University of Virginia Library

ACT. 3.

SCEN. 1.

Artemone
alone.
I do not doubt his Love, but I could wish
His Presence might confirm it: when I see
A fire well fed shoot up his wanton flame,
And dart it self into the face of heaven;
I grant that fire without a fresh supply
May for a while be still a fire; but yet
How doth its lustre languish, and it self
Grow dark, if it too long want the Embrace
Of its lov'd Pyle? how strait it buried lyes
In its own ruines? Blesse me my kinder Stars
From the bad Omen! Now methinks he wrongs
The tendernesse of my Affection,
And playes the Tyrant with my easier Love,
He may perchance abuse the Liberty
He ravish'd from me; and when he hath won
Panareta, urge my own Consent against me.
If his Love still be firm, O how he seems
Too like the God that struck him; whil'st he can
With-hold his Sight, too cruel! and himself.
It much afflicts me that my message was
Prevented by my Father, and my Uncle.
I'le sift the bus'nesse out—
To her, Hyperia.
—How now my Girle?
Methinks there sits a Truth still in thy looks:
A Treachery upon that forehead plac't,
May easily wrong a faith it self hath lost.

Hyp.
Madam, what unknown fault of mine hath thus
Perplext your Entertainment? heretofore
You were not wont to cast these frowns upon me,
As if you meant to bury all my joyes
Within your wrinkled forehead.

Art.
Whence hath guilt
Borrow'd this glorious shelter? how can vice
Become thus specious, hid within the shrowd
Of an unfaulty look, and innocent tongue?
Thy pretty pleadings make me almost love
The Ruine thou throw'st on me.

Hyp.
Madam, I dare
Pronounce my self still free; no guilt can stain
My Innocence; unlesse it be a fault
There to be guiltlesse where your Sacred Tongue
Imputes a Blot: how my griev'd Eyes could weep
To wash that scandal off from my clear Face,
Which only your Suspition makes a Crime.

Art.
A vice thus painted out is the best Face
That vertue can put on: O that Lysander
Could thus dissemble too! I then were blest
As much in his conceal'd Apostacie,
As in his better Faith.

Hyp.
How I rejoyce
To suffer with that Name: Then I perceive
'Tis some uncertain Rumor hath displac't
Your wonted chearfulnesse.

Art.
Were but the fame
Uncertain, I would then call back my Smiles,
And still shine in a free and generous Mirth.
But oh! the grave instructions of Age,
And the more lively Precepts of a bribe,
Whose Innocence will not these baits o'rethrow?

Hyp.
Now Madam, since I have discover'd thus
The poyson of your sicknesse, give me leave
To cure the Malady with a present Ease.
You sent me to Lysander, as I went
Your Father and Diarchus met me, They,
I must confesse, urg'd me with vehemence,
And a severity printed in frownes
Deeper then age had carv'd upon their browes:
They threatned to Reward my falshood too.
(For even that whiles it would take away
My Faith from you were but a Punishment)
I should have told Lysander, that your flame
Cool'd by his absence now did onely aym
To seat it self within the prouder Circuit
Of Philonax rich bosome: I did then
Promise Obedience, which I perform'd
Onely in not betraying your commands,
This is the onely guilt my vertue feeles
In disobeying Artemone's Father.

Art.
Suspition yeild a little: how I fain
Would force my self to a belief that thou
Speak'st only Truth? but yet recall thy self,
Do not heap guilt on guilt in a Denial
Of what hath pass'd; alas! thy tender yeares
Are too unripe for to delude the strong
And mature pollicy of subtle Age,
'Tis but a slender fault to be o'recome
By an experience such as theirs.

Hyp.
Madam,
Could you perswade me that it were a vertue,
I would yet scorn to own it (Pardon Madam)
I am not rude, I ought in such a Cause
To be as bold as Innocence.

Art.
Yet still methinks there heaves a Jealousie,
And will not out oth' suddain, I feel it beat
About my heart, O that I could believe
Thee faithful, and might yet suspect Lysander:
There's something whispers me thou art not false,
And yet I must still doubt of him.

