 | The Platonick Lovers |  |
Act. 2.
Scen. 1.
Enter Fredeline, Castraganio.Castra.
Sir hee is come, I have divorc'd him from
His bookes, and found his eyes imploy'd to reconcile
Old Hierogliphicks by their shape, and then
T'interpret blind halfe eaten Characters,
Deform'd as Lock-smiths, or as Carvers tooles.
Fred.
Hath hee consider'd our request, and gives
Some hope wee may find remedy in Art?
Castra.
With an industrious and exact survay:
But in his mighty Science slights our feares,
As 'twere a thing most easie to be done.
My joyes (deare Sir) will grow too great for my
Discretion to conceale.
Castra.
There's your Money.
Fred.
How! would hee not receiv't?
Castr.
Hee sayes hee likes your nature well, that you
Could freely part with trifles of such high esteeme;
And for that cause hee came, but will not sell
The labours of his mind: Besides, profess'd,
Those gilded Counters are not things hee loves.
Fred.
A Noble fellow! These Philosophick
Blunt Booke-Gallants, have oft their Genty tricks
Of nice honour, as well as Favorites,
Whom Kings make wanton with their sudden wealth.
Where have you now dispos'd him unto rest?
Castra.
Within your chamber Sir, and hee expects
Your visitation will be straight perform'd.
Fred.
I am all speed, deare Sir; my tongue is much
Too little to expresse my thankes: My select friend,
Lord of my Functions and my Life, weare mee
With what title your kind indulgent memory
Shall please, so you will weare me long.—
Exit.
Castra.
This Fredeline's a very Saint, so meeke,
And full of courtesie, that hee would lend
The devill his Cloake, and stand i'th raine himselfe.
Sure I have suck'd some Sybils milke, I could
Not be thus lucky else t'injoy his love.
Enter Sciolto.
Sciolt.
So soone return'd? your haste fortels good newes.
Castra.
All will succeed my Lord (I hope) as if
You had the certaine skill to make
Your wishes prosperous; he is with Fredeline,
And they expect your Interview? but looke.—
Here comes my sister, and your sonne; he never saw
A woman untill now; It will be sport
Worthy your stay, t'observe how he demeanes himselfe.
Sciolt.
She's old and poore, he may safely enough converse with her.
Enter Amadine, and Gridonell: (he gazing at her.)
Amad.
This Gentleman wants money, braine, or sleepe.
Doe you know him Brother?
Castra.
Sweet Amadine, containe thy wit awhile:
He never saw a woman, use him gently.
This is a rare sight.
One of the Angels sure, and a great Gallant among 'em;
Had it but blew wings on the shoulders, it
Could not be of lesse degree then an Angell.
Sciolt.
I perceive nature inclines men to wonder,
And makes 'em somewhat rellish too o'th foole.
Grid.
An Angell of the better sort, some Lieutenant
Coronell in Heaven (I take't) it cann't be lesse.
Sciolt.
Will he not speake to her?
Grid.
Sure it hath wings, and they are made (I think)
Of Camebrick and Bonelace.
Sciolt.
A pox upon him,
He lookes, as he had stolne a silver spoone, and it
Were found sticking in his wrist.
Grid.
If she would fly
Aloft, me thinks I should so peepe under her.
Sciolt.
All these are documents of nature still.
Grid.
Sure those I thinke are Petticoats, I've heard
Of such a word; 'tis a fine kind of wearing:
My new Coulors have just Taffata enough
To fashion such another; would 'twere made,
That I might practise how to walke in't.
Sciolt.
I'd beat him, but that the villain's roughly bred,
And perhaps would strike agen.
Cast.
Speake to him Amadine.
Amad.
I'm mortall Sir; no Spirit, but a Mayd.
Pray feele mee, I am warme.—
Grid.
Indeed forsooth I never felt a Mayd.
Amad.
Heaven keepe him from Pepper and Tobacco,
For's braines are growne so loose in's head, they'l run
Through's nose, next time hee chance to sneeze;
And Dancing too will shake 'um out, it is
An exercise too violent for that
Disease. Sir, doe you use to dance.
Grid.
What's that forsooth?
