University of Virginia Library

Scæna Tertia.

Enter Marciano solus, as at Pisa.
That she's escap'd, that, I know certainly,
So letters from Siena have inform'd me.
But by what means, or where she is, I know not.
Never remembers him, who, if he should
Forget her but one hour, would think he had
Offended highly, yet she's silent still.
If I receive no letters from her, shortly,
I'le become jealous of her, sure; that she,
Who was all love, is now so quickly cold
In her affections.—But what! I blaspheme
The vertuous Arabella, she's all vertue,
And cannot prove unconstant—
Now let me meditate on what my Prince
Hath order'd me to do: He's still the same,
And bears a mind, that floats above the waves
Of all adversities, as who should say,
Fortune, even do thy worst. His Counsellours,
Like to wife Marriners, affray'd to stretch
The top sayles of their courage in this tempest,
Least both they, and their Prince should suffer shipwrack.
Only was I commanded some years since
Upon an expedition to Siena,
Encourag'd by th'affectionate expressions,
And actions of the valiant Cassanao,
And others of our loyal country-men.
But fortune crush'd our enterprises, so
I did return to Savoy, where my Prince
Did then reside: and now, I am commanded
To second here an enterprise at Pisa,
Which whether it succeed or not; my duty
Is yet at least to prosecute it—
A post-horn sounds within.
How's this—a post-horn: good—

Enter Strenuo with a Letter
Str.
All's well, my Lord, now do our joyes begin.
To flourish after such a tedious winter.
The Duk's restor'd, and now intends at Florence.
Here, here's a letter for it, from himself.

Marc.
Restor'd!—Nay hold my heart—I'l read this letter.
(reads
—True, True:—O fortune how I hugge thee now.
And thou my good friend Strenuo—

(embraces him.
Str.
Brave dayes, my Lord; the Court does fill apace,
The Ladies croud in throngs: the glory of
Her sex, your darling, the fair Arabella,
Since clouds of melancholly are overblown,
Does now appear in loves full horizon.

Marc.
O how propitious! lend me moderation,
Reins to my joy, as well as to my sorrow,
Else, I shall quickly burst to death: this bless'd,
And unexpected Tarantula: of news
So ticles all my senses:—joyfull tidings!
My Prince restor'd! my dearest Arabella
At Court! now my felicity lacks nothing
But fight to be compleat: that my eyes may
Perswade my yet almost incredulous soul,
To what my fancy never durst have prompted
—To horse—To horse, I'le post to Florence quickly.

Exit. post-horn sounds.