Hyp.
This Madam is
But to distrust me in a fairer word,
You Gods that kept me Innocent, by the same Pow'r
Make it appear so, else it is but vain
To worship whil'st y'are as blind as Love,
Vertue is worth your miracle; Create
Some new way which may blot this scandal out:
I can bring onely Teares to plead my Faith,
And would I could weep Rivers to maintain
My secresie to you, in the same way
As I would expiate some horrid Crime.

Art.
Enough, Th' hast won my Faith, and kept thy own:
Then pardon my best Girle the vain Surmise
The frailty of my love possest me with.
Let Father threaten, and that next dear Name
Of Uncle plot against my happinesse,
Let them contrive my Ruine, and infect
Their Care with Malice too, so I enjoy
Faithful Lysander, and Hyperia.—
Yet oh this Absence!— (She walks melancholy.)

SCEN. 2.

To them, Theocles.
The.
O the strange subleties of a womans love.
We must embrace our Punishment, and swear
We are rewarded when they torture us:
What Comfort dwells in that frail Sexe, whose best
Of kindnesse proves a sting? have I for this
Consum'd my heart in Passions? and through sighes
Breath'd out my Soul to find a better dwelling
Within Ethusa's breast, and yet does she
Dislike my Presence, and pretend love too?
Alas I must not visit her; Though't be death
Not to enjoy that Face, I dare not see it.
Let those unpitied Lovers turn their plaints
Into glad Jubiles, whose constant suite
Meets a perpetual frown; I envy that
Which they esteem the worst of misery:
Would I might be deny'd still; They, at least
Enjoy this Comfort, to behold the hand
That strikes, whiles 'tis my Fate to dye ith' dark.
The Tempest is then lessen'd whiles the Sun
Mingles his rayes with the unruly showres,
But in the horror of a gloomy night
The Shipwrack multiplies, and the sad stroakes
Fall double still. If I behold her face,
(That Face which hitherto hath made me live)
I then must cease to be; for that's the doom
Of her displeasure; howsoere my Plot
Back'd with successe may soon dispel these clouds.—
—What? Musing Sister? your looks seems to wear
A manly seriousnesse; all your Gestures
Should be as soft as an embrace.

Art.
I confesse
I did not dresse my look, nor put it on,
As we do use our Gorgets, by the glasse;
But if it brags no lustre sprung from joy
Of your Arrival, it belies my heart.
But where's Lysander pray y'? for sure you'l want
Part of your wellcome, whil'st that Name's forgot.

Hyp.
Urge that way Theocles, 'tis the best Physick
To a melancholy virgin to hear talk
Of one that loves her, nay some say there is
A sicknesse which that Name can onely cure,
Which the poor Doctor fain would undertake.

Art.
Stop thy lascivious tongue, and do not dare
To think the rest.—But brother, you tell me not
How fares Lysander.

The.
How I see friendship throughly in that Name?
Men talk of Pylades, and I know not what
Strange Enterprizes of rash Theseus;
But this Lysander, how he out-goes all story?
Give me a man made up of the Extractions
And quintessence of all whom ever yet
Fame with her lowdest Trumpet hath proclaim'd
For Men of Loyal Breasts, and this same Man,
This Man thus fill'd with Friendship, shall yet learn
A way to love from our Lysander.

Art.
Sure
You'l strait commend him into some new God:
But I dare still wish after all this noyse,
That he were yet compleat in a firm love.

The.
That were to loose a wish; I never yet
Could tell of any that had made a choice
To fixe his love within the tender compasse
Of a fair Virgins bosome, to which he thought
The heavens themselves were poor, and would contemn
The gawdy competition of the stars,
And yet one whom a friends request
Might tempt from all these joyes, who for that Name
Durst leap from his Elizium: just such
A Miracle is our Lysander.

Art.
And is the faith you brag'd of come to this?
How all his Praises vanish! you do ill
To raise my hopes to such an height, and then
The onely Argument of his Constancy
Is, that he's false to Me: 'Tis no such miracle
Of Love since you thus prize it, to betray
A Credulous Maid.

