University of Virginia Library

SCENE I.

Meleander discover'd in's Night-Gown.
Mele.
Night Clad in black, mourns for the loss of day,
And hides the Silver spangles of the Sky,
That not a spark is left to light the world,
Whilst quiet sleep the Nourisher of life,
Takes full possession on mortality.
All Creatures take their rest in soft repose,
No Spirit moves upon the breast of Earth,
But howling Dogs, night-Crows, and Screeching Owles,
Despairing Lovers, and Pale Meager Ghosts.
Enter Lattinius.
Lattinius here! why dost thou break thy rest?
This is an hour, wretches shou'd only wake.
Why weeps my pretty Boy?

Latt.
To see your Sorrow,
And think it is not in my Power to help you:
For by those Sacred Guardians over us,
I cannot think that dang'rous Enterprize,
I wou'd refuse to purchase your content.

Mele.
Alas! my sufferings are past thy redress,
But yet I thank thee for thy care and Love,
I doat on one, colder then Alpine Snow.
One that would rather dye to please my Rivall,
Then live the Empress of the World with me.
Is there a cure for this? O there is none;
For were there any pittying, God above
Touch'd with Commiseration of my grief,
And shou'd descend to plead in my behalf,
By Heav'n I think she wou'd with scorn receive him,—
Stand the Temptation of a Golden show'r,
And Jove himself in all his shapes unalter'd.

Latt.
Might I without offence declare my thoughts,
I'de have you cast your eyes on other beauties,
Search natures Store, and find some noble'r choice,
T'adorn your Nuptial bed.

Mel.
O if I cou'd,
Embrace thy Counsell I were truly happy;
But know I love, and dye for that dear Charmer,
And Cruell as she is, must still persist.
Another Choice! No 'tis impossible:
The rest of that fair Compar'd with her,
Wou'd seem like drossy mettalls to pure Gold.

Latt.
O dismal sound! in all this mighty Transport.
I find but little hopes for poor Statillia.
[Aside.
But yet my Lord—

Mel.
O talk no more Lattinius,
Unless thy words are praises of her beauty.
Describe each grace of the Divine Marcelia,
Let every thing thou utter'st sound her name,
And I will sit and listen to thy Musick,
As sweet as the Melodious Quires of Heav'n,
Or sure Salvation to departing Souls.

Latt.
Why should it be so sweet to hear the name,
Of one whose Pride is to be your Tormentor,
Who is the Cause of all your sighs, Marcelia?
Who is't that makes you curse your fate? Marcelia;
Who is it that unmans you but Marcelia?
Who is't that pays your constant love with scorn?
Who is't that doats on Ithocles, your Rivall?
Marcelia still, whose very name is Musick,
Sweeter then the Melodious quires of Heav'n,
Marcelia is the cause—

Mel.
No more I charge you.
For your Officious love grows troublesome,
Away, begone, and leave me to my thoughts.
Still art thou here?

Latt.
Alas! I cannot leave you:
Upon my knees I beg if you e're lov'd,
Forgive my forward Zeal, and let me serve you.
I'le to this Cruell woman, tell her all:
Describe each Pang that tears your Love-sick heart,
Count o're the hours you wast in sad Complaints;
If she was nurs'd by any thing but Tygers,
I doubt not but to move Compassion in her.
Try me my Lord—

Mel.
Alas! 'twill be in vain.
She's Colder then the North, Impenitrable
As Rocks of Adamant, and scarce will hear
A message sent from me.

Latt.
Fear not my Lord.

Mel.
O I have wondrous reason.
But since I find thou wou'dst fain do me service,
For once I will Imploy thee; tell her then,
If Possible, each sigh thou'st heard me utter;
How much above the world I prize her Love:
Tell her what dangers I wou'd undertake,
To Gain one smile from her: wilt thou do this?

Latt.
Indeed my Lord I will.

Mel.
My better self,
But see the morning-Star breaks from the East,
To tell the world her great Eye is awak'd,
To take his Journey to the western Vales.
And now the Court begins to rise with him,
Go to her then my faithfull dear Lattinius,
Lay if thou canst my Dying Groans before her,
And Bath her feet with tears to move her Soul.

Latt.
I will do all that lies within my Power.

Mel.
Farewell my Pretty Boy, and some kind Angell,
Instruct thee with the means to gain her Pitty,
[Exit Mele.

Latt.
O misery! was ever fate like mine!
To Languish for the love of that dear man,
Whose heart alass is Conquer'd by another?
The rest—
Of my more prosperous Sex compared with me,
Are Goddesses, in Glitt'ring Chariots ride
And make their Lovers vassals to their Pride,
But I, poor I, seek mine, and am deny'd.

[Exit