 | Argalvs and Parthenia |  |
Base Trull; Demagoras comes to let thee see,
How much he scornes thy painted face, and thee;
Foule Sorceresse! Could thy prosperous actions think
To scape reuenge, because the gods did wink
At thy designes? Think'st thou thy mothers blood
Cryes in a language, not to be'vnderstood?
Hadst thou no closer stratagem, to further
Thy pamper'd lust, but by the saluage murther
Of thine owne aged parent, whose sad death
Must giue a freedome to the whisp'ring breath
Of thy enioy'd adult'rer? who (they say)
Will cloake thy whoredome, with a mariage day;
Nay struggle not; here's none that can reprieue
Such pounded beasts; It is in vaine to striue,
Or roare for helpe: why do'st not rather weepe,
That I may laugh? Perchance, if thou wilt creepe
Vpon thy wanton belly, and confesse
Thy selfe a true repentant murtheresse,
My sinfull Page may play the soole, and gather
Thy early fruit into his barne, and father
Thy new got Cyprian bastard, if that he
Be halfe so wise, that got it, but to flee.
Hah! dost thou weepe? or doe false mists but mocke
Our cheated eyes? From so obdure a rock
Can water flow? weeping will make thee faire;
Weepe till thy mariage day; that who repaire
To grace thy feast, may fall a weeping too,
And, in a mirrour, see what teares can doe.
Vile strumpet! did thy flattering thoughts e're wrong
Thy iudgement so; to thinke, Demagoras tongue
Could so abuse his honour, as to sue
For serious loue? So base a thing as you
(Me thinks) should rather fixe your wanton eyes
Vpon some easie groome, that hopes to rise
Into his masters fauour, for your sake;
I; this had beene preferment, like to make
A hopefull fortune: thou presumptuous trash!
What was my courtship? but the minuts dash
Of youthfull passion, to allay the dust
Of my desires, and exuberous lust?
I scorne thee to the soule, and here I stand
Bound for reuenge, whereto I set my hand.
How much he scornes thy painted face, and thee;
Foule Sorceresse! Could thy prosperous actions think
To scape reuenge, because the gods did wink
At thy designes? Think'st thou thy mothers blood
Cryes in a language, not to be'vnderstood?
Hadst thou no closer stratagem, to further
Thy pamper'd lust, but by the saluage murther
Of thine owne aged parent, whose sad death
Must giue a freedome to the whisp'ring breath
Of thy enioy'd adult'rer? who (they say)
Will cloake thy whoredome, with a mariage day;
54
Such pounded beasts; It is in vaine to striue,
Or roare for helpe: why do'st not rather weepe,
That I may laugh? Perchance, if thou wilt creepe
Vpon thy wanton belly, and confesse
Thy selfe a true repentant murtheresse,
My sinfull Page may play the soole, and gather
Thy early fruit into his barne, and father
Thy new got Cyprian bastard, if that he
Be halfe so wise, that got it, but to flee.
Hah! dost thou weepe? or doe false mists but mocke
Our cheated eyes? From so obdure a rock
Can water flow? weeping will make thee faire;
Weepe till thy mariage day; that who repaire
To grace thy feast, may fall a weeping too,
And, in a mirrour, see what teares can doe.
Vile strumpet! did thy flattering thoughts e're wrong
Thy iudgement so; to thinke, Demagoras tongue
Could so abuse his honour, as to sue
For serious loue? So base a thing as you
(Me thinks) should rather fixe your wanton eyes
Vpon some easie groome, that hopes to rise
Into his masters fauour, for your sake;
I; this had beene preferment, like to make
A hopefull fortune: thou presumptuous trash!
What was my courtship? but the minuts dash
Of youthfull passion, to allay the dust
Of my desires, and exuberous lust?
I scorne thee to the soule, and here I stand
Bound for reuenge, whereto I set my hand.
| Argalvs and Parthenia | |