Amad.
To dance Sir, is to move your Legs, as thus—
Grid.
Wee use i'th wars to march and make a halt,
And sometimes wee double our Paces,
Amad.
Fresh straw, and a strong chaine, the Gentleman
Is mad, looke to him Brother.
Exit.
Sciolt.
If I'd another sonne, I'de hardly trust
Nature agen with his breeding.
She said she was a Maid: and I've beene told
A Maid's a kind of woman,—
Sciolt.
She is a woman sonne.
Grid.
If women be such things, I wonder th'enemy
Doe never bring their wives against our Campe,
To give us battaile, sure we should all yield.
Sciolt.
Belike then you have a month's mind to her.
Grid.
O sir, she hath the prettiest pinking eyes;
The holes are no bigger then a Pistoll Bore.
Castra.
An excellent Similie for a Painter,
That would draw a good face.
Grid.
Her fingers are so small, and longer then
A Drum-stick; ah, how they'd bestirr themselves
Vpon a phiph.
Sciolt.
Then you could leave the warres, and live with her?
Grid.
So she would still sit by and let me gaze till my eyes ake?
Sciolt.
Still he's Innocent, one of Plato's Lovers.
Grid.
Pray what was hee?
Sciolt.
An odd Greeke fellow that could write and read.
Grid.
O belike some Clearke of a Company.
Sciolt.
If he continue's wonder thus, and Ignorance
To ev'ry woman that he meets, I may
Intaile my Land upon the poore, hee'll not
Be able to beget an Heire as big
As my thumb, I must thinke upon some course.
Enter Theander.
Theand.
My Lord Sciolto, I had thought your white
And rev'rend head had held this season fit
For sleepe; Night takes her swarthy Mantle up
As shee would weare it straight. What Gentleman is this?
Sciolt.
Your grace may please to owne him for my child.
His Mother Sir would justifie as much,
Were shee alive.
Theand.
What, Gridonell? Men speake him of a great
And daring heart, and skilfull how to vex
The Foe, though hee be young.
Sciolt.
Faith if the Foe put but an Apron on,
Or get his Corslet edg'd with Flanders Purle,
Hee'l doe him little hurt.
Theand.
You are accus'd
Of Bookes, hee cannot Write, nor Reade.
Sciolt.
'Twill keep him Sir, from entring into Bond.
Theand.
Let us begin acquaintance Sir, the day
May come, when you shall lead my Ensignes forth,
And though you bring them shot and ragged home,
Yet they'l be crown'd with Wreathes.
Grid.
Strike up your Drums too night then, if you please,
If th'Moone be froward Sir, and will not shine,
Wee'l fire small Townes to light us as wee march.
Sciolt.
Masse! I thanke nature for that yet, hee has
Good mettall in him.
Theand.
His meaning's straight and smooth, though's words be rough:
I like him well, you must bestow him on mee.
Sciolt.
Most gladly Sir; and let me tell your grace,
You'l find him one of the most exquisite
Platonick Lovers this day living; hee will
So innocently view and admire a Lady!
Theand.
Still fitter for my use. Soldier good-night.
Exit.
Sciolt.
I must to Fredeline, and the Phylosopher.
Exit.
Castr.
This woman was my Sister, Gridonell.
Grid.
And did one Father make you both?
Castra.
I Sir, and with a very little paines.
Grid.
My Father's old and lazie now, if hee'ld
Take paines hee'ld soone make such another too
For mee; but I shall see her Sir agen?
Castr.
Yes, when you please: shee must be gently us'd.
Grid.
Alas, I cannot choose. Would you would bring
Her to my chamber in the dead of night?
Castr.
You must excuse mee Sir, farewell. Each houre
I'th day shee may be yours.
Grid.
I shall so dreame.
Exeunt.
Enter Phylomont and Ariola, Rosella with Tapers. A Table with Night-linnen set out.
Ario.
Prethee unpin mee wench—If I were given
Enough to Pray'r, or Cares, I could not be
Thus incident to sleepe; take heed, you hurt mee—
Rosell.
Your Ladiship is tenderer on the Brest
Than you were wont; I would your heart were so.
Ariol.
