 | The Knight of Malta |  |
Scæna Quarta.
Enter Miranda, Norandine, Servants with lights.Mir.
Ile see you in your chamber.
A Table out, two stools.
Nor.
Pray ye no farther:
It is a ceremony I expect not,
I am no stranger here, I know my lodging,
And have slept soundly there, when the Turks Cannon
Playd thick upon't: O 'twas Royall Musicke,
And to procure a sound sleep for a Souldier,
Worth forty of your Fiddles. As you love me
Presse it no further.
Mir.
You will overcome.
Waite on him carefully.
Nor.
I have tooke since supper
A rouse or two too much, and by—
It warms my blood.
Mir.
You'l sleep the better for't.
Nor.
—on't, I should, had but I a kind wench
To pull my Boot-hose off, and warm my night-cap,
There's no charme like it: I love old Adams way;
Give me a diligent Eve, to wait towards bed-time,
Hang up your smooth chin page: and now I think on't,
Where is your Turkish prisoner?
Mir.
In the Castle,
But yet I never saw her.
Nor.
Fie upon you:
See her for shame; or, hark ye, if you would
Performe the friends part to me, the friends part,
It being a fashion of the last edition,
Far from panderisme, now send her to me;
You look strange on't, no entertainments perfect
Without it on my word; no livery like it;
Ile tell her, he lookes for it as duly
As for his see; there's no suit got without it,
Gold is an asse to't.
Mir.
Go to bed, to bed.
Nor.
Well, if she come, I doubt not to convert her,
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Good night
Exit Nor. and Servants.
Enter Colonna and Lucinda.
Col.
There you shall finde him Lady: you know what I have said,
And if you please you may make use.
Luc.
No doubt sir.
Col.
From hence I shall heare all.
Mir.
Come hither young one.
Beshrew my heart, a handsome wench: come neerer,
A very handsome one: doe not you grieve, Sweet,
You are a prisoner?
Luc.
The losse of liberty
No doubt sir, is a heavy and sharpe burden
To them that feele it truly: But your servant,
Your humble handmayd, never felt that rigor,
Thanks to that Noble wil: no want, no hunger,
(Companions still to slaves) no violence,
Nor any unbeseeming act, we start at,
Have I yet met with, all content and goodnesse,
Civility, and sweetnesse of behaviour
Dwell round about me; therefore, worthy Master,
I cannot say I grieve my liberty.
Mir.
Do not you fancie me too cold a Souldier,
Too obstinate an enemy to youth,
That had so faire a Jewell in my Cabinet,
And in so long a time, would nere look on it?
Col.
What can she say now?
Luc.
Sure I desir'd to see ye,
And with a longing wish.
Col.
There's all her vertue.
Luc.
Pursu'd that full desire to give ye thanks sir,
The onely Sacrifice I have left, and service
For all the vertuous care you have kept me safe with.
Col.
She holds well yet.
Mir.
The pretty foole, speaks finely:
Come sit down here.
Luc.
O sir, tis most unseemly.
Mir.
Ile have it so: sit close; now tell me truly,
Did you ere love yet?
Luc.
My yeeres will answer that sir.
Mir.
And did you then love truly?
Luc.
So I thought sir.
Mir.
Can ye love me so?
Col.
Now!
Luc.
With all my duty;
I were unworthy of those favours else,
You daily showre upon me.
Mir.
What thinkst thou of me?
Luc.
I think ye are a truely worthy Gentleman,
A pattern, and a pride to the age ye live in,
Sweet as the commendations all men give ye.
Mir.
A pretty flattering rogue; dare ye kisse that sweet man
Ye speak so sweetly of? Come.
Col.
Farewell vertue.
Mir.
What hast thou goe between thy lips? kisse once more.
Sure thou hast a spell there.
Luc.
More then ere I knew sir.
Col.
All hopes goe now.
Mir.
I must tell you a thing in your eare, and you must heare me,
And heare me willingly, and grant me so too,
Twill not be worth my asking else.
Luc.
It must be
A very hard thing sir, and from my power,
I shall deny your goodnesse.
Mir.
Tis a good wench; I must lie with ye Lady.
Luc.
Tis something strange:
For yet in all my life I knew no bedfellow.
Mir.
You will quickly finde that knowledge.
Luc.
To what end ur?
Mir.
Art thou so innocent, thou canst not guesse at it?
Did thy dreams never direct thee?
Luc.
'Faith none yet sir.
Mir.
