 | The Royall Slave |  |
Sce. 5.
To her Arsamnes.Arsam.
Was't not enough that you perus'd his Actions,
And surfetted your Eyes upon his follies,
Seeing, and seene againe, but you must cast him
A Chayne, an Emblematicke Chayne?
Atos.
'Tis not
The veyle that hinders the quicke busie Eye
From reading o're the Face, but Modesty.
He hath a weake defence, that doth entrust
The preservation of a chaster Love
Unto a silken Cloud.
Arsam.
I stand not much
Your Chayne.—Your Favour—that—.Do'y'thinke 'tis fit
A Queene should send one linke unto a Slave?
Atos.
Doth not the Sun (the Sun, which yet you worship)
Send beames to others than your selfe? yet those
Which dwell on you loose neither light, nor heat,
Comming not thence lesse vigorous, or lesse chast.
Would you seale up a Fountaine? or confine
The Ayre unto your walke? would you enjoyne
The Flow'r to cast no smell, but as you passe?
Love is as free as Fountaine, Aire, or Flower.
For't stands not in a poynt; 'tis large, and may,
Like streams, give verdure to this Plant, that Tree,
Nay that whole field of Flow'rs, and yet still runne
In a most faithfull course toward the bosome
Of the lov'd Ocean.
Arsam.
But when you divert
And breake the Streame into small Rivulets,
You make it runne more weake, then when it kept
United in one Channell.
Atos.
If it branch
Into a smaller twining here, and there,
The water is not lost, nor doth it quit
The former Name; this is not to destroy,
But to enlarge the streame: did it dry up,
And leave the Fountaine destitute, indeed
You'd reason to be angry.
Arsam.
But what should make you
Present him with a guift? you might have smother'd
A good opinion of him in your Breast,
(As some digressing streames flow under ground)
And so have rested; but you shew it now,
And make the world partaker.
Atos.
Who would stifle
An honest Fire? that flame's to be suspected
That hides it selfe. When that a man of valour
Graceth his Country with a good attempt,
You give a Sword, an Horse, a Mannoure, nay
A sense of Vertue too, as well as you:
And shall we be deny'd the Liberty
To shew we have that sense? A Favour is
The Almes of Love; I doe not passe away
My heart in Charity. Vertuous Cratander
Shewes forth so full a Transcript of your life,
In all but his misfortunes, that methinkes
You may admire your selfe in him, as in
Your shade. But yet let chast Atossa rather
Not be at all, than not be wholly yours.
Arsam.
Thou art still vertuous my Atossa, still
Transparent as thy Crystall, but more spotlesse.
Fooles that we are, to thinke the Eye of Love
Must alwayes looke on us. The Vine that climbes
By conjugall Embracements 'bout the Elme,
May with a ring or two perhaps encircle
Some neighbouring bough, and yet this twining prove.
Not the Offence, but Charity of Love.
[Exeunt.
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