University of Virginia Library

The second Scene

Enter Symphrona in a Nuns habit alone.
Sym.
Adieu delights, of you I take my leave,
As of false joyes, which cannot more deceive.
Farewell fond hopes, to you I bid adieu,
As foes, which me more mischief cannot do.
If here below, it is Heav'ns sacred will,
That I must stay, and sojourner be still:
Think not to tempt me, with your golden shews,
Which seem our friends, but prove our mortal foes.
No, no, I'le not my heart, on trifles set,
Which us forsake, so soon as we them get.
I'le something else, more constant surely chuse,
Then that which is so given, to abuse.
A still Religious life, henceforth shall be,
My Hope, my Joy, my Love, and Liberty.
All the pastime, and pleasure I will take,
Shall be with Hallelujahs, Heav'n to shake.
Before whose Altars, I will daily burn
Incense, from me, his anger for to turn.
With watchings, and with fastings, I le subdue,
The idle thoughts, which I am subject too:
And have an eye, still on those Joyes above,
Of which I'me now enamour'd, and in love.

Francina enters.
Fran.
Dear Madam, why thus cloathed like a Nun,
As if you were asham'd, to see the Sun?
Wherefore this longer vail? these blacks and whites,
Which are Monastick, and Religious Rites;
And damage much your Beauty, ev'ry way,
As darkness is injurious, to the day.
Off, off, with them, and like your self appear,
And do not thus Ecclipse, our Hemispheare.

Sym.
Madam, I know my beauty too too well,
To think such pow'r, shoo'd in my person dwell.
I leave that force, and vertue unto you,
Which ev'ry one does know, is but your due.
As for these whites, and blacks, I woo'd not them
Forsake I vow, to wear a Diadem.
There's more content, in these poor simple weeds,
More pleasure far, in saying o're these beads,
Believe me Madam, then in all the sport,
And brave Apparel, which is worn at Court.
Those are but trifles, if compar'd with these,
The thought alone of which, does me displease.

Fran.
Madam, such language yet was never known,
To part from any, but the spleen alone:
Especially from one, so young as you,
Which you shoo'd seek, by Physick to subdue.
For 'tis a naughty evil, and withall,
Begets a worse, which we green sickness call.
'Twere pitty such a handsom piece as you,
By such rude means, shoo'd so yourself undo.
Shoo'd by such stricter observations dry,
That softer skin, so in a Nunnery.
You may no doubt, please Heav'n another way,
And in a Congregation, likewise pray,
As well as Cloyster'd up, within a wall,
In silks, and sattens too, if that be all.
Dear Madam, think what you do go about,
And that 'tis ten to one, if you hold out.

Sym.
There's nothing like, unto a willing mind,
Which Heav'n be praysed, strong in me I find.
As for the spleen, I woo'd that you shoo'd know,
This zeal does nothing, unto that humour owe.
No, no, sweet Madam, 'tis so pure a flame,
That if you knew't, you woo'd not blame the same.

Fran.
I do not blame it Madam, but I know
These holy thoughts, do from my brother grow.
Had he not been took, by the Turks at Sea,
You nee're had thought, upon a Nunnery.

Sym.
Heav'n who does so wisely order all,
To whom we subject are, both great and small:
Decreed'd no doubt, from all Eternity,
That this my good, from his mischance shoo'd be.
To whose misfortune, I'me content to owe,
This resolution, since it must be so.

Fran.
But Madam, 'tis not for devotion sake,
If ought respect, makes you this course to take.
That which is pleasing unto Heav'n above,
Is when one does so, meerly out of love.
But as I've said, perhaps my brother may,
By some devise, escape and get away.
Which if he shoo'd, you'le wish when 'tis too late,
That e're you enter'd, so severe a Gate.

Sym.
Madam 'tis true, I care not who does know,
I love my Lord, 'bove ought that's here below,
Except my honour, which I do esteem,
Equal with that, which one cannot redeem.
Yet when in competition, Heav'n shall come,
Your Brother by your favour, must make room:
Since that to Heav'n, I do not only owe,
My present being, but my soul you know:
To whom I am resolv'd, my self to vow,
Shoo'd he arrive, for to disswade me now.

