ACANTHE _the Moor_.

Comes! Madam, the excuse that justifies sick men That send for their physician, must beg my pardon, That did not visit you to have this honour. Here you see a virgin that hath long stood The mark of fortune, and now's so full of misery That, though the gods resented what I suffer, Yet I fear that they have plung'd me to extremes, Exceed their own assistance.

MOOR. Fear not their power.

HER. I do not; but their will to help me I must doubt; For those that know no reason of their hate Must fear it is perpetual. And let the ensigns of their wrath fall on me, If e'er by any willing act I have provok'd Their justice. To you now, in whom 'tis said, As in their oracle they speak, I come to know What mighty growth of dangers are decreed me.

MOOR. First, dearest lady, do not think my power Great as my will to serve you; 'tis so weak That, if you should rely on't, I shall seem Cold in your service, when it does not answer What is expected from it. All I know Is but conjectured; for our stars incline, Not force us in our actions. Let me observe your face.

HER. Do, and if yet you are not perfect in Your mysteries, observe mine well; and when you meet A face branded with such a line, conclude It miserable: when an eye that doth Resemble this, teach it to weep betimes, That so being lost, it may not see those miseries Must be its only object. [_The_ MOOR _starts_. Are my misfortunes of that horrid shape That the mere speculation doth affright Those whose compassion only it concerns? I, that must stand the strokes then, what defence Shall I prepare against them? Yet a hope That they be ripen'd now to fall on me, Lightens a desperate joy to my dark soul: For the last dart shall be embrac'd as remedy To cure my former wounds.

MOOR. It is not that; I was surprised in considering I must Partake of all your fortunes; for our ascendants Threaten like danger to us both.

HER. Are then my miseries grown infectious too? Must that be added? Pardon me, gentle lady; this Sad crime I must account amongst my secret faults: I meant no more but to communicate, Not part my sorrows with you.

MOOR. [O,] would you could; with what great willingness Should I embrace a share of what afflicts you? I'd haste to meet and ease you of your fears. Now if to one, whose interest doth force her To advance your hopes, you dare deliver The cause of your disquiet, you shall find a closet, If not a fort, to vindicate your fears.

HER. You shall know all. I have exchang'd my heart With a young gentleman's, now banished His country and my hopes; his rival labours To make me his; my father resolute I should Consent, till fortune chang'd, but lessen'd not My sufferings; for our prince, Lysicles, Ruins me with the honour of his search.

MOOR. Does Eugenio know you love him?

HER. No.

MOOR. Why does he doubt it?

HER. A womanish scorn to have my love reveal'd, Made me receive his declaration of it As an affront unto my honour, and when He came to take his leave, I left him In the opinion I would obey my father.

MOOR. I have heard as much; but [these] contradictions In the prince's actions do amaze me: They say he loves your friend, and labours now For to recall him; and that every night He courts his former flame, hid in the ashes Of his lost mistress.

HER. By this judge how miserable I am? That my malignant stars force them to change Nature and virtue too, that else would shine Unmoved, like the star that does direct The wand'ring seaman. Must then nature change, And will not fortune cease to persecute? Good gods! I will submit to all but breach of faith.

MOOR. They will not hear us, madam, unless we Contribute to their aid our best endeavours. I have thought a way may for a time secure you: You must dissemble with the prince, and seem To love Ergasto. 'Tis not impossible, but he, seeing you Prefer one so far beneath him, may provoke A just neglect from him. Then for Ergasto, Besides the time you gain, there may succeed A thousand ways to hinder his pretence.

HER. Can my heart e'er consent my tongue should say, I am for any other but Eugenio? No, my dear love, though cruel fate hath sever'd My vow'd embraces, yet hath death ice enough To fright all others from them.

MOOR. I see love is a child still; what a trifle Doth now disturb him! You will not get your health At the price of saying you are sick. I know There is another remedy more proportion'd For your disease, but not for you that suffer, Which is this: Tell the prince that you're engag'd, but he That broke with vows and friendship for your love, Will not desist for such suppos'd slight lets; And then your father will force you t' his will.

HER. If the prince leave me, it is most certain He'll use his power to make me take Ergasto.

MOOR. Those that in dangers that do press them nearly, Will not resolve upon some hazard, and Give leave to chance to govern what Our knowledge cannot hinder, must sit still, And wait their preservation from a miracle.

HER. I am determin'd; for knives, fire, and seas Shall lose their qualities, ere fate shall make Me his: and if death cannot be Shunn'd, I will meet it boldly.

_Enter_ IRENE.

IRE. Cousin, the prince is come to see you.

MOOR. Good madam, use some means that I may speak With him before he goes: my heart doth promise I shall do something in your service; and Be sure, when he first speaks of love, seem not To understand him. [_Exit._