!

SYRUS. Away, if you are wise!

CLIT. Well, well, I'm gone.
--What's he to do?

SYRUS. Stay here.

CLIT. O happy----

SYRUS. March! (_Pushes off CLITIPHO._)

[Changes:

_Harper_
Away! quick! don't loiter.
_Colman 1768_
Away! quick, quick! don't loiter.

_Harper_
CLIT. How! what! Bacchis? Tell me,
Where d'ye bring her, rogue?
SYRUS. Where do I bring her?
_Colman 1768_
CLIT. How! what! Bacchis?
Where d'ye propose to carry her, rogue?
SYRUS. Where?

_Harper_
SYRUS. Oh, she's well instructed.
_Colman 1768_
SYRUS. Oh, she is well instructed.]

SCENE III

_Enter BACCHIS, and ANTIPHILA at a distance._

BACCH. Well, I commend you, my Antiphila:
Happy, that you have made it still your care,
That virtue should seem fair as beauty in you!
Nor Gracious Heav'n so help me, do I wonder
If ev'ry man should wish you for his own;
For your discourse bespeaks a worthy mind.
And when I ponder with myself, and weigh
Your course of life, and all the rest of those
Who live not on the common, 'tis not strange,
Your morals should be different from ours.
Virtue's your int'rest; those, with whom we deal,
Forbid it to be ours: For our gallants,
Charm'd by our beauty, court us but for that;
Which fading, they transfer their love to others.
If then meanwhile we look not to ourselves,
We live forlorn, deserted, and distress'd.
You, when you've once agreed to pass your life
Bound to one man, whose temper suits with yours,
He too attaches his whole heart to you:
Thus mutual friendship draws you each to each;
Nothing can part you, nothing shake your love.

ANTI. I know not others'; for myself I know,
From his content I ever drew my own.

{_CLINIA and SYRUS apart._}

CLIN. (_overhearing_). Excellent maid! my best Antiphila!
Thou too, thy love alone is now the cause
That brings me to my native land again.
For when away, all evils else were light
Compar'd to wanting thee.

SYRUS. I do believe it.

CLIN. O Syrus, 'tis too much: I can not bear it.
Wretch that I am!--and must I be debarr'd
To give a loose to love, a love like this?

SYRUS. And yet if I may judge your father's mind,
He has more troubles yet in store for you.

BACCH. Who is that youth that eyes us? (_Seeing CLINIA._)

ANTI. Ha! (_seeing him._)--Support me!

BACCH. Bless me, what now?

ANTI. I faint.

BACCH. Alas, poor soul!
What is't surprises you, Antiphila?

ANTI. Is't Clinia tha