 | The Broken Heart |  |
Scæne 3.
Enter Tecnicus a Philosopher, and Orgilus disguised like a Scholler of his.Tecn.
Tempt not the Stars (young man) thou canst not play
With the seuerity of Fate: this change
Of habit, and disguise in outward view,
Hides not the secrets of thy soule within thee,
From their quicke-piercing eyes, which dive at all times
Downe to thy thoughts: in thy aspect I note
A consequence of danger.
Org.
Giue me leaue
(Graue Tecnicus) without fore-dooming destiny,
Vnder thy roofe to ease my silent griefes,
By applying to my hidden wounds, the balme
Of thy Oraculous Lectures: if my fortune
Run such a crooked by-way, as to wrest
My steps to ruine, yet thy learned precepts
Shall call me backe, and set my footings streight:
I will not court the world.
Tecn.
Ah Orgilus,
Neglects in young men of delights, and life,
Run often to extremities; they care not
For harmes to others, who contemne their owne.
Org.
But I (most learned Artist) am not so much
At ods with Nature, that I grutch the thrift
Of any true deseruer: nor doth malice
Of present hopes, so checke them with despaire,
As that I yeeld to thought of more affliction
Impute not this retired course of liuing
Some little time, to any other cause
Then what I iustly render: the information
Of an vnsetled minde, as the effect
Must clearely witnesse.
Tecn.
Spirit of truth inspire thee.
On these conditions I conceale thy change,
And willingly admit thee for an Auditor.
I'le to my study.
Org.
I to contemplations:
In these delightfull walkes—thus metamorphiz'd,
I may without suspition hearken after
Pentheas vsage, and Euphranias faith:
Loue! thou art full of mystery: the Deities
Themselues are not secure, in searching out
The secrets of those flames, which hidden wast
A breast, made tributary to the Lawes
Of beauty; Physicke yet hath neuer found
A remedy, to cure a Louers wound.
Ha? who are those that crosse yon priuate walke
Into the shadowing groue, in amorous foldings?
Prophilus passeth ouer, supporting
Euphrania, and whispering.
My Sister; ô my Sister? 'tis Euphrania
With Prophilus, supported too; I would
It were an Apparition; Prophilus
Is Ithocles his friend: It strangely pusles me:
Againe? helpe me my booke; this Schollers habit
Must stand my priuilege, my mind is busie,
Mine eyes, and eares are open.
walke by reading.
Enter againe Prophilus and Euphrania.
Proph.
Doe not wast
The span of this stolne time (lent by the gods
For precious vse) in nicenesse! Bright Euphrania,
Should I repeat old vowes, or study new,
For purchase of beleefe to my desires—
Org.
Desires?
Proph.
My seruice, my integrity—
Org.
That's better.
Proph.
I should but repeat a lesson
My Loue is honourable—
Org.
So was mine
To my Penthea: chastly honourable.
Proph.
Nor wants there more addition to my wish
Of happinesse, then hauing thee a wife,
Already sure of Ithocles a friend,
Firme, and vn-alterable.
Org.
But a brother
More cruell then the graue.
Euphr.
What can you looke for
In answer to your noble protestations,
From an vnskilfull mayd, but language suited
To a diuided minde?
Org.
Hold out Euphrania.
Euphr.
Know Prophilus, I neuer vnder-valued
(From the first time you mentioned worthy loue)
Your merit, meanes, or person: It had beene
A fault of iudgement in me, and a dulnesse
In my affections, not to weigh and thanke
My better Starres, that offered me the grace
Of so much blisfulnesse. For to speake truth,
The law of my desires kept equall pace
With yours, nor haue I left that resolution;
But onely in a word, what-euer choyce
Liues nearest in my heart, must first procure
Consent, both from my father, and my brother,
E're he can owne me his.
Org.
She is forsworne else.
Proph.
Leaue me that taske.
Euphr.
My brother e're he parted
To Athens, had my oath.
Org.
Yes, yes, 'a had sure.
Proph.
I doubt not with the meanes the Court supplies,
But to preuaile at pleasure.
Org.
Very likely.
Proph.
Meane time, best, dearest, I may build my hopes
On the foundation of thy constant suffrance
In any opposition.
Euphr.
Death shall sooner
Diuorce life, and the ioyes I haue in liuing,
Then my chast vowes from truth.
Proph.
On thy faire hand
I seale the like.
Org.
There is no faith in woman—
Passion? ô be contain'd: my very heart strings
Are on the Tenters.
Euphr.
Sir, we are over-heard;
Cupid protect vs: 'twas a stirring (Sir)
Proph.
