 | The Platonick Lovers |  |
Act. 3.
Scen. 1.
Enter Theander, Ariola.Ariol.
Your lookes are clouded sir, I feare your health
Is alter'd, or your mind perplex'd.
Theand.
Your lookes, Ariola, will shortly too decay;
Whilst by their strange and early perishing.
Your former Beautie must be quite forgot,
Like sullen Roses that would wither on
The Bough, e're throughly blowne, e're gather'd for
The Still; so lose all memorie that they were ever sweet.
Ariol.
I need instructions what you would infer.
Theand.
Have you no secret sicknesse in your blood?
Ariol.
Not that I feele, nor doe I thinke my Prayers
So vainly made, that I should perish yet.
Theand.
Have you not heard of late some new discourse,
Such as inflam'd you to desire strange practises
Of heate, trials of Youth, I know not what
They are; but Nature oft doth put odd tricks
On young and curious fooles, which still
The bashfull may resist.
Ariol.
If to be ignorant,
Be safe, I am to learne sir what you meane.
Theand.
Indeed! looke up, and with a Virgin confidence
By urging that for truth without a blush.
Ariol.
Alas, you have amaz'd mee sir, but I
Dare looke i'th face of heaven, write all my willing faults,
And stand unvail'd whilst they are read.
Theand.
Perhaps shee is abus'd. Ariola,
Pray tell mee the request you sent by Phylomont;
I know not how I understood it then,
But sure t'hath troubled all my powres.
Ariol.
I sent you none but what was good and lawfull.
Theand.
Are you become so wise
In wickednesse, to chuse offences that
The lawes protect? Th'ambitious in the worlds
First Age, invented them to gather wild
And wandring Nations into Townes and Forts:
And so rais'd Common-wealths, for their owne pride
To rule, those cunning Scriblers knew that Lawes
Make Subjects, and tame Slaves, not virtuous Men;
Live thou as not to know or need their use.
Ariol.
I can be farther justifi'd, for my request
Was fit and modest too.
Thean.
Then you may name't.
Ariol.
I gave him leave fairely to question your consent,
That wee might marrie Sir.
Theand.
Doe you already know what that word meanes?
Ariol.
Your judgement had sufficient cause to blame
My breeding else: I have been often told
It's sacred Institution, and the use
For which 'twas first ordain'd.
Theand.
The use, Ariola? Sh'ath rarely profitted
Since my long absence from her at the Campe:
Who read these Lectures in your eare? If 't were
A woman, sure, shee fastned on her Maske
To hide her blushes whilst shee talk'd.
Ariol.
In my weake judgement sir, you are too nice,
And make uncomely misterie of that
Which both the learned and the noble have
Allow'd and taught; and such as vestals may
Discourse, yet not be banish'd from their holy lamp.
Theand.
But to remaine a vestall still (Ariola)
To live in sweet unskilfull virgin-hood,
But ever love in Meditation, not in Act.
Hah! is not this a sweetnesse far beyond
The pleasures that our appetites create?
Ariol.
Sir, it is excellent and free, but I
Am told, the next degree of happinesse,
The married challenge, and enjoy.
Thean.
O she is lost! I will
Goe weepe into the Sea, and sooner hope
To find my unmix'd teares upon my cheeke
Agen, than her perverted heart reclaim'd
Unto her former innocence. Reach mee
Your hand; you are my prisoner now, and must
Be kept from sight of Men.
Ariol.
Sir, though I cannot learne m'offence, yet I
Shall soone be taught t'obay.
Theand.
If since thy late perversion thou hast left
But one acquaintance in sweet heaven, that dares
Befriend thy Orizons, kneele to him strait.
Ariol.
Though you are cruell growne, you cannot want
My tender wishes, that your angry thoughts.
Be to their peacefull harmony restor'd!—
Exit. Thean. seemes to locke her in.
Theand.
Yet am I not left desolat, to mourne
With single griefe, this ruin'd Virgins fate:
My Eurithea when she heares of her
Revolt, will sigh her piteous soule away to ayre.
Enter Phylom.
Phyl.
Theander I am come to learne. If yet
Your temper can with kind, discreet civillity,
Returne an answer to my suit?
Theand.
