 | The Loyal Svbiect |  |
Scene 3.
Enter Duke, Boroskie.Duke.
Are the Souldiers still so mutinous?
Bor.
More then ever,
No Law nor Justice frights 'em: all the Towne over
They play new pranks and gambols: no mans person,
Of what degree soever, free from abuses:
And durst they doe this, (let your grace consider)
These monstrous, most offensive things, these villanies,
If not set on, and fed? if not by one
They honour more then you? and more aw'd by him?
Du.
Happily their owne wants.
Boros.
I offer to supply 'em,
And every houre make tender of their moneyes:
They scorne it, laugh at me that offer it:
I feare the next device will be my life sir;
And willingly Ile give it, so they stay there.
Duke.
Doe you think Lord Archas privie?
Bor.
More then thought,
I know it Sir, I know they durst not doe
These violent rude things, abuse the State thus,
But that they have a hope by his ambitions—
Du.
No more: he's sent for?
Boros.
Yes, and will be here sure.
Du.
Let me talke further with you anon.
Bor.
Ile wait sir.
Du.
Did you speak to the Ladies?
Bor.
They'll attend your grace presently.
Du.
How doe you like 'em?
Bor.
My eyes are too dull Judges.
They wait here sir.
Exit.
Du.
Be you gone then: Come in Ladies:
Enter Honora and Viola.
Welcom to th'court sweet beauties; now the court shines,
When such true beames of beauty strike amongst us:
Welcome, welcome, even as your owne joyes welcome.
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Is't not a place created for all sweetnesse?
Why were you made such strangers to this happinesse?
Barr'd the delights this holds? the richest jewels
Set ne're so well, if then not worne to wonder,
By judging eyes not set off, lose their lustre:
Your Countrey shades are faint; blasters of beauty;
The manners like the place, obscure and heavie;
The Rose buds of your beauties turne to cankers,
Eaten with inward thoughts: whilst there ye wander.
Here Ladies, here, you were not made for Cloisters,
Here is the Sphere you move in: here shine nobly,
And by your powerfull influence command all:
What a sweet modestie dwells round about 'em,
And like a nipping morne pulls in their blossoms?
Hon.
Your grace speaks cunningly, you doe not this,
I hope sir, to betray us, wee are poore triumphs;
Nor can our losse of honour adde to you sir:
Great men, and great thoughts, seek things great & worthy,
Subjects to make 'em live, and not to lose 'em;
Conquests so nobly won, can never perish;
We are two simple maids, untutor'd here sir;
Two honest maids, is that a sin at Court sir?
Our breeding is obedience, but to good things,
To vertuous and to faire: what wou'd you win on us?
Why doe I aske that question, when I have found yee?
Your Preamble has pow'rd your heart out to us;
You would dishonour us; which in your translation
Here at the Court reads thus, your grace would love us,
Most dearely love us: sticke us up for mistresses:
Most cerraine, there are thousands of our Sex sir
That would be glad of this, and handsome women,
And crowd into this favour, faire young women,
Excellent beauties sir: when ye have enjoyd 'em,
And suckt those sweets they have, what Saints are these then?
What worship have they won? what name you ghesse sir,
What storie added to their time, a sweet one?
Du.
A brave spirited wench.
Hon.
Ile tell your grace,
And tell yee true: ye are deceiv'd in us two,
Extreamly cozend sir: And yet in my eye
You are the handsomst man I ever lookt on,
The goodliest gentleman; take that hope with yee;
And were I fit to be your wife (so much I honour yee)
Trust me I would scratch for ye but I would have yee.
I would wooe you then.
Du.
She amazes me:
But how am I deceiv'd?
Hon.
O we are too honest,
Believe it sir, too honest, far too honest,
The way that you propound too ignorant,
And there is no medling with us; for we are fooles too,
Obstinate, peevish fooles: if I would be ill,
And had a wantons itch, to kick my heeles up,
I would not leap intoth' Sun, and doe't there,
That all the world might see me: an obscure shade sir,
Darke as the deed, there is no trusting light with it,
Nor thats that lighter far, vain-glorious greatnesse.
Du.
You will love me as your friend?
Ho.
I will honour yee,
As your poore humble handmaid serve, and pray for ye.
Du.
What sayes my little one; you are not so obstinate?
Lord how she blushes: here are truely faire soules:
Come you will be my love?
Viol.
