University of Virginia Library

Scena quarta.

Enter Roderiguez, Chaves, Engenia disguised.
Rod.
Tis strange, my Father, Sir, should come to hear on't

Cha.
It was that knavish Boy that did betray us.

Eug.
Pray, Sir, be pleased to return your answer.

Rod.
Friend, you may walk, I've nothing to return.

Eug.
Then without bashfull feare, or flatrery,
You are a noble villain.

Rod.
How now, Sirrah!

Eug.
Is not your Fathers love to be esteem'd
Before your friends? Does not your naturall duty,
You ow him, stirre a fury in your blood
Against that traytor? Poore Eugenia! she
Wearies with tears, ev'n griefe it self, to think
Of this curst perjury, and her brothers Spirit,
Which either doth for fear, or fond affection
To that ignoble perjurer, permit
Him breath without revenge; but were it mine,
As 'tis your case, I would devoure him up
Like some wild Anthropophagus: Let Nature
Convince you, kill him.

Rod.
Hold your peace, and walk,
Be gone, or I—

Eug.
What dar'st thou, noble villain!
Thy Father on his blessing charges thee
To take revenge; and dost thou onely not
Contemne his will, but keep society
With his curst Enemy; marke his cursings, Sir,
Thinke on his blessings.

Rod.
Honest friend! the love
I beare your noble quality assayes
Me to detain still with you, but my duty
Commands me not t'incurre my fathers curse.
I must desert you.

Cha.
Prithee doe, kind Coxcombe!
I'm glad I'm rid of thee.

Rod.
Yet e're we part,
Thinke on my sisters merit, how, her virtues
Transcend your Mistris qualities; next view
The perill that you are in; Should it come
To Balthazar, that you did wound him, death
Would sure ensue; but for our former love
Let me entreat you be reclaim'd.

Cha:
I must not,
Nor will not, you may:

Rod.
Sure! I am bewitchd,
To love him, when I offer to relinquish
His Company; there's something loads my feete
With lead, I cannot leave him, fellow, goe,
Return this answer to my Father, that
When I come home, I'll satisfy him, why
I did not doe his pleasure, so be gone—
Without reply:

Eug.
Well Sir.

Exit.
Enter Catalina.
Cat.
O! Sir Chaves! what shall we doe Sir Chaves? my Mistris—

Rod.
What of his love? are we discovered?

Cat.
O! worse! she's to be married.

Rod.
Married?

Cat.
I marry, married too morrow at Saint Saviours Church.

Rod.
Alas! poore man! to whom?

Cat.
I know not; oh! I know not!
(Wrings her hands.)
Hold him.

(Chaves sinks down.)
Rod.
Good Sir cheere your selfe.

Cha.
Some lucklesse serene blast me, may a damp
Thick as Thyestes darkness spring from Dis,
And muffle up the world in endless night;
That none may see those nuptialls, which I'll make
Fatall as Jasons; tell your faithless Mistris
In stead of pines, I'll send her tapers, Yew,
And deadly Cypresse to make green her bed,
Where virgin Laurell and such harmless boughes
Dare not approach for fear of blasting; Fiends
Will be her Bridemaids; surely I was borne
With all good stars my Opposites. Is't too morrow?

Rod:
Yes Sir too morrow? pray, why rave you thus?

Cha.
I pray Sir tell me, may we not, e're then
Borrow some toylsome woodnetts, and invite
The gallant youth o'th' City to goe hunt
In yonder desarts?

Rod.
Why? what then?

Cha.
To take
The salvage walkers of the wilderness,
Bulls, Wolves and Tygers, and manure them up
In yonder spatious Amphitheater:
And then set fire on't; till their flaming throats
Roare, howle, and raise a Clamour, which may rend,
Like some huge thunderclap the trembling Earth,
That all, e're then, might sink to hell, ha! is't not
Brave? lett's about it, friend.

Rod.
Why should you be
Thus cruell? Sir, your rage transports you.

Cha.
Whither?
Now I know, maid, when she hath seen her own,
She'll view my nuptialls.

Cat.
'Ll you be married too?

Cha.
Married? I'll study to surpasse her falshood,
Her curious eyes, I make no doubt, have chosen
A handsome Bridegroome?

Cat.
Yes! indeed.

Cha.
To let
Her see how much I scorn her and her beauty,
I'll wed me to a Creature, in whose looks
Foulnesse is truly character'd, whose eyes
Are poysonous as a Basilicks, and scarse
Afford their Owner light enough to see
Her bodies horrid edifice, whose frame
Is the true substance, which Anatomists
Aime to decipher in their strange dissections
Of livelesse Mortalls; tell her 'tis to death
I'll wed my selfe; the grave shall be our bed.

Rod.
'Tis none of hers, it is her fathers fault;
Study prevention, or you lose her.

Cha.
Did you
Not, tell me she was to be married?

Rod.
Yes! but I hope we shall finde means to hinder't.

(Whisper)
Cha.
I'll take your Counsell.

Exeunt.