AMYCLAS

The Spart ne gods are graciou , our humility Shall bend before their Altars, and per Their Temples with abundant sacrifice. ee Lords, Amyclas your old King is entering Into his youth again. I shall shake on This silver badge of age, and change this snow For hairs as gay as are Apollo's locks; Our heart leaps in new vigour. It will, it must Armostes, thy bold Nephew, Death-braving Ithocles, brings to our gates Triumphs and peace upon his conquering sword. Laconian is a monarchy at length; Hath in this latter war trod underfoot Messenes pride; Messene bows her neck To Lacedemons royalty: o 'twas A glorious victory, and does deserve More then a Chronicle; a Temple Lords, A Temple, to the name of Ithocles. Where didst thou leave him Prophilus ? When comes your friend and General? Our daughter — Dear Calantha, the happy news, The conquest of Messene, hath already Enriched thy knowledge. Such Crotolon, On forfeit of a Kings word thou wilt find him: Hark, warning of his coming, all attend him. Return into these arms, thy home, thy sanctuary. Delight of Sparta, treasure of my bosom, Mine own, own Ithocles. She is in all our daughter. Courtiers turn soldiers?— we vouchsafe our hand. Observe your great example. Some repose After these toils are needful we must think on Conditions for the Conquered; they expect they. On, — come my Ithocles. Cozen of Argos, what the heavens have pleased In their unchanging Counsels to conclude For both our kingdoms weal, we must submit to: Nor can we be unthankful to their bounties, Who when we were even creeping to our graves, Sent us a daughter; in whose birth, our hope Continues of succession: As you are In title next, being grandchild to our Aunt, So we in hear desire you may fit nearest Calantha's love; since we have ever vowed Not to enforce affection by our will, But by her own choice to confirm it gladly. Excellent Cozen, we deny no liberty Use thine own opportunities. — Armoste , We must consult with the Philosophers, The business is of weight. You told me, Crotolon, your son's returned From Athens ? wherefore comes he not to Cou to As we commanded? The mar age Between young Prophilus and Euphranea, Tafts of too much delay: Some pleasures At celebration of it would give life To the entertainment of the Prince our kinsman Our Court wears gravity more then we relish. Our bounties Shall open to thee Orgilus ; for instance, Hark in thine ear; if out of those inventions Which flow in Athens, thou hast there engrossed Some rarity of wit to grace the Nuptials Of thy fair sister, and renown our Court In the eyes of this young Prince, we shall be debtor To thy conceit, think on't All prepare For Revels and disport: the joys of Hymen, Like Phœbus in his lustr , puts to flight All mists of dulness; crown the hours with gladness: No sounds but music, no discourse but mirth. Our daughter is not near? Where's the Prince our Cozen? All leave us, Except Armostes, and you Cr tol n, We would be private. What, Tec I us is gone? Unseal it, good Armostes, therein lies The secrets of the Oracle; out with it; Apollo live our patron: read, Armostes. That is the Oracle, what exposition Makes the Philosopher? Enough; although the opening of this Riddle Be but it self a Riddle, yet we constru How near our labouring age dr was rest But must Calantha quail to the young grap Untimely budded! I could mourn for her, Her tenderness hath yet deserved no igor So to be crossed by Fate. May it prove so For weal of this deer Nation. — where is Ithocles? Armostes, Crotolon ; when this withered Vine Of my frail carcase, on the funeral Pile, Is fired into its ashes, let that young man Be hedged about still with your cares and loves; Much owe I to his worth, much to his service. Let such as wait come in now. Clean not my heart (sweet Twins of my life's solace) With your forejudging fears: there is no Physic So cunningly restorative to cherish The fallen of Age, or call back youth and vigor, As your consents in duty: I will shake off This languishing disease of time, to quicken Fresh pleasures in these drooping hours of sadness: Is fair Euphranea married yet to Prophilus? We thank thee, Orgilus, this mirth becomes thee: But wherefore sits the Court in such a silence? A wedding without Revels is not seemly. Be it thy charge, Calantha, to set forward The bridal spo ts, to which I will e resent: If not, at least consenting own Ithocles, I have done little foe that e yet. Demand and have it. Still th'art my daughter, Still growest upon my heart, give me thine hand; Calantha take thine own; in noble actions Thou'lt find him firm and absolute: I would no Have parted with thee, Ithocles, to any But to a mistress who is all what I am. On to your recreations; now convey me Unto my bedchamber: none on his forehead Were a distempered look.