 | The Princess of Cleve |  |
SCENE III.
The Prince of Cleve's Palace. Musick.SONG.
[I.]
In a Room for Delight, the Landskip of Love,Like a shady old Lawn
With the Curtains half drawn,
My Love and I lay, in the cool of the day,
Till our Joyes did remove.
II.
So fierce was our Fight, and so smart e'ry stroak,That Love the little Scout
Was put to the Rout;
His Bow was unbent, e'ry Arrow was spent,
And his Quiver all broke.
Enter Vidam, Nemours.
Nem.
I have lost my Letter, and by your Description
It must be that which the Queen read at Court.
But are you sure the Princess of Cleve has seen it?
Vid.
Why are you so concern'd, does your wild Love
Turn that way too—She is too Grave.
Nem.
Too Grave, as if I cou'd not laugh with this, and try
with that, and veer with every gust of Passion—But has she seen it?
Vid.
She has the Letter, the Queen Dauphin sent it her.
Nem.
Then you must own it on occasion, and whatever else I
shall put upon your Person—
Vid.
Why?
Nem.
Lest it shou'd reach the Ears of Marguerite,
For, Oh my Vidam! 'tis such a ranting Devil,
If she believes this Letter mine, when next
We meet, beware my Locks and Eyes—No more,
But this remember that, you own it.
[Exit.
Enter St. Andre and Poltrot.
St. A.
His Bow was unbent, &c.
[Singing with Poltrot.
Come, my Lord, we'll have all over agen.
11
Vid.
See, we have rais'd the Prince of Cleve:
My Lord, good Morrow—
P. C.
Good morrow my good Lord—Save you my dear Nemours!
Pol.
Give you Joy my Lord: What a little blew under the Eyes,
Ha, Ha—
St. A.
Give you Joy my Lord: Ha, my Lord, Ha.
[Holds up 3 Fing.
Pol.
Ha, my Lord, Ha—
[Holding up five Fingers.
P. C.
You are merry Gentlemen—I am not in the vein,
Therefore, Dear Chartres, take these Fingers hence.
St. A.
My Lord, you look a little heavy, shall we Dance, Sing,
Fence, take the Air, Ride—
Vid.
Come away Sir, the Prince is indispos'd.
St. A.
Gad I remember now I talk of riding, at the Tournament
of Mete, as I was riding the great Horse—
Vid.
Leave off your Lying, and come along.
St. A.
With three pushes of Pike, and six hits of Sword, I
wounded the Duke of Ferrara, Duke of Millain, Duke of Parma,
Prince of Cleve—
P. C.
My Lord, I was not there—
St. A.
My Lord—I beg your Lordships pardon, I meant the
Vidam of Chartres.
Vid.
You Lye, I was then at Rome.
St. A.
My Lord—
Pol.
Ha, Ha—Lord, Lord, how this World is given to Lying!
Ha—Come, come, you're damnably out, come away.
St. A.
My Lord, I beg your pardon, I see you are indispos'd,
besides the Queen oblig'd me this Morning to let 'em choose
Colours for my Complexion—
Vid.
Heark you, will you go or shall I—
[Pulling him off by the Nose.
St. A.
My Friend, my Lord you see, is a little Familiar, but I
am ever your Highness's most humble faithful obedient Servant.
[Exeunt.
Manet P. Cleve.
Full of himself, the happy Man is gone;
Why was not I too cast in such a Mould?
To think like him, or not to think at all.
12
Had he a Bride like me, Earth wou'd not bear him:
But Oh I wish that it might cover me!
Since Chartres cannot love me: Oh I found it!
Last night I found it in her cold Embraces;
Her Lips too cold—Cold as the Dew of Death:
And still whene'er I prest her in my arms,
I found my Bosom all afloat with Tears.
Princess C.
He weeps, O Heaven! my Lord—the Prince of Cleve.
P. C.
My Life, my Dearest part!
Princess C.
Why Sighs my Lord?
What have I done Sir, thus to discompose you?
P. C.
Nothing.
Princess C.
Ah Sir, there is a Grief within,
And you wou'd hide it from me.
P. C.
Nothing my Chartres, nothing here but Love.
Princess C.
Alas, my Lord, you hide that Secret from me,
Which I must know or think you never lov'd me.
P. C.
Ah Princess! that you lov'd but half so well!
Princess C.
I have it then, you think me Criminal,
And tax my Honour—
P. C.
Oh forbid it Heaven—
But since you press me Madam, let me ask you,
Why when the Princess led you to the Altar,
Why cak'd the Tears upon your Bloodless Face?
Why sigh'd you when your hand was clasp'd with mine?
As if your Heart, your Heart refus'd to joyn.
Princess C.
Ah Sir—
P. C.
Behold, you're dash'd with the remembrance;
Why when my Hopes were fierce, and Joys grew strong,
Why were you carri'd like a Coarse along?
When like a Victim by my side you lay,
Why did you Gasp, why did you Swoon away?
O speak—
You have a Soul so open and so clear,
That if there be a Fault it must appear.
Princess C.
