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SCENE, A grand Garden belonging to the Palaceof Urganda.


UT hear me, Merlin, I beseech you,

hear me.
Mer. Hear you! I have heard you.
have heard your vows, your protestations Have you not
affections by every

female art; and when I thought that my unalterable passion was to be rewarded



for years

allur'd my

for its constancy-what have you done!--why, like mere mortal woman, in the true spirit of frailty, have given up me and my hopes-for what? a boy, an idiot.

Urg. Ev’n this I can bear from Merlin.
Mer. You have injur'd me, and must bear more.
Urg. I'll repair that injury.

Mer. Then send back your fav'rite Cymon to his disconsolate friends.

Urg. How can you imagine that such a poor ignorant object as Cymon is can have any charms for me?

Mer. Ignorance, no more than profligacy, is excluded from female favour; the success of rakes and fools is a fufficient warning to us, could we be wise enough to take it.

Urg. You mistake me, Merlin; pity for Cymon's state of mind, and friendthip for his father, have induc'd me to endeavour at his cure.

Mer. False, prevaricating Urganda! Love was your inducement. Have not you stolen the prince from his royal father, and detained him here by your power, while a hundred knights are in search after him? Does not every thing about you prove the consequence of your want of honour and faith to me? Were you not plac'd on this happy spot of Arcadia to be the guardian of its peace and innocence and have not the Arcadians liv'd for


the envy of less happy, because less virtuous, people?

Urg. Let me beseech you, Merlin, spare my fame.

Mer. And are they not at last, by your example, sunk from the state of happiness and tranquillity to that of care, vice, and folly? Their once happy lives are now embitter'd with envy, paffion, vanity, felálhness, and inconftancy;-and who are they to curse for this change? Urganda, the false, the lost Urganda.

Urg. Let us talk calmly of this matter.

Mer. I'll converse with you no more, because I will be no more deccív'd: I cannot hate you, tho' I fhun you

Yet, in my misery, I have this confolation, that the pangs of my jealousy are at least equallid by the torments of your fruitless pafsion.

Still wish and figh, and with again;
Love is dethron'd, Revenge Mall reign!

Still fall my pow'r your arts confound,
And Cymon's cure shall be Urganda's wound.

[Exit Merlin. Urg." And Cymon's cure shall be Urganda's wound!" What mystery is couch'd in these words? —What can he mean?

Enter Fatima, looking after Merlin. Fat. I'll tell you, Madam, when he is out of hearing --He means mischief, and terrible mischief too; no less, 1 believe, than ravishing you, and cutting my tongue out

I wish we were out of his clutches. Urg. Don't fear, Fatima.

Fat. I can't help it, he has great power, and is mis. chievously angry

Urg. Here is your protection, (Jowing her wand.) My power is at last equal to his., (Mules.)

" And “ Cymon's cure shall be Urganda's wound!”

Fat. Don't trouble your head with these odd ends of verses, which were spoken in a paflion; or, perhaps, for the rhyme's sake- Think a little to clear us from this old mischief-making conjuror—What will you do, madam?

Urg. What can I do, Fatima?

Fai. You might very casily settle matters with him, if you cou'd as easily settle them with yourself.

Urg. Tell me how?

Fat. Marry Merlin, and send away the young fellow. (Urganda hakes her bead.) I thought so we are all alike; and that folly of ours of preferring two-and-twenty to two-and-forty, runs thro' the whole fex of us But before matters grow worse, give me leave to reason a little with you,

madam. Urg. Hold your tongue, Fatima-my passion is too serious to be jested with.

Fat. Far gone indeed, Madam-and yonder goes the precious object of it.

[Looking out. Urg. He seems melancholy: what's the matter with him?

Fat. He's a fool, or he might make himself very merry among us

_I'll leave you to make the most of him. Urg. Stay, Fatima -- and help me to divert him.


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Fat. A sad time, when a lady must call in help to divert her gallant?--but I'm at your service

Enter Cymon, melancholy.
Cym, Heigho!

Fat. What's the matter, young gentleman?
Cym. Heighe!
Urg. Are you not well, Cymon?
Cym. Yes. I am very well.
Úrg. Why do you figh then?
Cym. Eh!

[Looks foolislıly. Fat. Do you see it in his eyes, now, Madam?

Urg. Prithee, be quiet - What is it you want? tell me, Cymon-Tell me your wishes, and you shall have Pem.

Cym. Shall I?
Urg. Yes, indeed, Cymon.
Fat. Now for it.
Cym. I wish-heigho!
Urg. These fighs must mean something.

[Afide to Fatima.
Fat. I wilh you joy then; find it out, Madam.
Urg. What do you figh for?
Cym. I want

Urg. What, what, my sweet creature? [Eagerly.
Cym. To go away.
Fat. O la!--the meaning's out.
Urg. What, would you leave me then!
Cym. Yes.
Urg. Why would you leave me?
Cym. I don't know.
Urg. Where would you go?
Cym. Any where.

Urg. Had you rather go any where than stay with me?

Cym. I had rather go into the fields than stay with any body.

Urg. But is not this garden pleasanter than the fields, my palace than cottages, and my company more agree. able to you than the shepherds ?

Cym. Why, how can I tell till I try; you won't let me choose. VOL. III



A I R.
You gave me last week a young linget,

Shut up in a fine golden cage;
Yet how fad the poor thing was within it,
Oh how did it flutter and rage!

Then he mop'd and he pin'd

That his wings were confin'd,
Till I open'd the door of his den:

Then so merry was he,

And because he was free,

He came to his cage back again. And fo should I too, if


would let me go Urg. And would you return to me again? Cym. Yes I would I have nowhere else to go.

Fat. Let him have his humour when he is not confin'd, and is seemingly difregarded, you may have him, and mould him as you please --Tis a receipt for the whole sex.

Urg. I'll follow your advice Well, Cymon, you shall go wherever you please, and for as long as you please.

Cym. O la, and I'll bring you a bird's nest, and some cowlipsand shall I let my linnet out too?

Fat. O, ay, pretty creatures; pray, let 'em go together.

Urg. And take this, Cymon; wear it for my fake, and don't forget me. (Gives Cymon a nosegay.) Tho' it won't give passion, it will increafe it if he should think kindly of me, and absence may befriend me. (Afide.) Go, Cymon, take your companion, and be happier than I can


make you.

Cym. Then I'm out of my cage, and shall mope no longer.

[Overjoyed. Urg. His transports distract me! I must retire to conceal my uneasiness.

[Retires. Fat. And I'll open the gate to the prisoners. (Exit.

Cym. And I'll fetch my bird, and we'll fly away together.

A I R.
Oh liberty, liberty!
Dear happy liberty;


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