University of Virginia Library

Scæne 2.

Enter Demetrius, and Celia.
Cel.
Must ye needs go?

Dem.
Or stay with all dishonour.

Cel.
Are there not men enough to fight?

Dem.
Fie Celia,
This ill becomes the noble love you beare me;
Would you have your love a coward?

Cel.
No; beleeve sir,
I would have him fight, but not so far off from me.

Dem.
Wouldst have it thus? or thus?

Cel.
If that be fighting—

Dem.
Ye wanton foole: when I come home againe
I'le fight with thee, at thine weapon Celia,
And conquer thee too.

Cel.
That you have done already,
You need no other Armes to me, but these sir;
But will you fight your selfe sir?

Dem.
Thus deep in bloud wench,
And through the thickest rankes of Pikes.

Cel.
Spur bravely,
Your firie Courser, beat the troopes before ye,
And crambe the mouth of death with executions.

Dem.
I would do more then these: But prethee tell me,
Tell me my faire, where got'st thou this male spirit?
I wonder at thy mind.

Cel.
Were I man then,
You would wonder more.

Dem.
Sure thou wouldst prove a Souldier,
And some great Leader.

Cel.
Sure I should do somewhat;
And the first thing I did, I should grow envious,
Extreamely envious of your youth, and honour.

Dem.
And fight against me?

Cel.
Ten to one, I should do it.

Dem.
Thou wouldst not hurt me?

Cel.
In this mind I am in,
I thinke I should be hardly brought to strike ye,
Unlesse 'twere thus; but in my mans mind—

Dem.
What?

Cel.
I should be friends with ye too,
Now I thinke better.

Dem.
Ye are a tall Souldier:
Here, take these, and these;
This gold to furnish ye, and keepe this bracelet;
Why do you weep now?
You a masculine spirit?

Cel.
No, I confesse I am a foole, a woman:
And ever when I part with you—

Dem.
You shall not,
These teares are like prodigious signes, my sweet one,
I shall come backe, loden with fame, to honour thee.

Cel.
I hope you shall:
But then my deare Demetrius,
When you stand Conquerour, and at your mercy
All people bow, and all things waite your sentence;
Say then your eye (surveying all your conquest)
Finds out a beautie, even in sorrow excellent,
A constant face, that in the midst of ruine
With a forc'd smile, both scornes at fate, and fortune:
Say you find such a one, so nobly fortified.
And in her figure, all the sweets of nature?

Dem.
Prethee,
No more of this, I cannot find her.

Cel.
That shews as far beyond my wither'd beauty;
And will run mad, to love ye too.

Dem.
Do you feare me,
And do you thinke, besides this face, this beauty,
This heart, where all my hopes are lock'd—

Cel.
I dare not:
No sure, I think ye honest; wondrous honest.
Pray doe not frowne, Ile swear ye are.

Dem.
Ye may choose.

Cel.
But how long will ye be away?

Dem.
I know not.

Cel.
I know you are angry now: pray look upon me:
Ile aske no more such questions.

Dem.
The Drums beat,
I can no longer stay.

Cel.
They doe but call yet:
How faine you would leave my company.

Dem.
I wou'd not,
Unlesse a greater power then love commanded,
Commands my life, mine honour.

Cel.
But a little.

Dem.
Prethee farewell, and be not doubtfull of me.

Cel.
I would not have ye hurt: and ye are so ventrous—
But good sweet Prince preserve your selfe, fight nobly,
But do not thrust this body, 'tis not yours now,
'Tis mine, 'tis onely mine: doe not seek wounds, Sir,
For every drop of bloud you bleed—

Dem.
I will Celia,
I will be carefull.

Cel.
My heart, that loves ye deerely.

Dem.
Prethee no more, we must part:
Harke, they march now.

Drums a March.
Cel.
Pox on these bawling Drums: I am sure you'll kisse me,
But one kisse? what a parting's this?

Dem.
Here take me,
And doe what thou wilt with me, smother me;
But still remember, if your fooling with me,
Make me forget the trust—

Cel.
I have done: farewell sir,
Never look back, you shall not stay, not a minute.

Dem.
I must have one farewell more.

Cel.
No, the Drums beat;
I dare not slack your honour; not a hand more,
Onely this look; the gods preserve, and save ye.