Alas you are not skill'd in Beauties cares,
For Oh! when once the god his Wrath declares;
13
To make its passage thro the Virgins Heart:
She hides her Wound, and hasting to the Grove,
Scarce whisp'ring to the Winds her conscious Love.
The touch of him she loves she'll not endure,
But Weeps and Bleeds, and strives against the Cure:
So judge of me when any Grief appears,
Believe my Sighs are kind, and trust my Tears.
P. C.
Vanish my Doubts, and Jealousies be gon—
On thy lov'd Bosom let me break my Joy,
O only Sweets that Fill, but never Cloy:
And was it, was it only Virgins fear?
But speak for ever and I'll ever hear.
Repeat, and let the Ecchoes deal it round,
While list'ning Angels bend to catch the Sound;
Nay, Sigh and Weep, drain all thy precious Store,
Be kind, as now, and I'll complain no more.
[Exit.
Princess C.
Was ever Man so worthy to be lov'd,
So good, so gentle, soft a Disposition,
As if no Gaul had mixt with his Creation:
So tender and so fearful to displease,
No barbarous Heart but thine wou'd stop his entrance;
But thou Inhumane banisht him from his own.
And while the Lordly Master lyes without,
[Enter Iren.
Thou Trait'ress, Riotests with a Thief within.
Iren.
Ah Madam, what new Grief!
Princess C.
Alass Iren,
Thou Treasurer of my thoughts—
What shall I do? how shall I chase Nemours,
That Robber, Ravisher of my Repose?
Iren.
For the great care you wish, may I enquire
Whether you think the Duke insensible,
Indifferent to the rest of Woman-kind?
Princess C.
I must confess I did not think him so
Tho now I do—But wou'd give half my Blood
To think him otherwise—
Iren.
Without the Expense,
There take your wish,—a Letter which he dropt
14
By her Page, and sent to you to read for your Diversion.
Princess C.
Alas! Iren—
Why trembles thus my Hand, why beats my Heart?
But let us Read—
Reads—
Your affection has been divided betwixt me and another, you
are False—a Traytor to the truest Love—never see me more—
Princess C.
Ah 'tis too plain, I thought as much before; but Oh!
we are too apt to excuse the faults of those we love, and fond of
our own undoing.
This stab to all my gather'd Resolution.
Iren.
Read it agen, and call Revenge to aid you.
Princess C.
Perhaps he makes his boast too of the Conquest,
For Oh! my Heart he knows too well, my Passion—
But as thou hast inspir'd me, I'll revenge
The Affront, and cast him from my Poyson'd Breast,
To make him room that merits all my thoughts.
Enter the Prince of Cleve with Nemours.
P. C.
Madam there is a Letter fall'n by accident into your
hands—my Friend comes in behalf of the Vidam of Chartres to
retrieve it, when I am dismiss'd from the King my Lord, I'll wait
you here again.
Nem.
My Lord—
P. C.
Not a step further.
[Exit. P. C.
Nem.
Madam, I come most humbly to enquire, whether the
Dauphin Queen sent you a Letter which the Vidam lost?
Princess C.
Sir, you had better
Find the Queen Dauphin out, tell her the truth,
For she's inform'd the Letter is your own.
Nem.
Ah Madam! I have nothing to confess
In this Affair—or if I had, believe me,
Believe these Sighs that will not be kept in,
I shou'd not tell it to the Dauphin Queen.
But to the purpose; Know my Lord of Chartres
Receiv'd the Note you saw, from Madam Tournon,
A former Mistress—But the Secret's this—
15
Princess C.
I thought the King intended her for Savoy.
Nem.
True Madam, but the Vidam is belov'd;
In short, he dropt the Letter, and desir'd,
For fear of her he loves, that I wou'd own it;
I promis'd too to trace the Business for him,
And if 'twere possible, regain the Letter.
Princess C.
The Vidam then has shewn but small Discretion,
Being engag'd so high—
Why did he not burn the Letter?
Nem.
But Madam, shall I dare presume to say,
'Tis hard to be in Love and to be wise?
Oh did you know like him—like him! Like me,
What 'tis to languish in those restless Fires.
Princess C.
Iren, Iren, restore the Duke his Letter.
[Enter Iren.
Nem.
Madam, You've bound me ever to your Service,
But I'll retire and study to repay,
If ought but death can quit the Obligation.
[Exit.
Princess C.
O 'tis too much, I'm lost, I'm lost agen—
The Duke has clear'd himself, to the confusion
Of all my settl'd Rage, and vow'd Revenge;
And now he shews more lovely than before:
He comes agen to wake my sleeping Passion,
To rouze me into Torture; O the Racks
Of hopeless Love! it shoots, it glows, it burns,
And thou alas! shalt shortly close my Eyes.
Iren.
Alas! you're pale already.
Princess C.
Oh Iren—
Methinks I see Fate set two Bowls before me,
Poyson and Health, a Husband and Nemours;
But see with what a whirl my Passions move,
I loath the Cordial of my Husband's Love;
But when Nemours my Fancy does recal,
The Bane's so sweet that I cou'd drink it all.
| The Princess of Cleve | |