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Scæne 2.
Enter Archas, Honora, and Viola.Ar.
No more: it must be so; do you think I would send ye
Your father, and your friend—
Viol.
Pray Sir be good to us,
Alas, we know no Court, nor seeke that knowledge;
We are content like harmles things at home,
Children of your content, bred up in quiet,
Only to know our selves, to seeke a wisedome
From that we understand, easie, and honest;
To make our actions worthy of your honour,
Their ends as innocent as we begot 'em:
What shall we looke for Sir, what shall we learne there,
That this more private sweetnesse cannot teach us?
Vertue was never built upon ambition,
Nor the soules beauties bred out of braverie:
What a terrible Father would you seeme to us,
Now you have moulded us, and wrought our tempers
To easie and obedient waies, uncrooked,
Where the faire minde can never lose, nor loiter,
Now to divert our Natures, now to stem us
Roughly against the tide of all this treasure?
Would ye have us proud? 'tis sooner bred, then buried;
Wickedly proud? for such things dwell at Court Sir.
Ho.
Would you have your children learn to forget their father,
And when he dies dance on his Monument?
Shall we seeke vertue in a Sattin gowne,
Imbroider'd vertue? faith in a well-curl'd feather?
And set our credits to the tune of green sleeves?
This may be done; and if you like, it shall be.
You should have sent us thither, when we were younger,
Our Maiden-heads at a higher rate, our Innocence
Able to make a Mart indeed: we are now too old Sir,
Perhaps they'l think too cunning too, and slight us,
Besides we are altogether unprovided,
Unfurnish'd utterly of the rules should guide us:
This Lord comes licks his hand; and protests to me:
Compares my beauty to a thousand fine things;
Mountaines, and fountaines, trees, and stars, and goblins;
Now have not I the fashion to beleeve him;
He offers me the honourable curtesie,
To lye with me all night, what a miserie is this?
I am bred up so foolishly alas I dare not,
And how madly these things will shew there.
Ar.
I send ye not,
Like parts infected, to draw more corruption;
Like Spiders to grow great, with growing evill:
With your owne vertues season'd, and my prayers,
The card of goodnes in your minds, that showes ye
When ye saile false; the needle touch'd with honour,
That through the blackest stormes, still points at happines:
Your bodies the tall barks, rib'd round with goodnes;
Your heavenly soules the Pilots, thus I send you;
Thus I prepare your voyage, sound before ye,
And ever as you saile through this worlds vanitie,
Discover sholes, rocks, quicksands, cry out to ye,
Like a good Master tack about for honour:
The Court is vertue's schoole; at least it should be;
Nearer the Sun the Mine lies, the mettels purer:
Be it granted, if the Spring be once infected.
Those branches that flow from him must run muddy;
Say you find some sins there, and those no small ones,
And they like lazie fits begin to shake ye:
Say they affect your strengths, my happy children,
Great things through greatest hazards are atchiev'd still,
And then they shine, then goodnes has his glory,
His Crowne fast rivited, then time moves under,
Where, through the mist of errors, like the Sun,
Through thicke and pitchie clouds, he breaks out nobly.
Hon.
I thanke you Sir, you have made me half a souldier,
I will to court most willingly, most fondly.
And if there be such stirring things amongst 'em,
Such travellers into Virginia,
As fame reports, if they can win me, take me:
I thinke I have a close ward, and a sure one;
A honest mind I hope, 'tis petticote-proofe,
Chaine proofe, and jewell-proof: I know 'tis gold proof,
A Coach and foure horses cannot draw me from it:
As for your hansome faces, and filed tongues,
Curl'd Millers heads; I have another word for them,
And yet I'le flatter too, as fast as they doe,
And lye, but not as lewdly: Come, be valiant sister,
She that dares not stand the push o'th' Court, dares nothing,
And yet come off ungrased: Sir, like you,
We both affect great dangers now; & the world shall see
All glory lies not in mans victorie.
Ar.
Mine owne Honora.
Viol.
I am very fearfull,
Would I were stronger built? you would have me honest?
Ar.
Or not at all my Viola.
Viol.
I'le thinke on't,
For 'tis no easie promise, and live there;
Doe you thinke we shall doe well?
Hon.
Why what should aile us?
Viol.
Certaine they'l tempt us strongly: beside the glory
Which women may affect: they are hansome gentlemen,
Every part speaks: nor is it one deniall,
Nor two, nor ten: from every looke we give 'em,
They'le frame a hope: even from our prayers, promises.
Ho.
Let 'em feed so, & be fat: there is no feare wench,
If thou bee'st fast to thy self.
Viol.
I hope I shall be:
And your example will work more.
Enter Theod.
Hon.
Thou shalt not want it.
The.
How doe you Sir, can you lend a man an Angell?
I heare you let out money.
Ar.
Very well Sir,
You are pleasantly dispos'd: I am glad to see it,
36
Theod.
Is't come to Patience now?
Arch.
Is't not a vertue?
Theod.
I know not. I ne're found it so.
Ar.
That's because
Thy anger ever knowes, and not thy judgement.
Theod.
I know you have been rifl'd.
Ar.
Nothing lesse boy:
Lord what opinions these vaine people publish?
Rifl'd of what?
The.
Study your vertue patience,
It may get Mustard to your meat. Why in such haste sir,
Sent ye for me?
Ar.
For this end onely, Theodore,
To wait upon your sisters to the Court;
I am commanded they live there.
The.
Toth' Court sir?
Ar.
Toth' Court I say.
The.
And must I wait upon 'em?
Ar.
Yes, 'tis most fit yee should, ye are their brother.
The.
Is this the businesse? I had thought your mind sir
Had been set forward on some noble action,
Something had truely stirr'd ye. To th'Court with these?
Why they are your daughters sir.
Ar.
All this I know sir.
The.
The good old woman on a bed he threw.
Toth' Court?
Ar.
Thou art not mad.
The.
Nor drunke as you are:
Drunke with your duty sir: doe you call it duty?
A pox o' duty, what can these doe there?
What should they doe? Can ye look Babies sisters
In the young Gallants eyes, & twirle their Band-strings?
Can ye ride out to ayre your selves? pray sir,
Be serious with me: doe you speake this truely?
Ar.
Why didst thou never heare of women
Yet at Court boy?
The.
Yes, and good women too, very good women,
Excellent honest women: but are you sure sir,
That these will prove so?
Hon.
There's the danger brother.
The.
God a mercy wench, thou hast a grudging of it.
Ar.
Now be you serious sir, and observe what I say,
Doe it, and doe it handsomely: goe with 'em.
The.
With all my heart sir; I am in no fault now;
If they be thought whores for being in my company;
Pray write upon their backs, they are my sisters,
And where I shall deliver 'em.
Ar.
Ye are wondrous jocund,
But prethee tell me, art thou so lewd a fellow,
I never knew thee faile a truth,
The.
I am a souldier,
And spell you what that meanes.
Ar.
A Souldier?
What dost thou make of me?
The.
Your Pallat's downe sir.
Ar.
I thanke yee sir.
The.
Come, shall we to this matter?
You will to Court?
Hon.
If you will please to honour us.
The.
Ile honour yee, I warrant: Ile set yee off
With such a lustre wenches: Alas poore Viola,
Thou art a foole, thou criest for eating white-bread:
Be a good huswife of thy teares, and save 'em,
Thou wilt have time enough to shed 'em sister.
Doe you weep too? nay then Ile foole no more.
Come worthy sisters, since it must be so,
And since he thinks it fit to trie your vertues,
Be you as strong to truth, as I to guard yee,
And this old gentleman shall have joy of ye.
Exeunt.
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