 | The Maid in the Mill |  |
Scæna prima.
Enter Lisauro, Terzo, Ismena, and Aminta.Lis.
Let the Coach go round, wee'l walk along these Meadows:
And meet at Port again: Come my fair Sister,
These cool shades will delight ye.
Am.
Pray be merry,
The Birds sing as they meant to entertain ye,
Every thing smiles abroad: me thinks the River
(As he steals by) curles up his head, to view ye:
Every thing is in Love.
Ism.
You would have it so.
You that are fair, are easie of belief, Cosen,
The Theame slides from your Tongue.
Am.
I fair, I thank ye:
Mine's but shadow when your Sun shines by me.
Ism.
No more of this, you know your worth (Aminta)
Where are we now?
Am.
Hard by the Town (Ismena)
Ter.
Close by the Gates:
Ism.
'Tis a fine Ayre.
Lis.
A delicate;
The way so sweet and even, that the Coach
Would be a tumbling trouble to our pleasures,
Methinks I am very merry:
Ism.
I am sad:
Am.
You are ever so when we entreat ye (Cosen)
Ism.
I have no reason: such a trembling here
Over my heart methinks:
Am.
Sure you are fasting,
Or not slept well to night; some dream (Ismena)
Ism.
My dreams are like my thoughts, honest, and innocent,
Yours are unhappy; who are these that coast us?
Enter Antonio & Martin.
You told me the walk was private.
Ter.
'Tis most commonly:
Ism.
Two proper men: it seems they have some busines,
With me none sure; I do not like their faces;
They are not of our Company:
Ter.
No Cosen:
Lisauro, we are dog'd.
Lis.
I find it (Cosen)
Ant.
What handsome Lady?
Mar.
Yes, shee's very handsom.
They are handsome both,
Ant.
Martin, stay we are cosened.
Mar.
I will go up; a woman is no wild-fire.
Ant.
Now by my life she is sweet: Stay good Martin,
They are of our enemies; the House of Belides,
Our mortal enemies:
Mar.
Let 'em be devills,
They appear so handsomly, I will go forward;
If these be enemies, I'le ne'er seek friends more.
Ant.
Prethee forbear; the Gentlewomen.
Mar.
That's it (man)
That mopes me like a Gin.
'Pray ye stand off Ladies:
Lis.
They are both our enemies: both hate us equally;
By this fair day our mortal foes.
Ter.
I know 'em,
And come here to affront: how they gape at us?
They shall have gaping-work.
Ism.
Why your swords, Gentlemen?
Ter.
Pray ye stand you off, Cosen,
And good now leave your whistling: we are abus'd all,
Back, back I say:
Lis.
Go back.
Ant.
We are no doggs Sir,
To run back on command.
Ter.
Wee'l make ye run, Sir,
Ant.
Having a civil charge of handsom Ladies,
We are your servants: pray ye no quarrel Gentlemen.
There's way enough for both.
Lis.
Wee'l make it wider.
Ant.
If you will fight arm'd, from this Saint; have at ye.
Ism.
O me unhappy, are ye Gentlemen?
Discreet, and Civil, and in open view thus?
Am.
What will men think of us? nay you may kill us;
Mercy o'me: through my petticoat; what bloody gentlemē!
Ism.
Make way through me, ye had best, and kill an innocent:
Brother, why Cosen: by this light Ile die too:
This Gentleman is temperate: be you merciful:
Alas, the Swords.
Am.
You had best run me through the belly,
'Twill be a valiant thrust.
Ism.
I faint amongst ye.
Ant.
Pray ye be not fearful: I have done (sweet Lady)
My sword's already aw'd, and shall obey ye:
I come not here to violate sweet beauty,
I bow to that.
Ism.
Brother, you see this Gentleman,
This Noble Gentleman,
Lis.
Let him avoid then,
And leave our Walk.
Ant.
The Lady may command Sir,
She bears an eye more dreadful then your weapon.
Ism.
What a sweet nature this man has? dear brother,
Put up your sword.
Ter.
Let them put up and walk then:
Ant.
No more loud words: there's time enough before us:
For shame put up, do honour to these beauties:
Mar.
Our way is this,
We will not be denyde it.
Ter.
And ours is this, we will not be cross'd in it.
2
What ere your way is (Lady) 'tis a fair one;
And may it never meet with rude hands more,
Nor rough uncivil Tongues.
Exeunt.
Ism.
I thank ye Sir,
Indeed I thank ye nobly: A brave Enemie,
Here's a sweet temper now: This is a man (Brother)
This Gentleman's anger is so nobly seated,
That it becomes him: Yours proclaim ye Monsters.
What if he be our House-Foe? we may brag on't:
We have ne'er a friend in all our House so honourable:
I had rather from an Enemie, my Brother,
Learn worthy distances and modest difference,
Then from a race of empty friends, loud nothings:
I am hurt between ye.
Am.
So am I, I fear too:
I am sure their swords were between my leggs; dear Cosen
Why look ye pale? where are ye hurt?
Ism.
I know not,
But here me-thinks.
Lis.
Unlace her gentle Cosen.
Ism.
My heart, my heart, and yet I blesse the Hurter.
Am.
Is it so dangerous?
Ism.
Nay, nay, I faint not.
Am.
Here is no blood that I find, sure 'tis inward:
Ism.
Yes, yes, 'tis inward: 'twas a subtle weapon,
The hurt not to be cur'd I fear.
Lis.
The Coach there.
Am.
May be affright.
Ism.
Aminta, 'twas a sweet one,
And yet a cruel.
Am.
Now I find the wound plain:
A wondrous handsome Gentleman.
Ism.
Oh no deeper:
Prethee be silent (wench) it may be thy cause.
Am.
You must be searched: the wound will rancle; Cosen
And of so sweet a nature.
Ism.
Deer Aminta:
Make it not sorer.
Am.
And on my life admires ye.
Ism.
Call the Coach, Cosen.
Am.
The Coach, the Coach.
Ter.
'Tis ready, bring the Coach there.
Lis.
Well my brave enemies, we shall yet meet ye,
And our old hate shall testifie.
Ter.
It shall (Cosen.)
Exeunt.
| The Maid in the Mill | |