Ile weare my Tuscan raile too morrow, smooth
Are still complayning on my poore heart.
Rosell.
Madam, these two long houres the noble Duke
Hath waited at your Chamber dore.
Ariol.
Who? my Brother.
Rosell.
Duke Phylomont, who vowes t'inhabit there,
Vnlesse you let him in.
Ario.
Heaven comfort his sicke soule:
What does he meane, here lock these pendants up?
The wonder of him makes me sick—Ile use
No powder now—alas, what shall I doe?
I dare not let him in, the season is not fit.
Rosell.
He vowes his visit shall be so precise
And civill, that you need not counsell him,
Nor check him with a frowne.
Ariol.
I but at night?
Mens busie and officious tongues will talke.
Rosell.
Introth your Ladiship's too strict; when you
Consider too your marriage is design'd:
If my opinion (Madam) had authority,
No times unfit, to Lovers so farre gone.
Ariol.
You'l be his Orator? goe, let him in.
Enter Phylomont.
Phylo.
Me thinkes my faire Ariola, you keepe
Your beauty overmuch infolded and
Conceal'd, you are a flower that would become
The night as sweetly as the day.
Ariol.
You make mee proud with your similitude;
But whilst I gaine by it, your inference
Must lose, Mary-golds now shut in their leaves.
Phyl.
Alas poore potage flower! Ariola
Should imitate the Lilly and the Rose:
They boldly spread themselves still open to
The night, yet yield the Sun so fresh and sweet
A sacrifice, that every morne he seemes
To blush at's owne weake Influence, which can
No longer keepe them beautious on their stalks,
But they must drop, and perish with the spring,
Your precious colour, and your odor too;
My gentle Mistris needs must yield to time.
The losse will not be mourn'd for sir, since 'twill
Be scarce discern'd.
Phylo.
Sweet, you remove your understanding from my words, and make
Them of no use, their meaning would perswade
You to enjoy this pleasant treasure, whilst
It lasts; why are you still inclos'd thus like
An Anchoresse, as if our conversation could
Inferre a sinne? why am I nicely barr'd
Your Chamber, when the Priest b'ing paid for a
Few ceremonious words, must license me
Your bed, your bosome too?
Ariol.
Our marriage sir may promise much, till then,
Your excellence will grant me leave not to
Admit of opportunities, that may give breath to ill report.
Phyl.
Be not so cruell in your bashfull care,
My Sister makes all houres and seasons fit
To celebrate Theander, and hee knowes
No wrinckle on her brow, that may be call'd
A frowne: O be you kind and free.—
Offers at her hand.
Ariol.
By your chaste vowes forbeare—
Phylo.
Theander may embrace my Sisters hand
Untill with warmth he melt it from the wrist:
Why should I have lesse am'rous priviledge?
I have desires as bold, which will be made as lawfull too e're long.
Ariol.
The meaning of
Their love is onely mutuall wonder and applause,
And so proclaim'd; therefore can stir no jealousie
In the severest thought: alas, wee must
Be married Sir, which may perhap, inforce
Your inclination to a dangerous hope.
Phylo.
Where is thy safety then Ariola?
This is the dismall silent time, when Ravishers
Reach forth their trembling guilty hands to draw
The curtaines where unpractis'd Virgins sleepe;
False Tarquins houre, when he did hide his Torch
From Lucrece eies, and would not suffer her
Wak'd Beautie to ecclipse that sicklie flame,
Till shee had quench'd a greater in his blood.
How would thy courage faint, if I should make
Thee subject to my eager youth and strength?
Poore Phylomont, if thou shouldst so forsake
Thy loyaltie to Love, yet I were still secure,
And can subdue thee with my vertuous scorne;
For now, though but my Cambrick Helmet on,
Thus thinly harness'd in my Lawne, my triviall Fanne
My Shield, I stand the Champion of our Sex.
Alas! I faine would see the proudest of
You bearded Tyrant men, that durst but hope
To force from mee the least of these deshevell'd hairs,
Which I will still as bounteous favours weare
For ev'ry wanton wind to sport withall,
But not for you.
Phylo.
Can you be angry?
Ariol.
