University of Virginia Library

Scæne 2.

Enter Lucina, Ardelia, and Phorba.
Ardelia.
You still insist upon that Idoll, Honour,
Can it renue your youth, can it adde wealth,
That takes off wrinkles: can it draw mens eyes,
To gaze upon you in your age? can honour,
That truly is a Saint to none but Souldiers,
And lookd into, beare no reward but danger,
Leave you the most respected person living?
Or can the common kisses of a husband,
(Which to a sprightly Lady is a labour)
Make ye almost Immortall? ye are cozend,
The honour of a woman is her praises;
The way to get these, to be seene, and sought too,
And not to bury such a happy sweetnesse
Vnder a smoaky roofe.

Luci.
Ile heare no more:

Phor.
That white, and red, and all that blessed beauty,
Kept from the eyes, that make it so, is nothing;
Then you are rarely faire, when men proclaime it;
The Phenix, were she never seene, were doubted,
That most unvalued Horne the Vnicorne
Beares to oppose the Huntsman, were it nothing
But tale, and meere tradition, would help no man,
But when the vertue's knowne, the honor's dobled:
Vertue, is either lame, or not at all,
And Love a sacriledge, and not a Saint,
When it bars up the way to mens Petitions.

Ard.
Nay ye shal love your husband too; we come not
To make a Monster of yee;

Luc.
Are ye women?

Ard.
You'l find us so, and women you shall think too,
If you have grace to make your use.

Luc.
Fye on yee,

Phor.
Alas poore bashfull Lady, by my soule,
Had ye no other vertue, but your blushes,
And I a man, I should run mad for those:
How daintlily they set her off, how sweetly?

Ard.
Come Goddesse, come, you move too neer the earth,
It must not be, a better or be staies for you:
Here: be a mayd, and take 'en,

Luc.
Pray leave me.

Phor.
That were a sin sweet Lady, and a way
To make us guilty of your melancholly;
You must not be alone; In conversation
Doubts are resolv'd, and what sticks neer the conscience
Made easie, and allowable.

Luc.
Ye are Devills,

Ard.
That you may one day blesse for your damnation.

Luc.
I charge ye in the name of Chastity,
Tempt me no more; how ugly ye seem to me?
There is no wonder men defame our Sex,
And lay the vices of all ages on us,
When such as you shall beare the names of women;
If ye had eyes to see your selves, or sence
Above the base rewards ye play the bawds for:
If ever in your lives ye heard of goodnesse,
(Though many Regions off, as men heare thunder)
If ever ye had Mothers, and they soules:
If ever Fathers, and not such as you are;
If ever any thing were constant in you,
Beside your sins, or comming but your curses,
If ever any of your Ancestors
Dyde worth a noble deed, that would be cherishd,
Soule-frighted with this black infection,
You would run from one another, to repentance,
And from your guilty eyes drop out those sins,
That made ye blind, and beasts.

Phor.
Ye speak well Lady;
A signe of fruitfull education,
If your religious Zeale had wisdome with it.

Ard.
This Lady was ordain'd to blesse the Empire,
And we may all give thanks for't.

Phor.
I beleive ye,

Ard.
If any thing redeem the Emperour,
From his wild flying courses, this is she;
She can instruct him if ye mark; she is wise too.

Phor.
Exceeding wise, which is a wonder in her,
And so religious, that I well believe,
Though she would sinne she cannot.

Ard.
And, besides
She has the Empires cause in hand, not loves;
There lies the maine consideration,
For which she is chiefly borne.

Phor.
She finds that point
Stronger then we can tell her, and believe it
I look by her meanes for a reformation,
And such a one, and such a rare way carried
That all the world shall wonder at.

Ard.
Tis true;
I never thought the Emperor had wisdom,
Pittie, or faire affection to his Country,
Till he profest this love: gods give'em Children,
Such as her vertues merit, and his zeale.
I looke to see a Numa from this Lady,
Or greater then Octavius.

Phor.
Do you mark too,
Which is a Noble vertue, how she blushes,
And what a flowing modesty runs through her,
When we but name the Emperour?