Sir, y'have undone a noble Mayd, one nurs'd
In such severe behaviour of her minde,
So meeke and humble in desires, she seem'd
Much fitter for a Cloister then a Court;
But now she aymes at libertie and change.
Phyl.
What I have taught her sir, Hermits and Nunnes
Might in their dying minutes listen to,
Without disquiet to their parting soules;
And things lesse chaste I know, she would not heare.
Theand.
Take heede my Princely friend? Doe not augment
Thy crime, by owning as thy knowledge, what
Is yet, but the mistake of thy beliefe;
Be mended much by sleepe.
Phyl.
Well, Ile be briefe.
Your Sister I would marry sir, and then
As Lords and Princes use, that love their wives,
Ly with her.
Theand.
Your are too Masculine?
Name not those words agen: you blast me with
Your breath, poore Ruffians in their drinke, that dwell
In Suburbe Alleies, and in smoaky Lanes,
Are not so rude; leave me: My anger may
Vndoe us both.
Phyl.
Theander, can you thinke
To fright me hence, or is it safe to chide
Me from my businesse with bold words? I would
Be better usde; tell me (I pray) is this
All the fit answer my demands shall have?
Theand.
All sir, and more then I can patiently
Allow, your conversation never could be lesse esteem'd.
Phyl.
I feare your noble reason is diseas'd,
Where I have lov'd, affliction makes me pittifull,
And where I pitty, I can nere intend
Revenge: farewell injurious Prince, but know,
If I can get your Sisters kinde consent,
Ile not endeavour yours.
Theand.
Goe not deluded with that triviall hope:
She is my prisoner lock'd and inclos'd,
From all addresse that force or oportunity
Would make, thou shalt behold her face no more.
Phylo.
Hah! Imprison'd! I sooner would cage up
The little Bird, that sung a Requiem or'e
My mothers Hearse: the sad domestick Redbreast, or
The courteous Wren, that strew'd with Cypresse leaves
Th'unburied Pilgrim in the field: examine sir
Your troubled memory. It cannot be.
Theand.
You'le find it most expedient, and a truth.
Phyl.
Imprison her! her beauty will breake foorth.
You may as soone in Christall Iayles confine
The Sunnes refulgent Beames, climbe heaven, reach downe
A Starr, and in a Lanthorne shut it, as imprison her!
Theand.
This iteration will
But vexe us both. Farewel! you may believe't
At leasure sir, time will perswade you to't.
Theander, stay; marke how I cancell all
Th'affection, merit, and the glorious vowes
Wee interchang'd in war, the parting teares
Wee shed, when in the day of battell our
Bold troopes wee did divide against the Foe:
And those embraces made, when met agen,
Ioy'd and exalted with our victorie,
Are now eternally forgot.
Theand.
I should lament this losse, had you preserv'd
Your vertue still, and puritie of heart.
Phyl.
Till three round journies of the Sun expire,
Ile give thee leisure to repent, but then
Release thy Sister to her free converse,
And publike view, or I will spread my Ensignes here,
And 'gainst thy Pallace fix my Cannon, till
I batter it to dust.
Thean.
Poore Phylomont, how I neglect thy furie when it dares
Inkindle mine? If Fate resolve, wee that
In forraigne Climes made others mourne, so soone
Must bleed at home; yet e're wee part, let us
Salute like civill Enemies—Farewell.
When next wee meet, 'twill be in danger, noyse,
And sulph'rous smoke; for Eurithea's sake,
Thy Fetters shall be Silver, and thy Bonds of Silke.
Phyl.
And for Ariola's, if thou shalt fall
Beneath my Sword, I will imbalme thee with my Teares;
My eyes grow moist with pittie of our Fates.
Theand.
And mine with sorrow melt so fast away,
I shall be left in darknesse if I stay.
Exeunt.
Enter Castraganio, Fredeline, and Amadine.
Castr.
This Gridonell is young and simple sir,
Admires all women with a tame extasie.
And then my Sister Amadine (you know)
Hath a most pure contriving Wit; if wee
Could get him marrie her, it were a stratagem
Would make us rich and famous.
Fred.
But will you bring her to him now?
Castra.
That's our designe.