Then you should sigh unto your selfe,
And in your owne inamour'd eares distill
The soothings of your cunning tongue, whilst I
Injoy the quiet of my sleepe agen
Without disturbance, by those midnight plaints
Your mournfull consort at my window, made,
Wherein you curs'd the guiltlesse Stars, who seem'd
To smile, and winke upon each other in
Their Spheares, as if they heedfull notice took of all your feigned griefe.
Phylo.
Can you be angry my Ariola?
Or censure ought I spoke with an unkind
Beliefe? Heare but my vowes.
Ariol.
Good night—Your excellence hath greater power
To move my sorrow than my rage.
Phylo.
Remember gentle Love, I have your heart
By sacred plight, our Nuptials now draw neere.
Ariol.
I never knew the way how I might breake
My Faith, but till that houre arrive, wee must
Converse no more, no not at wary distance Sir,
The cause is hidden in my brest. Vertue
And Peace (my Lord) still governe your desires.
Exit.
Phylo.
I shall grow mad with these delaies;
Sh'ath made a vow never to marrie mee,
Untill her Brother seal't with his consent. Ile move
It to Theander e're I sleepe. Hymen!
Goe light thy Fires, and make thy Tapers shine,
Or cure me sacred Love, by quenching thine.
Exit.
Amad.
Not in her Bed Sir yet, I left her with
Her Lute, whose Musick I believe, hath woo'd her to a gentle sleep.
Theand.
Tread easie then,
With a slow tim'rous pace; let's make lesse noyse
Than Times soft feet, or Planets when they move.—
Drawes a Canopie; Eurithea is found sleeping on a Couch, a vaile on, with her Lute.
Give mee the light; now leave us, and retire.
Amad.
This is an odd kind of Lover, hee comes
Into my Ladies chamber at all houres;
Yet thinkes it strange that people wonder at
His priviledge. Well, opportunitie
Is a dangerous thing; it would soone spoile mee.
Exit.
Theand.
Shee lies as in a shady Monument,
Secure as Pious votaries that knew
They were forgiven e're they dy'd.
Eurith.
Who's there? my Lord, the Prince?
Theand.
O, sleep agen, and close those eies that still
Enlighten mine; till I have merited
The beautie of their beames, by blessings, such,
As loves religious Priests doe give,
This sacred office would become mee well;
'Tis not a robe of Lawne, a hallow'd Verge,
Nor flowry Chaplets nicely wreath'd, can adde
Prosperitie to Prayers, or to Vowes,
No formall Pompe, or Ceremonie needs
To wishes that are cleane and humbly made.
Eurith.
Theander sit, where have you been so long?
'Las, wherefore doe I aske, since I
So lately found you in my dreame?
Theand.
Vnvaile my love—when this is but displaid,
Thou openst like a fragrant bud before
The mornings eye, whilst all that's neere thee is
Perfum'd, thy breath converts me to a flowre,
Weare me within thy bosome (Virgin friend)
And I shall last in odour all the yeare.
Eurith.
Thou art Theander, and that name includes
The sweetnesse of the Spring and Sommers wealth.
Theand.
Thou art not Eurithea, but my Rose,
Thy wanton Woodbine that must grow about
Thee in embracements thus, untill thou art
Intangled with chast courtesies of love.
Eurith.
This is a happinesse too great to last,
Envie or Fate must lessen it, or we
Remove 'mongst the eternall Lovers, and
Provide our habitation neere the stars!
My wonder growes upon me like my joy, O Theander!
Theand.
What sayes my Cherubine?
Eurith.
How shall I give my estimation words,
When it would valew thee that art the warres
Chiefe Souldier, best example and delight?
So bold, thou dar'st seeke danger in a storme,
When all the winds prepare to quarrell in
The Baltick Sea; yet thou art milder then
A captive Saint, so pittifull, that I
Have seene thee weepe o're the distress'd, till thou
Mightst give a name to Rivers as their spring.
Theand.
And thou (my Love) art sweeter far,
Then Baulmy Incense in the purple smoake,
Pure and unspotted, as the cleanly Ermine, ere
The Hunter sullies her with his pursuit,
Soft as her skin, chaste as th'Arabian bird,
That wants a sex to woe, or as the dead,
That are devorc'd from warmth, from objects, and from thought.