The.
Heavens and Gods defend it!
He plyes my Suit, but no way leaves off you:
That love, which some say is begot by sight,
And born within the eye, yet does not perish
At every distance, nor yet die intomb'd
In a dark mournful wink, 'tis stronger weav'd,
And growes more knotty then to be easily broke
At each small Absence. When you see two Irons
Receive an equal vertue from the Loadstone,
How they both stirre at once, and though divided
By many envious miles, yet how they move
And dance one way still! Thus your Lysander's love
As near as your own heart, replies to yours,
And still is constant here, though still abroad:
Indeed he's grown unto that strength of love
Guarded with an unjealous Faith, he dares
In such a Cause be absent from your face,
And onely meet you in a Constant heart.

Hyp.
I alwaies told her thus, whil'st she reply'd
I was too young to know a Lovers heart.

Art.
Heavens know, and the Gods witnesse, I'de allow
So long an absence as might even bring
My love in question, if ought thence should rise
To further your Desires: But pardon Brother,
If I esteem th'adventure of one visit
Lesse fatal then to crosse your hopes: He might
Advance your flame, and not neglect his own.

The.
Sister, he dares not dream of a neglect.

Hyp.
Still for my faithfulnesse.

Art.
He should much wrong
The love I bear his vertues to contemn it:
But though he fling no other Scorn upon me,
'Tis one that he is absent.

The.
How I grieve,
That Love should be thus blind.

(aside.)
Art.
What? troubled Brother?

The.
Onely I thought how ill Ethusa's Face
Did suit with a disdain.

Art.
There's something more
In the quick change, you were not wont so soon
To let Lysander vanish from your Thoughts,
When hee's fixt there he, fills so great a space,
That Nothing else can enter, no not Ethusa;
Your looks inform that you unwilling hide
A truth which you are loath to utter: say,

What strange mishap dares vex your knowledge? is
Lysander safe?

The.
Alas Sister know,
'Tis one that's nearer then Lysander suffers.

Art.
What still Ethusa?

The.
Nay one nearer yet:
Know then 'tis your misfortune throwes these clouds
Upon my darkned Face.—And I could still
Suppresse the Cause. Faith Sister let it passe.

Art.
Nay then I will conjure you to reveal
Your Thoughts at full.

The.
I can hold out no longer.
First then (with pardon that your self hath scru'd
And wrung out the Relation which my promptnesse
Should freely offer) know that Lysander loves
Panareta; nay so as I could wish
His love as great to you: At first indeed
He did but fain Affection, and put on
Courtship, as if he thought you present still,
But won by her sweet order'd Carriage
And fair converse, he like the giddy Fly,
Long sporting with the pleasant light, at length
Embrac'd the cruel flame: He needs not strive
To vent an artificial Sigh or Tear,
He does not labour now t'expresse a groan
Or doubtful accent, which may more betray
Skill then affection; Cupid uncompell'd
Sits in his Face, as proud to conquer him,
Whose Counterfeit seem'd to upbraid his Pow'r.
This sad discovery, to my troubled thoughts
Carries an equal irksomnesse t'unfold,
As to suppresse; for thus I lose a Friend,
Who else should wrong a Sister.

Art.
Brother,
Is not the summe of all, Lysander's falshood?
Methought I heard a Thing like this: That sense
Had but that discreet faculty to erre!

The.
O this villain Falshood! That I might
Enjoy my own wish, and not murther his!
(aside.)
How I repent my Sin ere it be done!
But I must through it, and yet bring it out
This new strange way by still denying it.
No Sister hee's not false.

Art.
What was it then
Your speech deliver'd to my trembling Ear?

The.
'Twas that Lysander was grown false: I cannot
With my best Art conceal't: Indeed hee's false.

Hyp.
What will become of me now? They'l believe
My treachery hath wrought all this, and then
Where is that Faith I bragg'd of?

Art.
Prithee Brother
Withdraw a while; heaven knowes I love thee better
Then to enjoy thy company in teares.

The.
I'le obey, and watch the progresse of his Suite:
What though Lysander yet is my true friend,
(If that can be whil'st hee's my Sisters foe)
That Title shall not draw a wrong on you,
Hold then and I already clasp Ethusa.
(Exit. The.)

