ly make a Slave of mine?

[Exeunt.

SCENE III. _Frederick's_ Chamber.

Enter _Frederick_, and _Cloris_ finely dress'd.

_Fred._ 'Tis much methinks, a Boy of so dejected,
Humble Birth, should have so much of Sense
And Soul about him.

_Clo._ I know not that; but if I have a thought
Above that humble Birth or Education,
It was inspir'd by Love.

_Fred._ Still you raise my Wonder greater;
--Thou a Lover?

_Clo._ Yes, my Lord, though I am young,
I've felt the power of Beauty;
And should you look upon the Object, Sir,
Your Wonders soon would cease;
Each Look does even animate Insensibles,
And strikes a reverend Awe upon the Soul:
Nothing is found so lovely.

_Fred._ Thou speak'st prettily, I think Love
Indeed has inspir'd thee.

_Clo._ These were the Flatteries, Sir, she us'd to me;
Of her it was I learn'd to speak, and sigh,
And look, as oft you say, I do on you.

_Fred._ Why then, it seems she made returns?

_Clo._ Ah! Sir, 'twas I that first was blest,
I first the happy Object was belov'd;
For, 'twas a Person, Sir, so much above me,--
It had been Sin to've rais'd my Eyes to her;
Or by a glance, or sigh, betray my Pain.
But Oh! when with a thousand soft Expressions,
She did encourage me to speak of Love!
--My God! how soon extravagant I grew,
And told so oft the story of my Passion,
That she grew weary of the repeated Tale,
And punish'd my presumption with a strange neglect. [Weeps.

_Fred._ How, my good _Philibert_?

_Clo._ Would suffer me to see her Face no more.

_Fred._ That was pity; without a Fault?

_Clo._ Alas, Sir, I was guilty of no Crime,
But that of having told her how I lov'd her;
For all I had I sacrific'd to her;
--Poor worthless Treasures to any but a Lover;
And such you know accept the meanest things,
Which Love and a true Devotion do present.
When she was present, I found a thousand ways
To let her know how much I was her Slave;
And absent, still invented new ones,
And quite neglected all my little Business;
Counting the tedious Moments of the Day
By Sighs and Tears; thought it an Age to night,
Whose Darkness might secure our happy meeting:
But we shall meet no more on these kind Terms. [Sighs.

_Fred._ Come, do not weep, sweet Youth, thou art too young,
To have thy blooming Cheeks blasted with sorrow;
Thou wilt out-grow this childish Inclination,
And