Fran.
Look where he is, as if that he were sent,
Bellarious enters.
By kinder Heav'n, to hinder your intent.
Welcome dear brother, from the Turkish Coast,
Whom we did fear, for ever we had lost.
Ah Heav'ns! may I believe, and trust my sight,
Or is't his spirit, intervenes my light?
Speak brother, speak, and with your voice make good,
Thar which your outward shew, makes understood.

Bell.
As men o'recome with Joy do silent seem,
Until their former spirits, they redeem.
So I dear Sister, with such like excess,
Am stricken dumb, and cannot it express.
To see Symphrona, whom I long'd to see,
But with more passion, then can utter'd be.
Fair Symphrona, whose absence was to to me,
More pain by far, then my captivity.
What! is my Symphrona likewise dumb?
Or else heard-hearted, is she now become?
Does my appearance, Madam, trouble you,
That you so sad, and heavy now do shew?
Alas! I wisht my freedom, but to have,
Only the honour, for to be your slave.
Which if you do deny me, I shall be,
Sorry that e're I sought, my liberty.

Sym.
The same excess, whereof you spake of now,
So ev'ry part about me, seiz'd I vow:
That had the world, the purchase been to speak,
To purchase it, I had been then to seek:
So much I do rejoyce, at your return,
But sorry am, that you for me shoo'd burn.

Bell.
For whom within my breast, shoo'd I have fire,
If that for you, I may not have desire?

Sym.
For those my Lord, which merit more then I,
For to be short, I've vow'd Virginity.

Bell.
Indeed your habit sayes so, but your mind
I do believe, more gentle and more kind.

Sym.
My inside, and my outside, are alike.

Bell.
Ah Heav'ns! how me with wonder you do strike!
Recall those words, except it be your will,
That they forthwith, shoo'd murder me and kill.

Sym.
I woo'd if that I coo'd, but 'tis too late,
I must not love, and yet I cannot hate.

aside.
Bell.
Good Gods! was ever Lover like to me?
Compar'd with this, sweet is Captivity.
Sweet is the usage of a Turk, I swear,
For half so cruel, they did nee're appear.

Fran.
You are Symphrona, too too constant now,

Sym.
Woo'd you with Heav'n, that I shoo'd break my vow?

Bell.
She's rather too inconstant, you may say.

Sym.
Rather but careful, Heav'n for to obey.

Bell.
Heav'n is too just, to bid you do a thing,
Which to another, will such damage bring;
And to your self, if you remember how,
When I departed, you did constant vow.

Sym.
Am I inconstant, 'cause I heard you were.
Took by the Turks, to be in bondage there?
Who then believing, you woo'd nee're escape,
Made me transform my self, into this shape.
And too likewise, with none but Heav'n to wed,
So loathsom to me, was anothers bed.
Which vow now I have made, I mean to keep;
Did I not know, the profit I shall reap?

Bell.
You were too hasty Madam, for to make,
A vow, which you did mean, such root shoo'd take,
As nought but Death, shoo'd cansel and make void.
Then there's no hopes, by you to be enjoy'd?

Sym.
No, none at all, the most that I can do,
Is to go home my Lord, and pray for you.

Exit.
Bell.
Ah Sister! how is it likely, I shoo'd live,
When she that giveth life, denyes to give!

Fran.
'Tis very strange, that one that did so love,
Shoo'd to so rash a vow, so constant prove!
I cannot chuse, but blame in this your chance;
This had not been, had you not gone to France.

Bell.
But did she love me sister? are you sure?
Did she for me, ought trouble e're endure?

Fran.
She did upon my word, so much that I,
Nee're thought shee'd stand to this, so constantly.

Bell.
The greater's my misfortune, if she did,
Wherefore to grieve, I must not be forbid.

Exeunt.