Your feares are needlesse, Lady;
None haue accesse into these priuate pleasures,
Except some neere in Court, or bosome Student
From Tecnicus his Oratory; granted
By speciall fauour lately from the King
Vnto the graue Philosopher.
Euphr.
Me thinkes
I heare one talking to himselfe: I see him.
Proph.
'Tis a poore Scholler, as I told you Lady.
Org.
I am discouered—Say it: is it possible
With a smooth tongue, a leering countenance,
Flattery, or force of reason (—I come t'ee Sir)
To turne, or to appease the raging Sea?
Answer to that,—your Art? what Art to catch
And hold fast in a net the Sunnes small Atomes?
No, no; they'll out, they'll out; ye may as easily
Out-run a Cloud, driuen by a Northerne blast,
As fiddle faddle so. Peace, or speake sense.
Euphr.
Call you this thing a Scholler? 'las hee's lunaticke.
Proph.
Obserue him (sweet) 'tis but his recreation.
Org.
But will you heare a little! you are so teatchy,
You keepe no rule in argumeut; Philosophy
Workes not vpon impossibilities,
But naturall conclusions.—Mew?—absurd;
The metaphisicks are but speculations
Of the celestiall bodies, or such accidents
As not mixt perfectly, in the Ayre ingendred,
Appeare to vs vnnaturall; that's all.
Proue it;—yet with a reuerence to your grauity,
I'le baulke illiterate sawcinesse, submitting
My sole opinion to the touch of writers.
Proph.
Now let vs fall in with him.
Org.
Ha ha ha.
These Apish boyes, when they but tast the Grammates,
And principals of Theory, imagine
They can oppose their teachers Confidence
Leads many into errors.
Proph.
By your leaue Sir.
Euphr.
Are you a Scholler (friend?)
Org.
I am (gay creature)
With pardon of your Deities, a mushrome.
The Sunne shines on me too, I thanke his beames,
Sometime I feele their warmth; and eat, and sleepe.
Proph.
Does Tecnicus read to thee?
Org.
Yes forsooth,
He is my master surely, yonder dore
Opens vpon his Study.
Proph.
Happy creatures;
Such people toyle not (sweet) in heats of State,
Nor sinke in thawes of greatnesse: Their affections
Keepe order with the limits of their modesty:
Their loue is loue of vertue.—What's thy name?
Org.
Aplotes (sumptuous master) a poore wretch.
Euphr.
Dost thou want any thing?
Org.
Books (Venus) books.
Proph.
Lady, a new conceit comes in my thought,
And most auaileable for both our comforts.
Euphr.
My Lord.—
Proph.
Whiles I endeuour to deserue
Your fathers blessing to our loues, this Scholler
May daily at some certaine houres attend,
What notice I can write of my successe,
Here in this groue, and giue it to your hands:
The like from you to me; so can we neuer,
Barr'd of our mutuall speech, want sure intelligence;
And thus our hearts may talke when our tongues cannot.
Euphr.
Occasion is most fauourable, vse it.
Proph.
Aplotes, wilt thou wait vs twice a day;
At nine i'th morning, and at foure at night,
Here in this Bower, to conuey such letters
As each shall send to other? Doe it willingly,
Safely, and secretly, and I will furnish
Thy Study, or what else thou canst desire.
Org.
Ioue make me thankfull, thankfull, I beseech thee
Propitious Ioue, I will proue sure and trusty.
You will not faile me bookes.
Proph.
Nor ought besides
Thy heart can wish. This Ladies name's Euphranea,
Mine Prophilus.
Org.
I haue a pretty memory,
It must proue my best friend.—I will not misse
One minute of the houres appointed.
Proph.
Write
The bookes thou wouldst haue bought thee in a note,
Org.
No, no money:
Money to Schollers is a spirit inuisible,
We dare not finger it; or bookes, or nothing.
Proph.
Bookes of what sort thou wilt: doe not forget
Our names.
Org.
I warrant 'ee, I warrant 'ee.
Proph.
Smile Hymen on the grouth of our desires,
Wee'll feed thy torches with eternall fires.
Exeunt, manet Org.
Org.
Put out thy Torches Hymen, or their light
Shall meet a darkenesse of eternall night.
Inspire me Mercury with swift deceits;
Ingenious Fate has lept into mine armes,
Beyond the compasse of my braine.—Mortality
Creeps on the dung of earth, and cannot reach
The riddles, which are purpos'd by the gods.
Great Arts best write themselues in their owne stories,
They dye too basely, who out-liue their glories.
Exit.
| The Broken Heart | |