Still Eurithea I could multiply thy praise,
Yet still prove loyall unto truth;
When I embrace thee thus, I strait forget,
As weake delights, the dayes of victory,
And glories of the warre.
Eurith.
But when you heare the Drum, and the shrill Trumpet call,
You'l mount your angry Steed agen, and haste
To live confin'd in Trenches, to exchange
Your marble Palace for a Tent, whilst I
Like a distress'd sad Turtle, am ordain'd
To mourne without a mate.
Theand.
Doe not afflict me with thy jealous feares;
I'm come to tell thee (Love) to morrow in
Th'adjoyning Grove, Ile meet thee like
That with variety our old delights,
May still seeme new.
Eurith.
A Lovers wish,
Can imp the houres short wings, and hasten time,
Looke up Theander, it is day.
Theand.
Where should I looke?
Thou dost mistake the spheare, and residence
O'th morne: let early village Labourers,
And dull benighted Sea-men doe their homage to
The East for light, the Region of our day
We seeke like Lovers in the fairest eyes.
Eurith.
If you should looke in mine, twill still seeme night.
Theand.
To bed to bed: me thinke I heare the Larke,
The Mornings merry Officer; and see
Him shake his dewie wings, as he would strive
To climbe high as his cheerefull voyce.
Eurith.
The best that Poets wishes can invent,
Or Lovers prayers procure, thy sleepes injoy.
Theand.
And thine that precious harmony that dwells
With quiet Hermits in their narrow cells.
Exe. severall wayes.
Enter Buonateste, Sciolto, Fredeline, and Castraganio.
Buonat.
I say (my Lord) your businesse doth concerne
The blood, and not the Eyes; and since 'tis late,
It were abuse of time to read long lectures
Of the Opticks, to tell you their consent
And unitie, or shew you through a perspective
How Amorists oppos'd in levell to
Each others sight, unite and thridd their beames,
Vntill they make a mutuall string, on which
Their spirits dance into each others braine,
And so beginne short Iourneys to the heart;
Or to reveale the shape and colour of
Those Spirits too, that were a miracle,
Worthy sublime, and powerfull Art!
Sciol.
Their Colour's Orange Tawny sir, as I conceive.
Buonat.
Your Lordship can conceive no more, than your
Weake knowledge will give leave.
Fred.
To him Doctor.
Buon.
Nor doe I thinke it can concerne you much,
Whether the nervall Conjugations be
Whether the Opticks bee the chiefe.
Sciol.
For your seven Conjugations sir, you shall
Excuse mee, but beleev't the seven wise Masters
Is a Volume I read much in my Youth.
Buon.
Your Lordship gives good proofe of't in your age:
But yet you never heard sir of the fam'd
Antipheron, whom once the learned Stagerite
Admir'd so for the selfe-reflection that
He wore like to his perfect Image still where hee mov'd.
Sciolt.
No more, my good wise friend, thou hast
My wonder, that's enough; my understanding
Shall come after, but not till I am dead,
For then they say wee shall know all things
Without paying for our Bookes.
Buon.
There is the Powder Sir.
Fred.
Give it to my care.
Buon.
The Duke must take it in his draught too night.
To morrow, as the Sun increaseth in
His power, it works; at noone you'l see pure Miracles.
Fred.
My Lord, 'tis fit our Castraganio give
It him: hee takes a rowse of Corsick wine
Still e're hee sleepes; hee, waiting in his chamber
May fitly mingle and present it to him—
Castra: takes the Paper.
Castr.
Ile use my safest diligence.
Sciol.
Where is he now?
Castra.
With Eurithea Sir; hee hath not call'd.
Sciolt.
Staies hee so long? 'tis now i'th ken of day.
Signior Buonateste, have you no more
Of this rare Magicall stuffe?
Buon.
Another Doce; I came provided Sir.
Sciol.
Pray give it me.
Buon.
Most willingly, but to whom will you dispos't?
Sciol.
Unto no other but my Son: I find
Hee's very much Platonically given.