Ard.
But mark it,
Yes, and admire it too, for she considers,
Though she be faire as heaven, and vertuous
As holy truth, yet to the Emperour
She is a kind of nothing but her service,
Which she is bound to offer, and shee'l do it,
And when her Countries cause commands affection;
She knows obedience is the key of vertues,
Then flye the blushes out like Cupids arrowes.
And though the tye of marriage to her Lord,
Would faine cry stay Lucina, yet the cause
And generall wisdom of the Princes love,
Makes her find surer ends and happier,
And if the first were chaste, this is twice dobled.

Phor.
Her tartnes unto us too.

Ard.
That's a wise one.

Phor.
I rarely like, it shewes a rising wisdom,
That chides all common fooles as dare enquire
What Princes would have private.

Ard.
What a Lady
Shall we be blest to serve?

Luc.
Goe get ye from me.
Ye are your purses Agents, not the Princes:
Is this the vertuous Lore yee traind me out too?
Am I a woman fit to imp your vices?
But that I had a Mother, and a woman
Whose ever living fame turnes all it touches,
Into the good it selfe is, I should now
Even doubt my selfe, I have been search't so neere
The very soule of honour: why should you two,
That happily have been as chast as I am,
Fairer, I think, by much, for yet your faces,
Like ancient well built piles, shew worthy ruines,
After that Angell age, turne mortall Devills?
For shame, for woman-hood, for what ye have been,
For rotten Cedars have borne goodly branches,
If ye have hope of any Heaven, but Court,
Which like a Dreame, you'l find hereafter vanish,
Or at the best but subject to repentance,
Study no more to be ill spoken of;
Let women live themselves, if they must fall,
Their owne destruction find 'em, not your fevours.

Ard.
Madam, yee are so excellent in all,
And I must tell it you with admiration,
So true a joy ye have, so sweet a feare,
And when ye come to anger, tis so noble,
That for mine own part, I could still offend,
To heare you angry; women that want that,
And your way guided (else I count it nothing)
Are either Fooles, or Cowards.

Phor.
She were a Mistris for no private greatnesse,
Could she not frowne a ravishd kisse from anger,
And such an anger as this Lady learnes us,
Stuck with such pleasing dangers. Gods (I aske ye)
Which of ye all could hold from?

Luc.
I perceive ye,
Your owne dark sins dwell with yee, and that price
You sell the chastitie of modest wives at
Runs to diseases with your bones: I scorne ye,
And all the nets ye have pitcht to catch my vertues
Like Spiders Webs, I sweep away before me.
Goe tell the Emperour, yee have met a woman,
That neither his owne person, which is God-like,
The world he rules, nor what that world can purchase,
Nor all the glories subject to a Cesar,
The honours that he offers for my body,
The hopes, gifts, everlasting flatteries,
Nor any thing that's his, and apt to tempt me,
No not to be the Mother of the Empire,
And Queene of all the holy fires he worships,
Can make a Whore of.

Ard.
You mistake us Lady.

Luc.
Yet tell him this ha's thus much weakend me,
That I have here his knaves, and you his Matrons,
Fit Nurses for his sins, which gods forgive me,
But ever to be leaning to his folly,
Or to be brought to love his lust, assure him,
And from her mouth, whose life shal make it certain
I never can: I have a Noble husband,
Pray tell him that too, yet a noble name,
A Noble Family, and last a Conscience:
Thus much for your answer: For your selves,
Ye have liv'd the shame of women, dye the better,
Exit Lucina.

Phor.
What's now to doe?

Ard.
Ev'n as she said, to dye,
For ther's no living here, and women thus,
I am sure for us two.

Phor.
Nothing stick upon her?

Ard.
We have lost a masse of mony; wel Dame vertue,
Yet ye may halt if good luck serve.

Phor.
Wormes take her,
She has almost spoil'd our trade,

Ard.
So godly;
This is ill breeding Phorba.

Phor.
If the women
Should have a longing now to see this Monster,
And she convert 'em all.

Ard.
That may be Phorba,
But if it be, Ile have the young men gelded:
Come, let's goe think, she must not scape us thus;
There is a certain season, if we hit,
That women may be rid without a bit.

Exeunt.