 | A Fine Companion |  |
Scena I.
Aurelio, Valeria.Aur.
Tis true indeed, our loue is like our life,
There's no man blest in either, till his end.
And he whom Fate points to that happinesse,
A thousand passions mocke his doubtfull hopes,
Till Vertue that can never be extinct,
Shall rise aboue their rage, and call downe Hymen,
Attended with as many severall ioyes,
To triumph in the circle of our brow.
Val.
But that the fatall vnion of our hearts,
Should breed such issues of extremity,
In both our fortunes, yet the greatest griefe
I feele, is in your wrongs, not in my owne.
Aur.
Nere thinke of it; what though my father made me
A stranger to his loynes, and cut me off
From my inheritance, because he thought me
A rivall in his loue, that fatall loue
Whose jealousie prevayl'd so in a Woer,
That it kild all affection in a father.
These ill begotten thoughts he still maintayn'd,
And cherisht to his death, whose period
Of life, was the beginning of my mischiefe:
For he gaue all the land unto my brother.
One lesse deserving, would I could report
That he had any worth, his il wrought mind,
Too apt for the impression of all vice,
As if he were to striue with his estate,
And had no other Enemy, would make
A conquest of his ruine. So negligent
Of what his father wrongfully bereft me,
That he spends all in ryot, and so vainely,
As if hee meant to throw it after him.
Too weake to sustaine, or prevent his fall,
But no solidity of mind or judgement.
And now imagines he can salue it up,
By being stil'd, A Fine Companion.
Let that intitle him to all my right,
Whilst I secure in my imputed crime,
Thinke thee a better portion; all my fault
Was honesty, and true affection.
Val.
And those still envious fate insults upon.
But we will liue together, and what ere
Shall interpose to poyson our true loue,
Still triumph o're their malice.
Aur.
Deare Valeria,
Had fortune pleas'd to place me in that meanes
My birth assur'd me, we had spent our life
Luld in the lap of peace, our dayes had runne
Smooth as the feet of time, free from all tumults.
Val.
And why not still?
Aur.
It may doe so, but I
Haue not a fortune equall to your vertues,
And to support the title of your worth.
Val.
My mind was never yet ambitious.
And there is nothing but your company,
Can satisfie, or limit my desires.
Aur.
I loue you better then to iniure you.
I will resigne you to some richer heire,
Whose heapes of wealth left by his greedy father,
Vntoucht as is your goodnesse, may advance you,
And make you happy, thinke on't, be not cruell
To your owne selfe.
Aur.
Oh how haue I deserv'd that you should thinke
So ill of me? you may divorce the Iuy,
The Vine from her embraces, me you can not.
Where is the care you wont to haue of me?
What is my fault? you can be well without me,
And I shall please you best when I am absent.
Aur.
Nay my Valeria doe not weepe so sore,
Thy griefe adds more to mine, it is enough
I part from thee, my heart with drops of blood,
This treasure of thine eyes, if spent for those,
That lye unterr'd, wanting their funerall rites,
And restlesse walke upon the Stygian strand,
So long as fate has limited their curse,
Would send them over to Elisium.
One grain of that same griefe which clogs her heart,
Would lye in ballance 'gainst the vniuerse.
The ioy and happinesse of all mankind,
Are given to me in her, and she was borne,
T'upbrayd the world, and tell them they are false.
Val.
What shall I doe when you are ravisht from me?
Could Portia rather swallow glowing coles,
Then burne with a desire of her lost Brutus?
Shall the example of those times descend
To shame my loue? Could the Ægyptian Queene,
Rather endure the poynant stings of Adders,
Then that of death which wounded Antony?
And must I then surviue you? can I liue,
When you that are my soule are taken from me?
Oh tis not now as when Penelope
Could stay ten yeares the comming of her loue,
And span a tedious web of foolish thoughts,
In expectation.
Aur.
Faith that fled to heaven,
And truth, that after once mens hearts grew cold,
Would goe no longer naked, now againe
Are come to dwell with mortals. Here's a woman,
In whose comparison all wealth is sordid.
And since she proues so constant, fate it selfe
Shall not be blam'd for me that I forsooke her.
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