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Scæna 4.
Enter Mulleasses solus.Mull.
Be pleas'd ye powers of might, and bout me skip
Your anticke measures: like to cole black moores,
Dauncing their high Lauoltos to the Sun
Circle me round: and in the midst Ile stand,
And cracke my sides with laughter at your sports.
Oh my hopes fatte me: nor shall time grow old,
Or weary with attending my successe.
One night shall crowne me happy: Borgias wife
Appeares vnto the Dukes for Iulias ghost,
To breed suspition in them of her murder,
So that if Borgias chaunce suruiue this night
(As he must dye if all my plots hits right)
The Dukes to morrow when the Senate sits
May proue what ile affirme against his life.
Nor to redeeme his safety shall he bring
The Lady to disproue what we auerre.
Here will I cease, and in some straunge disguise
Keepe till my growing faction be of force
To second my ambition for the crowne.
If I plot well faire Amada must dye,
To speake her fathers wrongs. Timoclea
Thou, thou art next: I tooke thee from thy graue
Not for the loue I bore Timoclea,
But to sucke from thy vse the sweets of loue
I bore to Iulia: twas loue and state.
Gaue thee this time of life to strength my fate:
But blabbe not: scilence tongue: she comes.
Enter Timoclea.
Timo.
My Lord, what, drownd in contemplation?
Mulleasses: loue.
Mull.
Heauenly creation, beauties abstract, natures wonder.
Timo.
What meanes my Lord? awake, Timoclea speakes.
Mul.
I must inioy thee Amada: strong force of passion.
Timo.
Ha: Amada: dearest Lord: your sence
And know me.
Mul.
Ha Timoclea: thy loue and pardon, I was ore borne,
And carried from my selfe with idle thoughts
Of what sad melancholly suggested in me:
What comfort bringst thou? hath thy dead shape
Bene powerfull vnto feare? stood they amazd?
Their eyes like fiered starres set on thy face:
Their speeche abrupt and short: their haire vpright?
Stiffe like the quils of Porcupines? art blest?
Timo.
I am: if what you speak may make me blest.
Mul.
It makes vs happy: giues our hope true life.
Timo.
Neither my life nor hope to be so blest
Makes me so happy as thy loue deare Turke.
Were I a Venus thou shouldst be my Mars,
And I would court thee euen in Phebus sight,
Although it mou'd an enuy in the gods.
Be Iouial: & like Salmecis, thy loue
Shall cling about thy necke.
Mull.
I am not sportfull:
Ile dance before thee like a faiery Nimph,
And with my pleasing motions make thee sport:
Ile court thee nak'd, as did the Queene of thoughts
Her sullen boy, and all to make thee sport.
Mull.
You are not pleasing.
Timo.
Not pleasing gentle Turke?
Time hath not set the caracters of age
On my smooth browe: my pulses beate as high,
As when my first youth lifted vp my blood,
I buy no beauty: nor hath nature bene
A niggard in my face: I am yet yong
Fresh and delightsome, as the checkerd spring,
The Lilly and the Rose growe in my cheekes,
And make a bed for loue to rest him on.
Mul.
But I am restles.
Timo.
Rest thee on my brest.
Mul.
No I must pilgrine to a loue deuine.
Timo.
Loue me and vnto loue Ile build a shrine
And on an Altar offer to our loues,
The thighs of Sparrowes and of Turtle Doues.
Mull.
You are importunate.
Timo.
Yeeld then and I haue done.
Mul.
No more:
Faire Amada's the saint that I adore.
Exit.
Timo.
Amada: minyon is it you?
Makes me thus sue vnheard? my daughter Amada
Haue I in my bosome nurst a snake:
No fierce-streamd torrent, nor no storme at Sea,
No stepdame is halte so raging: my blood was not so strong,
When thou wert got: now tis like the Sea,
My soule a Barke that runnes with wind and tyde
And cannot stop: the Anchor of my thoughts
(Reason) is lost, and like the vine-gods priests
Running downe Nila or from Pindus top,
I am vnstaid and doubtfull in my course.
Which all succeeding times to come shall speake
Yet not beleeue; all say twas done, yet none
Say twas well done. Loue is a God,
Strong, free, vnbounded, and as some define,
Feares nothing, pittieth none: such loue is mine.
Exit.
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