Good sir be good to me,
Indeed Ile doe the best I can to please yee;
I doe beseech your grace: Alas I feare ye.
Du.
What shouldst thou feare?
Hon.
Fie sir, this is not noble.
Du.
Why doe I stand entreating, where my power—
Ho.
You have no power, at least you ought to have none
In bad and beastly things: arm'd thus, Ile dye here,
Before she suffer wrong.
Du.
Another Archas?
Ho.
His childe sir, and his spirit.
Du.
Ile deale with you then,
For here's the honour to be won: sit down sweet,
Prethee Honora sit.
Ho.
Now ye intreat I will sir.
Du.
I doe, and will deserve it.
Ho.
That's too much kindnesse.
Du.
Prethee look on me.
Ho.
Yes: I love to see yee,
And could look on an age thus, and admire ye:
Whilst ye are good and temperate I dare touch ye,
Kisse your white hand.
Du.
Why not my lips?
Ho.
I dare sir.
Du.
I doe not thinke ye dare.
Ho.
I am no coward.
Doe you believe me now? or now? or now sir?
You make me blush: but sure I mean no ill sir:
It had been fitter you had kiss'd me.
Du.
That Ile doe too.
What hast thou wrought into me?
Ho.
I hope all goodnesse:
Whilst ye are thus, thus honest, I dare doe any thing,
Thus hang about your neck, and thus doat on yee;
Blesse those faire lights: hell take me if I durst not—
But good Sir pardon me. Sister come hither,
Come hither, feare not wench: come hither, blush not,
Come kisse the Prince, the vertuous Prince, the good Prince:
Certaine he is excellent honest.
Du.
Thou wilt make me—
Ho.
Sit downe, and hug him softly.
Du.
Fie Honora,
Wanton Honora; is this the modesty,
The noble chastity your on-set shew'd me,
At first charge beaten back? Away.
Hon.
Thank ye:
Upon my knees I pray, heaven too may thank ye;
Ye have deceiv'd me cunningly, yet nobly
Ye have cozen'd me: In all your hopefull life yet,
A Scene of greater honour, you ne're acted:
I knew Fame was a lyar, too long, and loud tongu'd,
And now I have found it: O my vertuous Master.
Viol.
My vertuous Master too.
Hon.
Now you are thus,
What shall become of me let Fortune cast for't.
Du.
Ile be that fortune, if I live Honora,
Enter Alin.
Thou hast done a cure upon me, counsell could not.
Al.
Here take your ring sir, & whom ye mean to ruine,
Give it to her next; I have paid for't dearely.
Hon.
A Ring to her?
Du.
Why frownes my faire Alinda?
I have forgot both these againe.
Al.
Stand still sir,
Ye have that violent killing fire upon ye,
Consumes all honour, credit, faith.
Hon.
How's this?
Al.
My Royall Mistris favour towards me,
Woe-worth ye sir, ye have poyson'd, blasted.
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I sweet?
Al.
You have taken that unmanly liberty,
Which in a worse man, is vaine-glorious feigning,
And kild my truth.
Du.
Upon my life 'tis false wench.
Al.
Ladies,
Take heed, ye have a cunning gamster,
A handsome, and a high; come stoar'd with Antidotes,
He has infections else will fire your blouds.
Du.
Prethee Alinda heare me.
Al.
Words steept in honey,
That will so melt into your mindes, buy Chastity,
A thousand wayes, a thousand knots to tie ye;
And when he has bound ye his, a thousand ruines.
A poore lost woman ye have made me.
Du.
Ile maintaine thee,
And nobly too.
Al.
That Gin's too weak to take me:
Take heed, take heed young Ladies: still take heed,
Take heed of promises, take heed of gifts,
Of forced feigned sorrowes, sighes, take heed.
Du.
By all that's mine, Alinda—
Al.
Sweare
By your mischiefes:
O whither shall I goe?
Du.
Goe back againe,
Ile force her take thee, love thee.
Al.
Fare ye well Sir,
I will not curse ye; onely this dwell with ye,
When ever you love, a false beliefe light on ye.
Exit.
Hon.
Wee'll take our leaves too sir.
Duk.
Part all the world now,
Since she is gone.
Hon.
You are crooked yet, deare Master,
And still I feare—
Exeunt.
Duke.
I am vext,
And some shall finde it.
Exit.
| The Loyal Svbiect | |