 | The Broken Heart |  |
Scæne the third.
Prophilus, Penthea.Proph.
In this walke (Lady) will your brother find you:
And with your fauour, giue me leaue a little
To worke a preparation, in his fashion
I haue obseru'd of late, some kind of slacknesse
To such alacrity as Nature
And custome tooke delight in: Sadnesse growes
Vpon his recreations, which he hoards
In such a willing silence, that to question
The grounds will argue skill in friendship,
And lesse good manners.
Pen.
Sir, I'me not inquisitiue
Of secrecies without an inuitation.
Phoph.
With pardon, Lady, not a sillable
Of mine implyes so rude a sense; the drift.—
Enter Orgilus.
Proph.
Doe thy best
To make this Lady merry for an houre.
Exit.
Org.
Your will shall be a law, Sir.
Pen.
Prethe leaue me,
I haue some priuate thoughts I would account with:
Vse thou thine owne.
Org.
Speake on, faire nimph, our soules
Can dance as well to musicke of the Spheares
As any's who haue feasted with the gods.
Pen.
Your Schoole terms are too troublesome.
Org.
What heauen
Refines mortality from drosse of earth,
But such as vncompounded beauty hallowes
With glorified perfection.
Pen.
Set thy wits
In a lesse wild proportion.
Org.
Time can neuer
On the white table of vnguilty faith
Write counterfeit dishonour; turne those eyes
(The arrowes of pure loue) vpon that sire
Which once rose to a flame, perfum'd with vowes
As sweetly scented as the Incense smoking
The holiest Artars, Virgin teares (like those
And to increase their feruour.
Pen.
Be not franticke.
Org.
All pleasures are but meere imagination,
Feeding the hungry appetite with steame,
And sight of banquet, whilst the body pines,
Not relishing the reall tast of food,
Such is the leannesse of a heart diuided
From entercourse of troth-contracted lones;
No horror should deface that precious figure
Seal'd with the liuely stampe of equall soules.
Pen.
Away, some fury hath bewitch'd thy tongue:
The breath of ignorance that flyes from thence,
Ripens a knowledge in me of afflictions,
Aboue all suffrance.—Thing of talke be gone,
Be gone without reply.
Org.
Be iust, Penthea,
In thy commands: when thou send'st forth a doome
Of banishment, know first on whom it lights;
Thus I take off the shrowd, in which my cares
Are folded vp from view of common eyes;
What is thy sentence next?
Pen.
Rash man, thou layest
A blemish on mine honour with the hazard
Of thy too desperate life: yet I professe,
By all the Lawes of ceremonious wedlocke,
I haue not giuen admittance to one thought
Of female change, since cruelty enforc'd
Diuorce betwixt my body and my heart:
Why would you fall from goodnesse thus?
Org.
O rather
Examine me how I could liue to say
I haue bin much, much wrong'd; 'tis for thy sake
I put on this Imposture; deare Penthea,
If thy soft bosome be not turn'd to marble,
Thou't pitty our calamities; my Interest
Confirmes me thou art mine still.
Pen.
Lend your hand;
With both of mine I claspe it thus, thus kisse it,
Thus kneele before ye.
Org.
You instruct my duty.
Pen.
We may stand vp: Haue you ought else to vrge
Of new demand? as for the old forget it,
And shall be, shall be euer; what more would ye?
Org.
I would possesse my wife, the equity
Of very reason bids me.
Pen.
Is that all?
Org.
Why 'tis the all of me my selfe.
Pen.
Remoue
Your steps some distance from me; at this space
A few words I dare change; but first put on
Your borrowed shape.
Org.
You are obey'd, 'tis done:
Pen.
How (Orgilus) by promise I was thine,
The heauens doe witnesse; they can witnesse too
A rape done on my truth: how I doe loue thee
Yet Orgilus, and yet, must best appeare
In tendering thy freedome; for I find
The constant preseruation of thy merit,
By thy not daring to attempt my fame
With iniury of any loose conceit,
Which might giue deeper wounds to discontents:
Continue this faire race, then though I cannot
Adde to thy comfort, yet I shall more often
Remember from what fortune I am fallen,
And pitty mine owne ruine.—Liue, liue happy,
Happy in thy next choyce, that thou maist people
This barren age with vertues in thy issue:
And ô, when thou art married, thinke on me
With mercy, not contempt: I hope thy wife,
Hearing my story, will not scorne my fall:
Now let vs part.
Org.
Part! yet aduise thee better:
Penthea is the wife to Orgilus,
And euer shall be.
Pen.
Neuer shall nor will.
Org.
How!
Pen.
Heare me, in a word I'le tell thee why:
The Virgin dowry which my birth bestow'd,
Is rauish'd by another: my true loue
Abhorres to thinke, that Orgilus deseru'd
No better fauours then a second bed.
Org.
I must not take this reason.
Pen.
To confirme it,
Should I outliue my bondage, let me meet
Another worse then this, and lesse desir'd,
My lip, or hand againe.
Org.
Penthea, now
I tell 'ee you grow wanton in my sufferance;
Come sweet, th'art mine.
Pen.
Vnciuill Sir, forbeare,
Or I can turne affection into vengeance;
Your reputation (if you value any)
Lyes bleeding at my feet. Vnworthy man,
If euer henceforth thou appeare in language,
Message, or letter to betray my frailty,
I'le call thy former protestations lust,
And curse my Starres for forfeit of my iudgement.
Goe thou, fit onely for disguise and walkes,
To hide thy shame: this once I spare thy life;
I laugh at mine owne confidence; my sorrowes
By thee are made inferiour to my fortunes.
If euer thou didst harbour worthy loue,
Dare not to answer. My good Genius guide me,
That I may neuer see thee more.—Goe from me.
Org.
I'e teare my vaile of politicke French off,
And stand vp like a man resolu'd to doe
Action, not words shall shew me. O Penthea.
Exit Orgilus.
Pen.
'A sigh'd my name sure as he parted from me,
I feare I was too rough: Alas poore Gentleman,
'A look'd not like the ruines of his youth,
But like the ruines of those ruines: Honour,
How much we fight with weaknesse to preserue thee.
Enter Bassanes and Gransis.
Bass.
Fye on thee, damb thee, rotten magot, damb thee,
Sleepe? sleepe at Court? and now? Aches, convulsions,
Impostumes, themes, gouts, palsies clog thy bones
A dozen yeeres more yet.
Gran.
Now y'are in humors.
Bass.
Shee's by her selfe, there's hope of that; shee's sad too,
Shee's in strong contemplation: yes, and fixt,
The signes are wholesome.
Gran.
Very wholsome truly.
Bass.
Hold your chops night mare.—Lady, come your brother
Is carried to his closet; you must thither.
Pen.
Not well, my Lord?
Bass.
A sudden fit, 'twill off;
Pen.
Your newes is none o'th best.
Enter Prophilus.
Proph.
The chiefe of men,
The excellentest Ithocles, desires
Your presence Madam.
Bass.
We are hasting to him.
Pen.
In vaine we labour in this course of life
To piece our iourney out at length, or craue
Respite of breath, our home is in the graue.
Bass.
Perfect Philosophy: then let vs care
To liue so that our reckonings may fall euen
When w' are to make account.
Proph.
He cannot feare
Who builds on noble grounds: sicknesse or paine
Is the deseruers exercise, and such
Your vertuous brother to the world is knowne.
Speake comfort to him Lady, be all gentle;
Starres fall but in the grossenesse of our sight,
A good man dying, th'Earth doth lose a light.
Exeunt omnes.
| The Broken Heart | |