University of Virginia Library

SCEN. 2.

Enter Princess, Phylena.
Prin.
That I had wings, Phylena; this revenge
Justice it self will follow.

Phyl.
Pray heaven, Madam, no designer
Has been before us.

Prin.
It is my fear.

Phyl.
But yet,
You may be confident of your father's temper,
Which does dispence Justice with deliberation
Besides your interest.

Prin.
Would we could learn what were become of him.
They still pursue him, sure; and heaven preserve
His noble life from an untimely fate.
How the State-rascalls too were pleased
With the suspition of a trecherous danger;
And grew as busie as a new wak't Fly,
At the first news of Summer.

Phyl.
There is a basenesse runs through all their veins,
And ranckles in their bloods, which to their children
Descends; a loath'd Inheritance.

Prin.
But who are these?

Enter Amione and Follower.
Phyl.
A very handsom person.

Prin.
Extreamly fair, I swear; she bends this way.

Amio.
Excellent Princesse—
[she kneels.
Pardon the rude griefs of a distressed Maid,
That throws her at your feet; for your clear eyes
(Which sends a comfort upon pleased beholders)
To see and pitty; you, that nature gave
Perfections above all; 'tis you alone
We must believe excells in goodnesse too.
Nothing that's ill can have so fair a dwelling.
You shall have still a Virgin's prayer,
That yours may ne're successlesse fly
To those above, that those fair blossoms
Never have cares for to disturb their calmnesse,
Or force a wrincle on those snowy plains;
But may the beauty of a peace within,
I reserve and equall those your outward lustres.

Prin.
Rise, pretty Maid, you should have ask'd and tri'd,
Whether at first I had been worth these prayers.
She must be very good that does deserve 'em.
See, Phylena, flowers, I swear,
she rises weeping
Receive not so much sweetnesse from fresh drops,
As she from those. Her grief adds to her sweetnesse.
What is it, gentle Maid, you would desire?
Promise your self, if I can help you in't.

Amio.
The gods reward you. Let me but blush,
And I will say, the act may too; he is too near
That I should tell you more. And yet, me-thinks,
He does deserve as much as I can say;
And his cause named to my poor heart,
Seems eloquence enough to move a pitty.
Pardon my disturbed passions.

Prin.
Nay, fairest Maid—
You injure me and your own hopes together,
To keep me in suspence: I would as willingly
Yield you my aid, as you could haste to ask it,
For the blest subject of your fair opinion.

Amio.
I do not doubt your goodnesse; pardon the throng
Of all my tedious griefs. Know then,
You best of Princesses, for sure his name
Has reach'd your ears, the unhappy Mironault,
That much deserv'd to live, is like to fall
By bloody and unworthy hands.

Prin.
O Phylena! I'me lost.
[aside.
In that beauty is all my comfort buried.

Phyl.
Madam, what do you mean?
Madam, for heaven's sake; why, Madam?

Prin.
I prethee let me go, thou art too cruell.
I shall enjoy peace undisturb'd hereafter.

Phyl.
But hear her out, and do but search the truth,
Then I will let you die. I would not for the world
Any should guesse the cause.

Prin.
Alas!

Phyl.
Why, if they do, they cann't condemn the grief.

Prin.
O Phylena, when Love has entred in the outward Forts,
Yet there is still a small reserve of Reason,
Which Love laughs at, rather than thinks it worth
His rage or storming; for he knows it must
Perish and starve, when the relief
Of all the nobler Faculties are kept out
By the insulting Conqueror, who contemns
All the attempts I fain would make against him.

Amio.
I see I am decreed to all misfortunes,
she speaks as no minded.
That I should now disturb you too, who, heaven knows,
I willingly would please. Why do you turn
Away your head? How often have I heard
His prayers sent to heaven for your joys,
That now denies to look upon his woes?
I'le kneel again, for in such a cause
It were impiety to rise successelesse.
Nothing but Seas and Winds are deaf to prayers,
And Beasts to mercy; who would expect
A hidden storm in undisturbed skies?
Or in that clearer breast a cruelty?
If you deny, I'le grow a fixed Monument,
Still to upbraid your rigour.

Prin.
O Phylena, why do you let me languish?
In her beauty dwells an undoing lustre.

Phyl.
What mean you, Madam? can you believe
The world can shew a subject for your jealousie?

Amio.
I see I grow a trouble, I durst have sworn
You had been more charitable. How often have I heard
The now unpittied Mironault affirm,
You were the treasure of this world's perfections;
And wondred any thing but your fair self
Should know what joys were. Perhaps you too
Believe as much, or else you could not think
All his unpittied miseries are just. Had Nature
Given you a Brother, and your early loves
Blest undisturb'd from Nature's fruitfull Cradle,
You would have begg'd—as now—
His hopelesse sister does.
But sure I should have pittied more.
And yet perhaps our interests makes us partiall:
Yes I could wish I had your power to try.

Phyl.
Now, Madam—

Prin.
Forgive me, gentle Maid; it was the power
Of thy told griefs that seiz'd my faculties,
And left me able to do nought but grieve.
Forgive the time I lost to share with thee:
You may forgive the injuries of kindnesse.
And though my self were witnesse to the action
Thy griefs made it a new afflicting story.
Each storm renews in Merchants minds
The story of the shipwrack. Nor do I blush
To avow this, since I must not lose
The justnesse of my breast, that does believe
His innocence above suspition.

Amio.
May heaven inspire you to wish well,
And grant your wishes too, you might have then,
Perhaps, a joy as great as he would have,
Did he but know you pitty him.

Prin.
In the performance then of what I say,
He will have more; which I so much wish him
That you shall witnesse all pursued with haste.
Nor shall you be a stranger longer to me.
Yet I shall blush, although I give you leave
To see the partiality: but more time
Now spent in grass or leaves, would be his injury.
And we may ruine, what we would relieve,
Should we without attempting succour grieve.

[Exeunt.