University of Virginia Library

The fourth Scene

Enter Francina alone.
Franc.
The Prince love me! and so against my will,
Repeat, and urge me, him for to fulfill!
Good Heavens! what kind of man and Lover's he,
So for another, to transported be,
As be more earnest, in the Princes cause,
Then in his own, as then I found he was?
VVas it for want of Love? why then did he,
Press it with so much importunity?
Since that he coo'd not chuse, but know the good,
Must needs redown to me, and all my blood.
And if he lov'd me, as I do believe,
VVhy did he seek, a Rival to receive?
It was because, I might a Princess be,
No doubt, which is in love a mysterie:
That on his own content, shoo'd so contem,
To let his Mistress wear, a Diadem.
Oh love not to be equall'd! now I must
Or love again, or else be most unjust.
He that my scorn, and slight, coo'd not offend,
Ought in all reason, to my love pretend.
'Tis not a Crown, can pluck away the dart,
VVhich love has shot so deep, into my heart.
Nor yet much less, the name of Queen remove,
The resolution, I have took to love.
Such poor respects in love, ought not to be,
Nor will I suffer, they shall be in me.
No, no, but I will love, without respect,
Since he himself for me, can so neglect.

Prince enters.
Prince.
Dear Madam all alone? what have you none,
To tell your grief to, but your self alone?
Or is't a secret, you will not impart,
Least you shoo'd meet, with a deceitful heart?
Trust me sweet Madam with't, I will not deal
So much unlike a Prince, as it reveal.

Fran.
That Sir I hope, you'le think not I do fear,
Shoo'd I to make it known, to you forbear.
It may be such a foolish, trifling thing,
Not worth the ear, of him that will be King.

Prince.
Madam, if it be fit to move you so,
It cannot be unfit, for me to know.
Pray tell it me, that I may likewise grieve,
The matter merits it, I do believe.

Fran.
That which in justice, ought to make me weep;
Ought not in reason, for to break your sleep.
For all the world, I woo'd not speak that thing,
Which might unto your Highness, sorrow bring.

Prince.
Ah dear Madam! your words are killing sweet,
To make them good, I wish you thought it meet.
Then shoo'd I happy be, and be at rest,
Enjoying that, which cannot be exprest.

Fran.
It cannot be exprest, 'tis true indeed,
The subject which does make, my heart to bleed.

Prince.
You do not, or you will not, me conceive,
So loth you are, the truth for to believe.

Fran.
Implease you Sir, I neere was backward yet,
To credit that, which might not be unfit.

Prince.
Ah Heav'ns! but you want faith to credit me;
Or if you don't, you kill me willingly.

Fran.
How! kill the Prince! here take the Traitress life.

Prince.
I ask no more then you, to be my wife.

Fran.
Your wife implease you Sir? and woo'd you be,
Unto your self, so much your enemy,
As take a creature, to your Princely bed,
So little worth? so poorly born and bred?
No, no, it cannot be; I know you jest.

Prince.
By all the Gods, I do not, I protest.

Fran.
Swear what you please, my duty will not let
My faith be tempted, for to credit it.
I know too well, my merit and your own,
It to admit, into my thoughts alone.

Prince.
Trust me I burn, but with so chaste a flame,
That Virgins without sin, may have the same.

Fran.
A Princess woo'd, implease your Highness, be
A fitter object, for your amity.

Prince.
What's fit for me, good Madam, do not so,
Better then I my self, pretend to know.
That's not the business, we have now in hand,
Nor did e're Love, upon such terms yet stand.

Fran.
Although you are a Prince, you are less free,
Then one of us, which are of low degree.
You cannot of your self, your self dispose,
And not the hearts, of all your subjects lose.
If love be blind, and shoots without respect,
The King is not, nor will he you neglect,
To let you marry, where your fancy takes,
Except he sees, it for the Kingdom makes.
So are you subject, to the Rules of State,
And ought in reason, his consent to waite.

Prince.
Madam, as I'me a Prince, so will I be
As well as others, in affection free.
I value not the love, and will of those,
Who for so small a thing, will be my foes,
Do you but give consent, and I'le not waite
Nor yet subscribe, to any Rules of State.

Fran.
Woo'd you that I to please you, shoo'd consent
And King, and all your Subjects, discontent?
D' you make so little reck'ning of me Sir,
As your content, before my good, prefer?
In this appears, you do not truly love,
For if you did, you woo'd more kinder prove.

Prince.
Is it to hate you Madam, and contemn,
To set upon your head, a Diadem?
No, no, in it appears, I honour you,
And that my passion, is both just and true.
Wherefore fair soul, do not so cruel prove,
As call that disrespect, which men call love.

Fran.
What glory is't, upon my head to place
A Crown of gold, and lose it with disgrace?
A Country Clown, I swear I'de rather wed,
Then with such fears, approach a Princes bed.

Prince.
These are fantastique fears, which do proceed
From want of Love, which make ill humours breed.
Did but his flames, once warm and heat your brest,
You of such doubts, woo'd soon be dispossest.
Dear Madam, make your Prince no longer sue,
For that which is by love, and duty due.

Fran.
I know my duty, bids me to obey,
But, but, my love, implease you Sir, says nay.
I cannot give my heart, to more then one,
Which having done, is now no more my own.

Prince.
What? have I a Rival then? good now tell
Me Madam where, that sawcy man does dwell?
That I may make, his passion for to know,
That to his Prince, he more respect does owe,
Then to presume, to court where I do love,
Although the object, may him justly move.
Yet I was told, that no man coo'd perswade,
You for to break, the vow that you had made,
Of living chast, and single all your life,
And to no earthly creature, to be wife.

Fran.
You hearing that, why does your Highness seek,
The oath which I have took, to make me break;
It is no small offence, to Heav'n above,
You know, so perjur'd, and forsworn to prove.

Prince.
Were you forsworn, in pitty of my heat,
Heav'n woo'd forgive you sure, it is so great.

Fran.
'Tis true I said so, but it was to try,
And exercise his love, and constancy.

Prince.
And who is it? sweet Madam, be not coy
To name the man, that must those joyes enjoy.

Fran.
A friend of yours, and one that did so plead
Your cause, that he has made my soul to bleed.

Prince.
A friend of mine? if ever he was so,
He must henceforward, be my mortal foe.

Fran.
How? his mortal foe Sir? you cannot sure
Be so ingrate, to him which sought to cure
Your love-sick soul, with so much care and pains,
As if that he, thereof shoo'd reap the gains.
Ah Heav'ns! is't possible that one shoo'd love,
And yet with zeal, so for another move?
What said he not, or what did he omit,
Which might be able, my consent to get?

Prince.
He is a Traytor, Madam, and I must
Both, to my passion, and his sin be just.

Fran.
He is no Traytour Sir, his honest soul,
Woo'd rather die, then do a thing so foul.

Prince.
Instead of aid, and giving me relief,
He has usurp't my place, and mockt my grief.

Fran.
He has not it usurp't, it is his due,
And fitter too for him, then 'tis for you.

Exeunt.