University of Virginia Library

Scen: 1a:

{A Wood}
Florimond.
Cleander Dorimant. Calidor {Wounded}
Hee Breathes

Dor:
Bowe him gently, my Lord,
There's Hope of Life enough to quitt the Trouble;
Hee stirres.

Flor.
Soe Blesse mee, Gods, as I would Succor
This noble Stranger, ffor hee seemes noe Lesse

Clean.
His shape speakes much for him, but ye rude Villains
Regard noe Lawes of Honour.

Flor.
Which way tooke they?

Dor.
Towards the Thickett; but it seemes his Hand
Holds as great Charmes ore Vallour, as his fface
On Loue; for three of that inhumane Crew
Lye prostrate on the Earth from whence I bore him
To hollo you in to vs.

Flor.
Th'are those Rogues
That prey on Rapine in these Desolate Woods;
But ô yee Gods if you'l engage mee [m] still
Giue mee him back yt I may owne that Worth
Which it should seeme you once haue Lou'd.

Cal.
Oh. oh.

Flor.
That sound, though it be sadd, begetts a Hope
That better Things may ffollow. Lift him up.

Dor.
Hee opes his Eyes

Cal.
Oh.

Flor.
Rest him softly here

Cal.
Fortune!

Clean.
Hee ffaints.

Flor.
With what a nimble scorne
Hee Clos'd his Eyes, as if hee thought ye Earth:
Vnworthy to enjoy him.

Cal.
Gentlemen,
Who ere you Bee that Labour to prolong
A wretched Life I would my present ffortunes
Would giue mee Leaue to thanke you; but I pray
Toyle not yor Selues, for 'tis a Courtesie
That I may Liue to curse you for.

Flor.
Braue Sr:
Wee would be Troublesom, not Offensiue to you,
But since the Gods haue brought us to the Place
Where they soe much haue Suffred in yor Wounds,
Wee must force yor endangerd Life upon you,
And serue theire Wills.

Cal.
Seas whither haue you brought mee?
Sure Courtesy growes here: All ye Courts & Kingdomes
That these Unhappy ffeet haue Wanderd o're
May Learne at this wild Desart to be noble;
I bleed my Thankes to you, for it is now
The next way from my Heart. What may I call
This Land?

Flor.
Corsica; Whither I dare bidd you Welcome,
A Kingdom gouern'd by a Mayden Queene,
And shee shall doe noe Lesse. shee's hunting here.
My Lord Cleander wc h way tooke shee?

Clean.
After the Stagg
Like Lightning; Not Diana rides a Horse
With greater Maiestie

Flor.
O shee's a Queene!

Clean.
I'm gladd on't for yor sake my Lord; you are
The sunne wee all must Looke on now; shortly
The Husband of our Queene; but good faith I
Spoke not in fflatterie

Flo:
How feele you your Wounds sr?

Calid.
Nothing. meere Schratches. ye blow yt stonyd mee
Was on my Head, and 'tis the Worst I hope.
To Dorimant
Sr you were my Preseruer

Dor.
Tis my Glorie;
But Sr y'haue taught our Wood-Theiues better manners
Then sett on you agen.

Clean.
Ther's the Queene.