Totenham Covrt A pleasant comedie |
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 | Totenham Covrt |  |
Scœn. 1.
Enter Worthgood and Bellamie, as travailing together before day.Worthgood.
Come, my Delight; let not such painted griefes
Presse downe thy soule: the darknesse but presents
Shadowes of feare, which should secure us best From danger of pursuit.
Bella.
Would it were day:
My apprehension is so full of horrour,
I thinke each sound the ayre's light motion
Makes in these thickets, is my Vncles voyce,
Threatning our ruines.
Worth.
Let his rage persist
To enterprise a vengeance; wee'l prevent it.
Wrap't in the armes of night (that favours Lovers)
We hitherto have scap'd his eager search,
And are arriv'd neere London. Sure I heare
The Bridges Catarracts, and such like murmures
As night and sleepe yeeld from a populous number.
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But when will it be day? the light hath comfort:
Our first of usefull senses being lost,
The rest are lesse delighted.
Worth.
Th'early Cocke
Hath sung his summons to the dayes approach:
'Twill instantly appeare. Why, startled Bellamie!
Bella.
Did no amazing sounds arrive your eare?
Pray listen.
Worth.
Come, come; 'Tis thy feare suggest's
Illusive fancies: under Loves protection
We may presume of safetie.
Within.
Follow, follow, follow.
She startles from him.
Bel.
Ay me, 'tis sure mine Vncle. Deare Love. Worthgood.
Wor.
Astonishment gath seiz'd my faculties.
My Love, my Bellamie. Ha!
Bella.
Dost thou forsake me Worthgood?
Exit, as loosing him.
Worth,
Where's my Love?
Dart from thy silver Crescent one faire beame
Through this black ayre thou Governesse of night,
To shew me whither she is led by feare.
Thou envious darknesse to assist us hither,
And now prove fatall.
Within.
Follow, follow, follow.
Worth.
Silence your noyse, ye clamorous ministers
Of this injustice. Bellamie is lost;
Shee's lost to me. Nor her fierce Vncles rage
Who whets your eagre aptnes to pursue me
With threats or promises; nor his painted terrors
Of lawes severity, could ever worke
Vpon the temper of my resolute soule,
To soften't into feare, till she was lost:
Hollow within.
Not all th'illusive horrors which the night
Presents unto th'imagination
T'affright a guilty conscience, could possesse me,
Whilst I possest my Love: the dismall shrieks
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Whilst her soft palme warm'd mine, were musicke to me.
And were this hand but once more clasp't in hers,
This should resist th'assault, inspir'd by love
With more then humane vigour.
Within.
Follow, follow, follow.
Worth.
Their light appeare's. No safety doth consist
In passion or complaints. Night, let thine armes
Againe receive me; and if no kinde minister
Of better fate guide me to Bellamie;
Be thou eternall.
Within.
Follow, follow, follow.
| Totenham Covrt | |