Ile tell thee then: I would meet thy youth and pleasure;
Give thee my youth for that, by Heaven she fires me,
And teach thy faire white armes, like wanton Ives,
A thousand new embraces,
Luc.
Is that all sir?
And say I should try, may not we lie quietly?
Upon my conscience I could.
Mir.
That's as we make it.
Luc.
Grant that, that likes ye best, what would ye doe then?
Mir.
What would I do? certainly, I am no baby,
Nor brought up for a Nun; hark in thine eare.
Luc.
Fie, fie, sir.
Mir.
I wold get a brave boy on thee,
A warlike boy.
Luc.
Sure we shall get ill Christians.
Mir.
We'l mend 'em in the breeding then.
Luc.
Sweet Master.
Col.
Never beliefe in woman come neere me more.
Luc.
My best and noblest sir, if a poor Virgin,
(For yet by—I am so) should chance so far
(Seeing your excellence, and able sweetnesse)
To forget her selfe, and slip into your bosome,
Or to your bed, out of a doting on ye,
Take it the best way; have you that cruell heart,
That murdring mind too?
Mir.
Yes by my troth (Sweet) have I,
To lie with her.
Luc.
And do you think it wel done?
Mir.
That's as she'l think when tis done; come to bed wench,
For thou art so pretty, and so witty a companion,
We must not part to night.
Luc.
Faith let me go sir,
And think better on't.
Mir.
Yfaith thou shalt not;
I warrant thee Ile think on't.
Luc.
I have heard 'em say here,
You are a mayd too.
Mir.
I am sure I am, wench,
If that will please thee.
Luc.
I have seen a wonder,
And would you lose that for a little wantonnesse,
(Consider my sweet Master, like a man, now,)
For a few honied kisses, sleight embraces,
That glory of your youth, that crown of sweetnesse?
Can ye deliver that unvalued treasure?
Would ye forsake, to seeke your own dishonour,
What gone, no age recovers, nor repentance?
To a poore stranger?
Col.
Hold there again, thou art perfect.
Luc.
I know you do but try me.
Mir.
And I know
Ile try you a great deale further: prethee to bed;
I love thee, and so well: come kisse me once more;
Is a maidenhead ill bestow'd o' me?
Luc.
What's this sir?
Mir.
Why, tis the badge (my Sweet) of that holy Order
I shortly must receive, the Crosse of Malta.
Luc.
What vertue has it?
Mir.
All that we call vertuous.
Luc.
Who gave it first?
Mir.
He that gave all, to save us.
Luc.
Why then tis holy too?
Mir.
True sign of holinesse,
The badge of all his Souldiers that professe him.
87
The badge of all his souldiers that professe him,
Can save in dangers?
Mir.
Yes.
Luc.
In troubles comfort?
Mir.
You say true, sweet.
Luc.
In sicknesse, restore health?
Mir.
All this it can do.
Luc.
Preserve from evils, that afflict our frailties.
Mir.
I hope she will be Christian: all these truly.
Luc.
Why are you sick then, sick to death wity lust?
In danger to be lost? no holy thought,
In all that heart, nothing but wandring frailties
Wild as the wind, and blind as death or ignorance,
Inhabit there.
Mir.
Forgive me heaven, she sayes true.
Luc.
Dare ye professe that badg, prophan that goodnes?
Col.
Thou hast redeemd thy self again, most rarely.
Luc.
That holines and truth ye make me wonder at?
Blast all the bounty heaven gives, that remembrance.
Col.
O excellent woman.
Luc.
Fling it from ye quickly,
If ye be thus resolu'd; I see a vertue
Appear in't like a sword, both edges flaming
That wil consum ye, and your thoughts, to ashes,
Let them professe it that are pure, and noble,
Gentle, and just of thought, that build the crosse,
Not those that break it, by—if ye touch me,
Even in the act, ile make that crosse, and curse ye.
Mir.
You shall not (fair) I did dissemble with ye,
And but to try your faith, I fashioned all this:
Yet something you provoakt me: this fair crosse,
By me (if he but please to help, first gave it)
Shall ne'r be worne upon a heart corrupted;
Go to your rest, my modest, honest servant,
My fair, and vertuous maid, and sleep secure there,
For when you suffer, I forget this signe here.
Col.
A man of men too: O most perfect Gentleman!
Luc.
All sweet rest to your sir; I am halfe a Christian,
The other half, I'le pray for, then for you, sir;
Mir.
This is the fowlest play i'le shew, good night, sweet.
Exeunt.
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