University of Virginia Library

Scæne 2.

Enter Shamont.
Sham.
This is a beautifull life now; privacie
The sweetnesse and the benefit of essence:
I see there is no man, but may make his paradice;
And it is nothing, but his love, and dotage
Upon the worlds fowle joyes, that keeps him out on't:
For he that lives retir'd in minde, and spirit,
Is still in paradice, and has his innocence,
Partly allow'd for his companion too,
As much as stands with justice: here no eyes
Shoot their sharp pointed scornes upon my shame;
They know no termes of reputation here,
No punctuall limits, or precise dimensions;
Plaine downe-right honestie is all the beauty
And elegancy of life found amongst shepheards;
For knowing nothing nicely, or desiring it,
Quits many a vexation from the minde,
With which our quainter knowledge does abuse us;
The name of envy is a stranger here,
That dries mens blouds abroad, robs health and rest,
Why here's no such fury thought on: no, nor falsehood,
That brotherly disease, fellow-like devill,
That plaies within our bosome, and betrayes us.

Enter 1 Gent.
1 Gen.
Oh are you here?

Sham.
La Nove, 'tis strange to see thee.

1 Gen.
I ha' rid one horse to death,
To finde you out, sir.

Sham.
I am not to be found of any man
That saw my shame, nor seen long.

1 Gen.
Good, your attention:
You ought to be seen now, and found out sir,
If ever you desire before your ending
To performe one good office, nay a deare one,
Mans time can hardly match it.

Sham.
Bee't as pretious
As reputation; if it come from Court
I will not heare on't.

1 Gen.
You must heare of this, Sir.

Sham.
Must?

1 Gen.
You shall heare it.

Sham.
I love thee, that thoul't dye.

1 Gen.
'Twere nobler in me,
Then in you living: you will live a murderer,
If you deny this office.

Sha.
Ev'n to death sir.

1 Gen.
Why then you'l kill your brother.

Sham.
How?

1 Gent.
Your Brother sir:
Beare witnesse heaven, this man destroyes his brother
When he may save him, his least breath may save him:
Can there be wilfuller destruction?
He was forc'd to take a most unmanly wrong,
Above the suff'ring vertue of a Soldier,
Has kill'd his Injurer, a work of honour;
For which, unlesse you save him, he dyes speedily
My conscience is discharg'd, I'me but a friend,
A Brother should goe forward where I end.

Exit.
Sham.
Dyes?
Say he be naught, that's nothing to my goodnesse,
Which ought to shine through use, or else it loses
The glorious name 'tis knowne by: hee's my brother;
Yet peace is above bloud: Let him goe; I,
But where's the noblenesse of affection then?
That must be car'd for too, or I'me imperfect,
The same bloud that stood up in wrath against him,
Now in his miserie runs all to pity;
I'de rather dye than speak one sillable
To save my selfe: but living as I am,
There's no avoiding on't, the worlds humanity
Expects it hourely from me: curse of fortune,
I took my leave so well too: Let him dye,
'Tis but a brother lost; so pleasingly,
And swiftly I came off, 'twere more then irksomnesse,
To tread that path agen; and I shall never
Depart so handsomly: But then where's posterity?
The consummation of our house and name?
I'me torne in pieces betwixt love and shame.

Exit.