_Luc._ I have a thousand more I’ve heard him say; Oh, I could listen a whole Night to hear him talk: But hark, I hear a Noise, the House is up, And must not find us here.
_Clo._ Lock up this Box of Jewels for me.
_Luc._ Oh rare! what, did these come to night?
_Cur._ I wonder the Prince stays so long; I do not like these Night-works; Were I not confident of _Cloris’s_ Virtue, --Which shall no more be tempted. I hear some coming, and hope ‘tis he-- _Pietro_, are the Horses ready? [Exit _Pietro_.
_Cur._ Sir, you are welcome from _Cloris’s_ Arms.
_Fred._ With much ado, I am got loose from those fair Fetters, but not from those of her Beauty; By these she still inflames me, In spite of all my humours of Inconstancy; So soft and young, so fair and innocent, So full of Air, and yet of Languishment; So much of Nature in her Heart and Eyes, So timorous and so kind without disguise: Such untaught Sweets in every part do move, As ‘gainst my Reason does compel my Love; Such artless smiles, look so unorder’d too, Gains more than all the charms of Courts can do; From Head to Foot, a spotless Statue seems, As Art, not Nature, had compos’d her Limbs; So white, and so unblemish’d, oh _Curtius_! I’m ravisht beyond Sense when I but think on’t; How much more must my Surprize be, When I behold these Wonders.
_Cur._ And have you seen her, Sir, in all this Beauty? Oh Hell! [Aside.
_Fred._ _Curtius_, I will not hide my Soul from thee; I have seen all the marvels of that Maid.
_Cur._ My Soul, learn now the Art of being disguis’d; [Aside. --’Tis much, my Lord, that one Bred in such simple Innocence, Should learn so soon so much of Confidence: Pray, Sir, what Arts and Cunning do you use?
_Fred._ Faith, time and importunity refuse no body.
_Cur._ Is that the way? had you no other Aids? Made you no promise to her, Sir, of Marriage?
_Fred._ Oh, yes, in abundance, that’s your only bait, And though they cannot hope we will perform it, Yet it secures their Honour and my Pleasure.
_Fred._ Oh, yes, and gather’d Sweets Would make an Anchoret neglect his Vow, And think he had mistook his way to future bliss, Which only can be found in such Embraces; ‘Twas hard to gain, but, _Curtius_, when once Victor, Oh, how the joys of Conquest did enslave me!