Buon.
My Lord, I still beseech you not to wrong
My good old friend Plato, with this court calumnie;
They father on him a Fantastick Love
Hee never knew, poore Gentleman, upon
My knowledge sir, about two thousand yeares
Agoe, in the high street yonder
At Athens, just by the corner as you passe
To Diana's Conduit (a Haberdashers house)
Sciol.
How sir, a wench?
Buon.
I could say more, my friend was lewdly given.
Sciolt.
But with your favour Sir, a plump browne wench?
Buon.
Faith Authors differ about that; some write
Shee had a Flaxen haire, and others too,
That did not blush to know more private markes,
Say shee had a Mole under her left thigh:
Others, a hollow Tooth, that put him to
The charge of Cloves, because her breath grew somewhat troublesome
Fred.
Give mee thy hand
Doctor; Ile have some share too in thy heart
E're long: But did not Plato write of Love?
Buon.
Divinely sir, but not such kind of Love
As Ladies would have now, they mistake him.
Sciolt.
Hee wrote in Greeke, Doctor.
Buon.
True my good Lord.
Sciolt.
Why then belike my Son mistakes him too,
Hee understands no Greeke; this Doce shall conjure him,
I'le give't him strait. Come sir, the night decaies
Apace, let me direct you to your Bed.
Buon.
Your Lordships kindnesse honors mee too much.
Fred.
My jolly deere Philosopher, good-night.
Exeunt Sciolto and Buon.
Sir, you have found with what assur'd, and confident
A soule I give you Interest in all
My businesse, and my thoughts.
Castr.
Signior, I plead no merit but your bounty.
Fred.
And now under the same protection of
Your friendship and your trust, I must reveale
A secret that doth oft inforce me walke
With armes enfolded thus, still to combine
And fasten in my ribs, lest it should split
My brest: and you shall know it sir, I love,
(Curs'd Fate, that I must utter it) I love
The Princesse Eurithea.
Castr.
Signior (indeed)
This will deserve to be a secret, and securely kept.
Fred.
So love her sir, that men
In fierce conspiracie, dispaire, or want,
Injoy more quiet sleepes than I; and since
I am declin'd much into weaknesse, and
Unpleasant yeares: you see what narrow hopes
Castra.
Introth 'tis pittie sir.
Fred.
There you express'd the charitie
And melting nature of a Friend, and may
Administer redresse, for it will much
Reflect within your power.
Castra.
You cannot want it then; but sir, it seemes preposterous
And strange to my dull braine, that since
Your love doth force you wish her to your selfe,
You strive by marriage to bestow her on
The Duke, and with such heartinesse and care.
Fred.
In this your friendship is agen conjur'd,
I doe beseech you never seeke the end
Of that misterious cause; some Salt I have
That shewes th'Italian humour in my Blood.
I not affect to compasse my designes
The Vulgar way.
Castr.
But how can I redresse your griefe?
Fred.
Your Sister Amadine, is in affection and attendance, neere
The Princesse person and her mind, shee may
By your intreatie render mee in such
A character of cunning praise, as shall
Advance mee to her love perhaps, at least,
To a refreshing of my sick desires.
Castra.
Shee's bound in conscience sir to doe good Offices.
Fred.
But wilt thou charme thy Sister with all force
Of thy affinitie and words, to be my friend,
Indeere us so, that I may whisper my
Owne cause, and teach her mediate my accesse?
This must be done to morrow, for delayes
Will make my griefe too dangerous to beare.
Castr.
To morrow doubt it not, my Functions shall
Intirely bee imployd to your best use.
Frede.
I had almost forgot: the Med'cine; it
Is late, and time 'twere working in his draught:
Farewell: Command mee to the losse of Fame,
Of Treasure, and of Life: deare Castraganio,
Be but benigne, and chaine mee as thy slave.
Exeunt severally.
Enter Philomont, Arnoldo, and Iaspero with lights
Phylo.
I thought t'have found him safe in's quiet rest,
Arnol.
The visits hee presents unto your Graces Sister,
Though at night, are never hastily perform'd.
Iasper.
