 | The Queen of Corsica |  |
Scena 6a.
Florimond Calidor. Diocles. Captaine. Beotto:Flor.
What does that ffoole doe here?
Beot.
I They are Fooles with you that would be
Kings; but I would you would not robbe mee of
my Right
Flor.
Away wt h him.
Dio.
Begon be gonne.
Beotto.
Well; there are Gods aboue.
Cal.
What strange ffellowe's this?
Flor.
A ffrantique yt sharkes here about ye Court.
Hee Came to th'Lords at Death of ye Queen's ffather
13
And swore hee had Reuelation from the Gods
To Demand the Crowne, as his Right, wt h such Whimseyes
As but make him to the Court Ridiculous,
And soe hee passeth. But, My noble ffriend,
I must not wast my Breath, for I shall want
To pay my Thankes to Heauen. To Morrow Calidor
Thou must waite on the Nuptialls of the Queene;
My Hopes are Answerd, ffrend, & Secretly,
With next Sunne, I shall wedd her, in her Clossett.
Cal.
I wonder at yor ffather tho
Flor.
O ffriend,
My ffate has broke his Plottes what ere they be
And the blest Morne shall see mee Court a Bride
As faire as his Owne Mistrisse
Cal.
Hymen be there,
And all his Blessings; May you teach Uenus Ioyes,
And Chaine Peace Captiue euer to yor Land.
Flor.
Putt off thy Wounds to Morrow; Thou shalt dance
And in the Cradle of Her blessed Chinne
Lay all thy Greifes asleepe. Come quickly Morne,
Or else my Ioyes will turne mee into Ayre;
O Calidor! Is shee not Sweet? All Goodnesse?
All Heauen? All Delight? Gods be not Wrath,
If I forget my Orizons to Night
In Dreaming of her face.
Cal.
You doe Oblige 'em
To showre downe Blessings on you; Be you happie,
And if your Fortune Call to Draw a Sword
I haue an Arme, & One I hope will Cutt.
Flor.
I thanke thee ffriend, & what this Honor Drawes
Along with it, is thine—But I would doe,
And not talke Much.
| The Queen of Corsica | |