University of Virginia Library

Scena 2.

Borgias solus.
Borg.
A a Pollititian Proteus-like must alter
His face and habit, and like water seeme
Of the same colour that the vessell is
That doth containe it, varying his forme
With the Cameleon at each obiects change,
Twice like a Serpent haue I cast my skin,
Once when with mourning sighs I wept for Iulia,
And made the two Dukes weepe for Iulia,
That coat is cast: now like an Amorist,
I come in louing tearmes to court my Iulia,
And seeme a louer, but of all shapes
This sits me worst: whose constellation
Stampt in my rugged brow the signes of death,
Enuy and ruine: strong Antipathyes
Gainst loue and pleasure: yet must my tongue
with passionate oathes and protestations,
With sighes, smooth glances, and officious tearmes,
Spread artificiall mists before the eies
Of credulous simplicity: he that will be high,
Must be a Parasite, to fawne and lye.
Enter Amada.
Amada.

Ama.
Your pleasure.

Borg.
How stand your thoughts affected to the marriage
I lately did acquaint you with, are you resolu'd?

Ama.
I am: Rather to dye then liue to see that houre

aside.
Borg.
I would see Iulia, pray her company?

Ama.
I will.
Exit Amada.

Enter Mulleasses.
Borg.
Your presence is most welcome:

Mull.
What businesse of import?

Borg.
Nought for the instant but a wooing sceane,
Prepare your wit my Lord to fight with words.
The Champions straight approach, but two to two.

Enter Iulia and Amada.
Borgias courts Iulia, and Mulleasses Amada, glancing his eye on Iulia.
Mull.
My lou'd deere Lady.

Borg.
Beauteous Madam.

Mull.
Faire as the morning.

Borg.
Be as thy beauty seemes, propitious, louing:

Mull.
Attractiue Sunshine: all affections mouing.

Borg.
More then a subiect, and more humbly bent.

Iul.
How supple seemes ambition? Vncle y'ar too low:

Mull.
Deuinest faire to whome all hearts should bow.

Ama.
Fit attributes for heauen: my Lord, my feature
Is but earthmould, the weake frame of nature.

Mull.
Yet grac't with heauenly vertue, it seemes deuine

Borg.
I know your lights aboue me, yet let it shine
Like the daies beauty on the lowly plaines.

Iuli.
Subiects are no fit loues for Soueraignes.

Borg.
High comets from the earth draw vp then nurture.

Iul.
Yet from the Sunne true starres haue all their lustre.

Mull.
True starre on earth:

Ama.
You flatter, pray 'forbeare.

Borg.
Loue Madam is importunate, you must heare:
Your nicenesse makes me be abrupt: I loue
And must enioy you.

Mull.
Hell to my loue: Borgias I'le preuent you.

Iul.
I must be plaine: loue you me my Lord?

Borg.
I by that power that made me.

Iuli.
Restore then that, that you haue robd me of,
My honor and my life: for I am dead,
So thought of in the world: giue me what I am:
Returne the title due vnto my birth
Dutchesse of Florence, and thy Soueraigne.
Make me as free as I was borne, and giue my loue
The liberty of nature: then shall I beleeue
And thinke you loue me.

Borg.
I will restore your honors and your life,
I will returne the duties of your birth:
Dutchesse of Florence and my Soueraigne,
The Soueraigne of my heart: and kneele to you,
And make my thoughts as humble as my knees:
See: I am not ambitious, tis not a crowne
The gorgeous title of a Soueraigne,
Makes me so euil in your thoughts: the poize of loue
Whome some terme light, and giues him wings
To soare aloft in me is but the same
And makes me stoope thus low to Iulia.

Iuli.
Vncle I am asham'd that any bloud of mine
Should harbor such an incest: you haue an easier way
To gaine what you desire: make good the fame
The world is now possest of: murther me,
Then are you heire to Florence: tis not halfe so ill,
As this incestuous mixture you so plead for,
Gainst nature and the law of heauen: but on,
Vse your vsurped power; be still a villaine:
My life is the vtmost, and you may commaund it,
But my bloods vessell giuen vnto my soule,
As a pure mansion to inhabit in
Shall while I am and breath, be vnprophan'd.
Ile be more chast then Lucrece, dye vnstaind.

Mull.
You are a woman Lady, and wil change:
The Protector's at a nonsuit in his loue,
How now my Lord?

Borg.
Thus crost by superstitious obstinacy,
Ile vse the power I haue, and make—How thriues your sute?

Mull.
Vnthriftily like yours: we are no Venus darlings,
No delight for women: she cannot loue.

Borg.
She cannot loue? your reason Lady
Is your blood holy? are you a sanctuary
That none may violate. What ease of conscience
Keepes you vnprophand? know that religion
Bindes your obedience minion to my will.
Loue him or Ile hate thee.

Ama.
I tender vp the duty of a childe
And yeeld a fathers high prerogatiue
Ore what I am: yet for that affection
That you would haue me captiue in his breast,
Know it is prisoner at so deere a rate,
As all my strength can no way ransome it.

Borg.
Ile vse no rhethorique Lady to your eares:
But heare what I commaund, and do my will,
Or thou shalt heare what will displease thy will.

Mull.
Be these the precepts Christians giue their children?

Borg.
But Madam for your loue.

Mull.
I would forsake a God.

Borg.
A more soft style be seemes a subiects tongue,
Ile be no higher then my selfe: and not commaun'd
Whats in my power. Will you resigne your loue?

Iul.
I to that God that thou hast so prophand,
Detested Atheist.

Borg.
Be religious Madam still and raile not,
Thinke of my honest sute: and thinke what power
This hand doth gripe: we are troublesome
And leaue you to your thoughts: these fits must end,
Trees are as easie broke that will not bend.

Exeunt at seuerall dores.