Hyp.
Fair Madam—

Art.
Prithee I am not fair,
I was so when Lysander lov'd me; That
Was all my Beauty.

Hyp.
I am glad yet she will not
Hear me; she has not leisure then to chide.

Art.
And can Lysander thus forget his vowes?
And cease to love? or place his unjust flame
In a new Bosome? He can; and may perhaps
Feel a Revenge high as his Injury.
'Tis vain to shed a Tear: if he be false
He not deserves one Jewel from my eyes.
(For thus he once would flatter even my teares)
Grant me but this ye Gods, that he may feel
A cold repulse, and once more wooe my love,
I would then trample on his base Devotions,
And joy in my revenge, which onely thus
Would seem too Small that it comes after his;
And to his further Rage, I'de even wooe
A flame hid in his Enemies breast.

SCEN. 3.

To them, Melesippus, Diarchus.
Diar.
Ply her strongly Brother, give her not time
Meerly to breathe: if her unguided answer
Would fain be cloath'd in a Denyal, if
A discontent break from her forehead, then
Lay out your Power, stifle her speech ith' birth,
And choak all passage up with the rehearsal
Of that lowd Name of Father.

Mel.
I am perfect
In your Instructions. Daughter you still appear
Wrapt up in Clouds, and whil'st other Ladies
Study their boxes, and still practise helps
For to preserve their Beauty, you alone
Desire the ruine of your own Face: Fie!
Grow chearful, I shall else perhaps conceive
That I am your Disease.

Art.
Father, your presence
Is alwaies welcome as of my Tutelar God,
And it must needs be some strange unheard of message
That makes your sight grow tedious.

Dia.
Brother now,
Now for my counsel.

Mel.
Nay then I have it:
Now Artemone by a Fathers plea,
By the unbounded limits of Sire—

Dia.
And by the priviledge an Uncle beares
In a reflexion from that Sacred Name—

Hyp.
Here are love Philtrums now; hey for Philonax.

Art.
Do not thus wrong the vertue you have giv'n me:
What need these charms? when even your fainter breath,
Though utter'd in a more familiar sound,
Would prove a Spel unconquer'd.

Mel.
We do not bring
Any severer Magick by whose art
Thou might'st be suppled to thy overthrow.

Dia.
Love is our sole Inchantment, and a Care
For your continual welfare.

Art.
'Las such Newes
Would challenge its own welcome, though not involv'd
In this mysterious Dialect: I've not heard
Of any one so much his own bad friend
As to be woo'd to a Good fortune; know then
Father and Uncle, Stiles of Providence,
What e're the message be your Cares have brought,
I will receive it with a Joy as great,
As much unlimited as I grant your Pow'r,
And in acknowledgment shall still remain
Due to your free disposal.

Dia.
Some hopes yet,
I see shee's well prepar'd.

Mel.
I, here's the sound
Of sweet Obedience! why should tender years
Fling off their Fortunes through an Appetite
And fit of liking: That Affection
Will prove most durable, where knowing Age
And a considerate choice confirm the match.

Dia.
Well, I'le be silent yet, my lesser pow'r
May but perchance hinder the good Event.

Art.
Then I perceive that love will be the scope
Of this Authentick language; your discourse
Well season'd with a grave discretion,
And the Authority of a Parents will
Have thus far won upon me: I confesse
Though in the hastinesse of my Desires
As far as my Affection is my own,
(Yet still reserving a due share for you)
I have in heart betroath'd it to Lysander,
Yet not so chain'd, but that your just displeasure
Might break the knot, or (what I'de rather wish)
Your mild advice untie it.

Hyp.
A brave cunning Lady!
Her Father now must thank her, and be oblig'd
Because hee'l grant her wish.

Dia.
Let but my Neece
Hold on this course, and by my better hopes
I will reward her as she were my Daughter:
And by the Dowry I will cast upon her,
It shall be thought she was Diarchus issue.

Art.
Sir, though I did not hope for a Reward
Besides the naked Act of my clear duty,
I should not start from my obedience:
My thoughts are so Immaculate, that I
Could never mean to buy my Innocence,
And make a Trade of vertue.

Mel.
Then my Girle,
I hope thou art prepar'd to entertain
Philonax's love, he, the Senator?