Times gowtie leggs may tire, if hee run on,
Untill such true and faithfull Lovers finish their discourse,
As wearisome and long.
Arnol.
Iaspero, that's the morne
Which so inflameth yonder Cloud.
Iasp.
Is it your Graces will, wee goe and trie to hasten his approach?
Phylo.
Please you to trust
Mee heere alone, Ile stay his comming Sir,
My businesse askes a private conference.—
Exeunt Arnol. Iaspero
My Sister is so bounteous of her love,
And gives her favours with such bold neglect
Of Fame, that but I knew the pure and chaste
Condition of her soule, I should grow vex'd
With jealous feares. Ariola will not vouch safe
To use me so.
Enter Theander.
Theand.
My Phylomont, this is a season when
Your visit would import some great affaire
That carries haste or wonder in't.
Phyl.
You have a Mistris sir, preserves
Your spirits full of Fire, your glad heart keepes
Eternall triumph in her close warme throne,
Whilst mine increaseth not in joyes, but weight;
'Tis heavie sir, if it continue so
'Twill breake the strings. Your froward Sister.
Theand.
Will shee not love? I'm sure her Beautie was
Ordain'd for no felicitie but Love;
Her sweetnesse and her formes, though shee were lesse
Ally'd unto my nature, would proclaime it to the world.
Phylo.
Sir, shee hath banish'd mee.
Theand.
Upon what rock or promont, Was shee by
A Scythian nours'd, that shee is growne so cruell?
It cannot be.
Phyl.
Th'affliction will not long indure
(I hope) because you may repeale the doome.
Theand.
You are assur'd my Phylomont, I needs
Must strive to further love; what shall I doe?
Phylo.
Give your consent, that I may marrie her.
Theand.
How! marrie her! Your soules are wedded Sir,
I'm sure you would not marrie bodies too,
Your bridall Feasts, and Gloves.
Phyl.
This mirth Sir is a little too remote
From th'answer I should have.
Theand.
Blame my conception then; I understand
You not: To what purpose would you marrie her?
Phyl.
Why Sir? to lie with her, and get Children.
Theand.
Lye with my Sister Phylomont! how vile
And horridly that sounds! I prethee sleepe
A while, 'tis thy distemper, and I pardon it.
Phyl.
This is strange, being married, is't not lawfull sir?
Theand.
I grant it may be Law, but is it comely?
Reduce thy reason to a cleaner Sense,
Thinke on't a noble way. You two may live,
And love, become your owne best arguments,
And so contract all vertue, and all praise:
Be ever beautious, fresh, and young, at least
In your beliefe; for who can lessen, or
Defile th'opinion which your mutuall thoughts
Shall fervently exchange? and then you may
Beget reflections in each others eies,
So you increase not children, but your selves
A better, and more guiltlesse progenie;
Those immateriall creatures cannot sin.
Phyl.
But who shall make men sir, shall the world cease?
Theand.
I know not how th'are made, but if such deeds
Be requisite, to fill up Armies, Villages,
And Cittie shops; that killing, labour, and
That couz'ning still may last: know Phylomont,
I'd rather Nature should expect such course
And homely drudgeries from others than from mee.
Phyl.
And yet you had a Father Sir.
But why doe I tell him so? that was
His Mothers fault, not his. This is mad doctrine.
Ile bid your excellence good-night, but first
Ile leave this information in your eare;
You'l find your Sister of my mind, she faine would marrie too.
Theand.
Oh prodigie! belike
Shee understands then what it meanes, wrong not
A Ladie sir, whose innocence is such,
Leave mee, although our friendship sir be great,
My patience is too little to subdue
My rage; to Bed my gentle Phylomont,
If thou art guiltlesse, thou wilt sleepe.
Phyl.
Ile take your counsell sir,
The morning may reclaime us both.
Exit.
Theand.
O poore Ariola, where hast thou chang'd
Thy bashfull virtue for unchaste desires?
Thy eares are blister'd with lascivious breath,
Thy understanding is become thy crime;
I shall not know thee when I meet thee next,
Thy very soule is sullied, and thy bloud
That ran so pure, will now grow black with Sin,
Till't make thy beautie like an Æthiops skin.
Exit.
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