 | The Obstinate Lady |  |
Scena tertia.
Enter Antiphila sola reading.Would grace the Paphian Queen to weare;
Fit to tune Heavens Lute withall,
When the Gods for musick call;
Fit to make a vail to hide
Aurora's blush each morning tide;
Fit to compose a crafty gin
To take the hearts of lookers in;
Able to make the stubborn kind,
And (who dislike it) t'be judg'd blind:
Though it is soft and fine, it ties
My heart, that it in fetters lies.
It is a great I know not what. I have not Poetry
enough in me to give it a name. These Lovers
And t'were not for them I cannot tell what we
women should do. We desire nothing more then
to be praised, and their love to us will do it
beyond our wishes. I gave Philander upon
his long importunity a lock of hair, and see into
what a vein it has put him! I'me sorry he had it
not a week sooner, I should then perhaps a had
a Sonnet-book ere this: 'tis pitty wit should lie
obscurely in any, if a lock will give it vent. I love
him not; I shood rather choose his father, who is
as earnest a suitor to me as he: yet I know, because
of his age, very few Ladies wood be of my
mind; but as yet I care for neither of them.
Enter Philander.
Now I must expect an assault, 'tis in's ear already,
he's very fine.
Phi.
My dear Anniphila, you have receiv'd.
Anti.
Your verses (Sir?) I have.
Phi.
I am your true adorer for them Lady.
Wood your white hand had done me the honour it
did them!
Anti.
In what Sir you must explain.
Phi.
That a touch of your skin might have ravish'd
me into happiness.
Anti.
The Lock has alter'd your discourse, I wood
it had shut your mouth.
Phil.
Ther's no need of that (excellent Antiphila)
I wood rather deprive my self of my tongue, then
that any word of mine should be offensive unto
you
You relish too much of the Court.
Phi.
Polite words can never misbecome a speaker
who hath such a subject.
Anti.
Am I your subject? you have cal'd me
Mistress.
Phi.
You are my Saint Lady, and I must pray to you.
Anti.
Saints hear no prayers some say.
Phi.
Pray you shew otherwaies by granting mine.
Anti.
Have you any more papers?
Phi.
My mouth shall speak mine own errand.
Anti.
You must pardon me now Sir, I must leave
you.
Phi.
She yet is obstinate: but I am free
From doubt she will continue in that way;
There is no cause of fears in womens nayes,
For none of that sex means the thing she saies.
Enter Rosinda.
Now Tandorix! where's my father?
Ros.
Faith I know not Sir.
Phi.
You are one of the melancholiest servants he
keeps.
Ros.
It pleases you to say so Sir.
Phi.
They all report so of you.
Ros.
I cannot tell Sir.
Phi.
Y'are overlonely: be merrier, you shood put
your self into more companie, you should Tandorix;
I respect you for my mothers sake, for
whose last sad letter you was entertained here.
Ros.
I thank you (Sir) for your kindness.
Farwel Tandorix.
Exit Phy.
Ros.
My son perceives my sadness, but the cause
Deserves it fully; tis now above a year
Since I did write that I did drown my self,
And bare the Paper to my husband, when
I thought his memorie was somewhat lost,
And I inur'd unto this habit, drawn
To't by a fond desire to know if he
Would keep his promise to me, with which oathes
He oft hath made, that never (if he should
Survive me) he would take another wife;
But he (as other men) esteems no more
Of perjury then common breath; 'twere fit
That husbands vows upon the sands were writ.
Exit.
| The Obstinate Lady | |