Art.
I feel my Coldnesse melting! Sir, your breath
Hath rais'd a heat in my Affections,
Which until then were frozen. I confesse,
And now dare speak it; I love Philonax,
And were he present, could receive his Courtship
With more then formal kindnesse.

Dia.
Hyperia,
Go and intreat him hither.

(Exe. Hyp.)
Mel.
Tell him we expect
His quick approach: I would not have him slip
This very punctual minute; Sure this Love
Hath his set times; would he were here already.
How aguish her desires are! Now 'tis her fit
To like and to be well; now she growes hot
And zealous in her Love, which erst was cool'd
And fann'd by a chill Scorn: There is an hour
Lucky to Suitors, and 'tis fall'n out now.
Let all young men hereafter wooe by th'Clock,
Try how the pulse beats, and promote their Suite,
As we give Physick by the Almanack;
Search how the weather goes; such a day's fair,
For Lovers, fair as their own Mistresse Face;
Such a day's clouded o're with frowns, and brings
Foul weather, shed for her distorted looks.—
Is he not come yet? how I begin to fear
This good time will be over-straight? not yet?—
It is a wealthy Suitor.—Here he comes.—

SCEN. 4.

To them, Philonax. Hyp.

—Noble Philonax, your quick arrival
Honours your Servants, and I hope shall meet
Their thanks in an Enjoyment of their wishes.

Phi.
Thanks Melesippus, if I should adde Father,
'Twere but a while to antedate that Name,
I know she cann't stand out long against me.
Worthy Diarchus your Servant.

Dia.
I embrace
Your love, and wish that we were nearer yet
By an Allyance.

Phi.
You wrong your judgment, Sir,
To wish it, shee's mine already.

Mel.
Or else no child of mine,
We have onely chaff'd the virgin wax,
To make her fit for your Impression.

Dia.
I hope his Confidence will prevail,
Wee'l leave you to your starres, and courtship now.

Mel.
Be pliant Girle.

(Exe. Mele. Diar.)
Phi.
Fair Lady, I am not like those that aym
Instead of a fair wife to steal a Portion,
But bring a Dowry with me; nor do I wooe
With a set form of weary Complements,
But with a strong Inchanting Title: tell me,
Art thou the Senators Bride?

Art.
Sir, the Confidence
Which your Deserts put on, would misbecome
My native modestie: 'twere Arrogance
T'accept proffers so beyond my state,
And I should thereby seem to grant some worth
Which caus'd your liking.

Phi.
Strange, that we should be
Deny'd because we are too great; a Title
That other Ladies are ambitious of,
Whose queazy Conscience stands not on such points
To refuse honour. I have heard of some
Have bin with child meerly with a deep thought
Of a great Title; I must needs confesse
It was my Fate to be born high and noble,
Of proud Command; but yet I can vouchsafe
And deign t' accept your love.

Art.
Worthy Sir,
Do not thus stoop below your self, alas!
When I shall sit circled within your Armes,
How shall I cast a blemish on your honour,
And appear onely like some falser stone
Plac'd in a ring of gold, which growes a Jewel
But from the seat which holds it.

Phi.
How I love
One that so well can read my swelling worth
At the first sight. Know then Artemone,
My Judgment chooses Thee; for so it will
Be stil'd what e're I do: our great Revenues
Would prove half fruitlesse if that we could erre:
It is a main prerogative of honour
To be discreet whether we will or no;
We are infallible whil'st we have thus much gold;
To be call'd Prudent and Judicious,
We challenge now as we would do our Rents:
Th'art fair, and worthy, when th'art my Bride.

Art.
But I could wish I'de somwhat of my own,
That my timerous consent might not wrong your merits.

Phi.
Ne're talk oth' disproportion; I'de not wed
One whose estate already were as great,
But I would marry that we might be equal:
And even as far as love can make us so
We are already.

Art.
Sir, if you understand a virgins Face
Painted with red whil'st a true Lover's by,
You have my meaning.

Phi.
I've a divining guesse,
And do conceive so well, that I could wish
You would pronounce my thoughts, and blesse your self
With that rich word of being call'd my Bride.

