University of Virginia Library

Scæn. 2.

Menaphon
solus.
Strike home, great Cupid, with thy flaming dart,
As yet thou dost but dally with my heart:
'Tis rather scratch'd than wounded; I do hate
A luke-warm love: give me a love flames high,
As it would reach the element of fire,
From whence it came; a low and creeping flame
Befits a chimney, not a lovers breast.
Give me a love dare undertake a task
VVould fright an Hercules into an ague.
A love dare tempt the boldest fate, and die
An honour'd captive, or bold conquerour.
Give me a daring, not a whining love,
A love grows great with opposition:
A love that scorns an easie task, things great
And noble always are most difficult
This is the love (blind Cupid) I would have,
A love that brings home trophies, or a grave.
I'll tempt his god-ship with a song, and see
If verse, not sighs, will gain the victorie.
Sure Cupid hath resign'd his place, and giv'n
His god-head unto Carmela, whose eyes
Wound more than ever did his darts.
But what is that, if she have power to hurt,
And wanteth mercie for to heal those hurts.
I fear whilst I make her my deitie,
I do but thereby make her proud,
And with my own hands place her out of reach.
Yet she is in distress, and that should make
Enter Doron. Listens and laughs.
Her humble: I relieve her, therefore she
Hath the more reason thus to relieve me;
And certain, she will rather love than want.

Dor.
Ha, ha, ha, &c. are you catch'd, Menaphon?
I'faith, I think y'are fetter'd now, you'r hang'd
Ith'brambles of love, as well as I. You laugh'd
At me before, but now I'll laugh at you.

Men.
Ah Doron! now I crave thy pitie, for
I never thought an earthly beautie could
So soon have fetter'd me; what did I say?
An earthly? No, Doron, she is heavenly,
Brighter than Phœbus in his glittring pride:
Venus her self was not so fair a Bride.

Do.
How now Menaphon! I'm afraid thou wilt
Be a beggar shortly, thou art a Poet already.
One of the thred-bare crew, that ragged regiment.

Enter Samela.
Men.
See Doron, see, see where she comes, who with
Her brighter lustre can create a day
At mid-night, when the Sun is gone to sleep;
Eclipse his noon-tide glory with her light:
Her absence would benight the world, & cloath't
In blackest darkness, for to mourn it's loss.

Sam.
Good-morrow Host, how thrive your well-fed flocks?

Men.
My flocks do thrive (Lady) and can't do less,
Blest with the auspicious sun-shine of your eyes;
And I were too ingrateful, if I should
Deny to give you back again, what I
Enjoy but by your beauteous influence.

Sam.
Y'are merry, Menaphon, if not prophane,
To rob the gods of what is due to them,
To give it to the object of their scorn.
Could I dispense good fortunes, I should not
Forget my self, & chuse the meanest lot.

Exeunt.
Dor.
This 'tis to be in love, how spruce is Menaphon
Become of late, as he were always going
To a feast? and talks as if he were some
Citie Orator. Why can I not do so? I'm
Sure I am in love as well as he. But
I'll go hire some journey-man Poet, or other,
And he shall make me some verses
For my Carmela: And that will do as
Well, as if I made them my self; I'll
Set my brand upon them, and then no
Body will question them to be mine, no
More than they do my sheep that are mark'd.