University of Virginia Library

[Scena Prima.]

Arabella, Clara, in Boyes Apparel.
Ara.
Tell me thy Name, and Parentage.

Cla.
My name is Infortunio, for my Birth,
I claim an honest, but no high discent,
A Shepherds Son in Sicily.

Ara.
Infortunio!

Cla.
A Name which answers my misfortunes, Madam.

Ara.
Alas thy face does shew the petty griefs
Thy Age has undergone, the Sun did broil
Or the cold Air did sometimes make thee quake,
Or hunger tyranniz'd for want of break-fast.
Upon thy empty Stomach: can'st thou sing?

Inf.
According to our Rural way I can.

Ara.
Pretty Boy! Prithee be not so bashful,
But begin.

Ara.
How happy is this Boy, who sings his Aires,
And makes his pastime out of others cares!
Ah that I were as ignorant as he,
He knows no love, therefore no misery,
But Women are too apt (heav'n knows) to learn,
To wish, to blush, and next to have concern.

Enter Cicco, Furfante.
Fur.
Yonder's my young Mistress, Sir.

Cic.
Lead me to her, what Company?

Fur.
Only a Page, a little Youth.

Cic.
A very pretty Youth.

Fur.
Of a black, as e're you saw.

Cic.
Yes, yes, I see that, a pretty Moor.

Cla.
Is he mad, or blind, or both?

Fur.
He's blind, and mad, and both.

Cic.
These are but shifts, Apron-string policies,
No more, 'tis my command, shew your obedience.
You have not seen Garbato lately?

Ara.
You did command the contrary, and I obey'd.

Cic.
It well became your duty—
He'll be so wise I hope t'absent himself,
His entertainment shan't incite him hither,
Let Beggars marry in their Tribe, and so
Maintain their race, I must have you prepare
To be the rich Honorio's Bride.

Ara.
Dear Sir—

Cic.
Nay no reply, your warning's short, I'le see
You married my self to morrow Morning.

Fur.
He talks of seeing still, where are his Eyes?

Cla.
Can'st not perceive, they're alwayes in his Mouth.

Fur.
You mistake, his fight's there, his eyes
Are in his head.

Cic.
Here, take this Purse, and see you fit your self.
[Exit Cicco.

Ara.
What for a Sepulcher?

Cla.
A Bridal Bed, dear Madam.

Ara.
'Twere less injurious to wish a Tomb.

Cla.
I'me glad she hates him yet, there's some hope left,
If my poor stars prove kind, however I'le
Aid them.
Madam, so strange a sadness clouds your Soul
As wou'd move pitty in a senseless Statue,
Therefore impute it not to impudence,
If in compassion of your miseries,
I proffer my poor service to perswade
Honorio to forsake your Love, and leave you
To your choice.

Ara.
Thou speak'st a blessing rather to be wish'd,
Than hop'd for, or obtain'd.

Cla.
Be not distrustful.
You know not how my innocence can plead,
Arm'd with your cause; if he has any pity,
I'le use such soft and tender language to him
As shall dissolve his soul into compassion.

Ara.
Thou hast indeed a moving language Boy,
And thy looks, with me, have power to perswade
Beyond the Charms and Tropes of Rhetorick.
May they with him find equal grace, and Power.
Tell him my heart, and love, was pre-dispos'd,
That 'tis not Pride, but Love, refuses him;
Bid him not take it ill, that I am constant,
For Death to me is welcomer than change;
That if he ceases to prosecute my fate
He will deserve my pitty, and such Love
As gratitude, and honour can dispense.
But if he will persist my dreadful'st hate,
That from my Love he'll at such distance be
He scarcely will be worth my Charity.

Cla.
When he knows this, he'll surely blame his Love,
And straight endeavour to suppress his flame.
But I wrong your service by deferring it.

[Exit.
Ara.
Whil'st he employes his richest eloquence
In mitigation of Honorio's Love,
I must make use of my own diligence
To find Garbato and discover to him
The hasty rigour of my Fathers Will:
I am inform'd he often does frequent
My Uncles House, but upon what design
I can't surmise, unless he hope from thence
To reap advantage to our love:
However boldly, I'le adventure there,
She shou'd fear nought, 'has every thing to fear.

[Exit.