 | The Humorous Lieutenant |  |
Scæne 5.
Enter Antigonus and Leucippe.Ant.
Are you sure she dranke it?
Leu.
Now must I lye most confidently.
Yes sir, she has drunke it off.
Ant.
How works it with her?
Leu.
I see no alteration yet.
Ant.
There will be,
For he is the greatest Artist living made it;
Where is she now?
Leu.
She is ready to walke out sir.
Ant.
Starke mad, I know she will be.
Leu.
So I hope sir.
Ant.
She knowes not of the Prince?
Leu.
Of no man living—
Ant.
How do I looke? how do my clothes become me?
I am not very gray.
Leu.
A very youth sir,
Upon my maiden-head as smug as April:
Heaven blesse that sweet face, 'twill undoe a thousand,
Many a soft heart must sob yet, ere that wither,
Your Grace can give content enough.
Ant.
I thinke so.
Enter Celia with a book
Leu.
Here she comes sir.
Ant.
How shall I keep her off me?
Go & perfume the room: make all things ready.
Ex. Len.
Cel.
No hope yet of the Prince? no comfort of him?
They keep me mew'd up here, as they mew mad folkes,
No companie but my afflictions.
This royall devill againe? strange, how he haunts me?
How like a poison'd potion his eyes fright me?
Has made himselfe hansome too.
Ant.
Doe you looke now, Lady?
You will leap anon.
Cel.
Curl'd and perfum'd? I smell him:
He looks on's leggs too: sure he will cut a caper,
God-a-mercie deare December.
Ant.
O doe you smile now:
I knew it would worke with you: come hither pretty one.
Cel.
Sir.
Ant.
I like those curtesies well come hither & kisse me.
Cel.
I am reading sir of a short Treatise here,
Thats call'd the vanitie of lust: has your Grace seene it?
He sayes here, that an old mans loose desire
Is like the glow-wormes light, the Apes so wonder'd at:
Which when they gather'd sticks, and laid upon't,
And blew, and blew, turn'd taile, and went out presently:
And in another place, he cals their loves,
Faint smels of dying flowers, carry no comforts;
They'r doating stinking foggs, so thick and muddy,
Reason with all his beames cannot beat through 'em.
Ant.
How's this? is this the potion? you but foole still,
I know you love me.
Cel.
As ye are just and honest,
I know I love and honour ye: admire ye.
Ant.
This makes against me, fearfully against me.
Cel.
But as you bring your power to persecute me,
Your traps to catch mine innoncence, to rob me,
As you lay out your lusts to overwhelme me,
Hell never hated good, as I hate you sir;
And I dare tell it to your face: What glory
Now after all your Conquests got, your Titles,
The ever-living memories rais'd to you.
Can my defeat be? my poore wracke, what triumph?
And when you crowne your swelling cups to fortune,
What honourable tongue can sing my story?
Be as your Embleme is, a glorious Lamp
Set on the top of all, to light all perfectly:
Be as your office is, a god like Justice,
Into all shedding equally your vertues.
Ant.
She has drencht me now: now I admire hir goodnes;
So young, so nobly strong, I never tasted:
Can nothing in the powers of Kings perswade ye?
Cel.
No, nor that power command me.
Ant.
Say I should force ye?
I have it in my will.
Cel.
Your will's a poore one;
And though it be a Kings will, a despised one,
Weaker then Infants leggs, your will's in swadling clouts:
A thousand waies my will has found to checke ye;
A thousand doores to leape ye I dare die sir
As suddenly I dare die, as you can offer:
Nay say you had your will, say you had ravish'd me,
Perform'd your lust, what had you purchas'd by it?
What honor won, doe you know who dwels above sir,
And what they have prepared for men turr'd devils?
Did you never heare their thunder? start and tremble,
Death sitting on your bloud, when their fires visit us?
Will nothing wring you then do you thinke? sit hard here?
And like a snaile curle round about your conscience
Biting and stinging: will you not roare too late then?
Then when you shake in horror of this villanie,
Then will I rise a star in heaven, and scorne ye.
Ant.
Lust, how I hate thee now? and love this sweetnesse?
Will ye be my Queene? can that price purchase ye?
Cel.
Not all the world, I am a Queene alreadie,
Crown'd by his love, I must not lose for fortune;
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Can lend no love, am not mine owne Exchequer;
For in anothers heart my hope and peace lyes.
Ant.
Your faire hands, Lady: for yet I am not pure enough
To touch these lips, in that sweet peace ye spoke of:
Live now for ever, and I to serve your vertues—
Cel.
Why now ye show a god? now I kneele to ye;
This sacrifice of Virgins joy send to ye:
Thus I hold up my hands to heaven that touch'd ye,
And pray eternall blessings dwell about ye.
Ant.
Vertue commands the stars: rise more then vertue;
Your present comfort shall be now my busines.
Cel.
All my obedient service wait upon ye.
Ex. severally.
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