Art.
Then I assume the honour of your Bride.

Phi.
And thus we seal the Contract. I knew alwaies
(kisses her.
'Twas but the weaknesse of thy modestie
That kept thee off: though some to try my Faith,
Would often buzze in my incredulous Eares,
That 'twas the love of one Lysander.

Art.
He
Once begg'd indeed that he might be my servant.

Phi.
Thy Servant? 'faith handsomely urg'd, he sure
Observes the learned Roman Apothegmes,
And thinks it the best way to gain a Kingdome
By his obedience: Thus hee'l be your slave,
That he may rule and fetter you; thus he wooes
With language pickt up from the Senate house:
The vanity of these Affected Lovers
Which hide their Suit in that submissive strain,
Were well rewarded not to be understood.

Art.
With pardon Sir, 'tis but the common garb
And fashion of most Suitors.—

Phi.
I, the common garbe,
Give me a man that scorns that beaten way,
And owes his Passage to himself; 'Tis base,
And argues a low spirit, to be taught
By Custome, and to let the vulgar grow
To our example: 'Tis to betray a Virgin,
And urge the merit of a Treachery
To win Affection: I do not love
This ridling Dialect, and how ever grown
Above the pitch of any thing that's vulgar,
Am plain in my Demands: Tell me, art 'mine,
I adde not Mistresse, be that the fein'd voyce
Of them who stretch their wits but to delude
And cheat thy love.

Art.
Sir, I am so far yours
As you shall please to stile me, and embrace
The Name of any Thing your will puts on me.

Phi.
'Tis the discretion of thy modesty
Thus to rely on me; but prithee tell me,
Is there no rival-Name left in thy bosome?
Does no part of Lysander still rest there?
Is He quite vanisht? for I would be loath
To mingle Faith, and to divide Affection;
Thou should'st be mine intire.

Art.
I would not wrong
A Suitor of that bounteous worth which dwells
Within your prudent breast, with an half Marriage
I should be then but partly blest, since all
My happinesse is onely thus confirm'd
In being wholly yours. But I can bring
A stronger proof then my bare Testimony,
Thus to clear all suspition of a love
Ty'd to some other; here I humbly offer,
And (though against the priviledge of my Sexe)
Beg your acceptance that we may be joyn'd
As firm together as each of us are
Chain'd to our selv's; Let the Marriage knot
Combine our hands in witnesse of the league
Made by our twinn'd Soules.

Phi.
Thus thou hast remov'd
All scruple from my Thougths, 'Tis not the voyce
Of Hymen, nor his Priest can more confirm
My faith in Thee: But for that other knot
Which links our hands together, that a while
Must be defer'd, to be attended on
By the magnificence of Ceremony.
It were a scandal to the height in which
My Dignity is sphear'd to have a wedding
With no more Celebration then the Priests:
I must not wound my Fame, nor let my state
Thus long held up now droop, and grow obscure,
They must be both kept whole, and my repute
Must flourish still unblemisht.

Art.
My desires
Shall wait on yours, amd I'le no more pursue
The haste of Marriage, since 'tis your command
That we expect it still.

Phi.
How I applaud
The obedience of thy love! A while farewel:
But stay; we must yet e're I leave thee, thus
Salute, else we have parted all this while:
I am not yet skill'd in the Complements
Which love requires: no matter, I shall learn e'm.
Once more farewel: I'le hasten the dispatch
Of all fit Entertainments.
(Exe. Philo.)

Art.
Sir, farewel:
So; to my wish; Now whom Lysander hates
Shall reap the comfort of my Bridal bed:
I am not taken with this Philonax
For all his stiles of honour: but no matter,
It is resolv'd, I'le love him; and perhaps
Wean him from those false pleasures, which his Pride
Hath fastned on him; I see his vanity,
He courts, as if against all Cupids rules,
He would command upon the Marriage day,
And yet I sooth him in it, lest my Coynesse
Should drive him back, and my revenge be lost:
Hereafter I'le reform him, and so gain
A praise to vengeance, which though 'tis a vice,
(If all hit right) yet shall produce a vertue.

(Exe. Omnes.)