Fred.
Hast thou o'rewatch'd thy selfe? art mad?
Castra.
Why Signior?
'Tis past the time two houres, when by our great
Physitions date, the Med'cine 'gan to worke.
I doe believe, the Duke e're this hath felt
Some sudden diff'rence in his Mayden bloud:
And Gridonell I'm sure, drunke his full share;
'Twill worke him to such furie, hee will ravish
Thy poore Sister, nay eate her up, not leave
A morsell big enough to beare her name,
Or memorie that such a creature was.
Castra.
Shee's old, and tough, and will be sure to put
Him Sir, to th'triall of his teeth: but I
Had quite forgot, hee tooke the Med'cine, wee
Must chuse some other time.
Fred.
As for your sisters marriage
Sir, with Gridonell, trust my plots, such I
Have laid, as shall joyne hearts and hands, then straight
Bring 'um to bed, I thinke sir, shee desires no more.
Castra.
Sir, you obliege us with new benefits.
Fred.
Some cause you'l have to say so now, read that—
'Tis a Commission I procur'd the Duke
This morning signe, which gives you a company
In's Regiment garison'd at Mesina:
So you are now my friend and Captaine Castraganio.
Cast.
The latter adds to my revenew sir, the first to my content.
Fred.
Have you imploy'd your Sister Amadine in my behalfe?
Castra.
Sir, there shee stands, readie to execute
All you injoine, to th'hazard of her life.
Fred.
Sweet Amadine, your kindnesse can excuse
An old sinner, whose fraile, weake flesh, Nature
Intending to keepe long, a little hath
O're-season'd with her salt, I would be glad
Sometimes to be refresh'd; I know you hold
The Princesse in your power; will you indeere
Mee to her faire esteeme, procure mee such
Addresse as may be oportune and fit?
Amad.
Sir, I've alreadie mov'd your praises with
Some vehemence; it prospers too, as far
As good opinion of your person and your parts.
Fred.
And is there hope wee may converse, by Star,
Or Moone-light yet be so maydenlie to call
To have the Curtaines drawne?
This sir, with good endeavour may be done.
Fred.
Then cough and make a noise, till wee
Grow wittie in our feares, and breake small Ieasts,
Laugh out agen, and lift the apron up
To stifle slaughter, till't be crush'd into
A grave and silent smile.
Amad.
But meaning sir no harme?
Fred.
And whisper close, till in the darke, the lips
Be oft mistaken for the eares, and then
Laugh out, and wake the Posset-eating Nurse.
Amad.
Still meaning sir no harme?
Fred.
None I protest, mine's pure Platonick Love.
Castra.
My Sister Signior is inquisitive,
Guiltie of my offence, shee ask'd mee e're
You came, why you indevour'd thus to have
The Ladie married to another, whom you meant to love?
Fred.
That's the Platonick way; for so
The Bals, the Banquets, Chariot, Canopie,
And quilted Couch, which are the places where
This new wise Sect doe meditate, are kept,
Not at the Lovers, but the Husbands charge,
And it is fit; for marriage makes him none,
Though shee be still of the Societie.
Amad.
And may besides her husband, have
A sad Platonicall servant to helpe her meditate.
Fred.
All moderne best Court Authors doe allow't.
Amad.
You give good light into the businesse sir.
Fred.
Were Eurithea married, I would teach
Her the true Art, shee is unskilfull yet.
Amad.
Hymen may burne his Taper to a snuffe
Before wee see her wedding day; there's nothing comes
So seldome in Theanders thought
Fred.
But are you serious?
Amad.
I've newly dress'd her like a Shepherdesse;
And hee i'th old Arcadian habit meets
Her strait, to whine and kisse, that's all they doe.
Fred.
How? 'tis two full houres since the prefix'd time
Our Artist did prescribe his Charme should operate;
I hope hee hath not us'd us thus. Castraganio,
Captaine, I'd forgot: deare sir, hasten, and see
How it doth worke with Gridonell:
You, gentle Mistris, shall conduct mee to
Observe Theander and his talke; it will concern me much.
Exeunt.
Enter Arnoldo, Iaspero, Gridonell.
Arnol.
This creature you so admire, is but
The Princesse woman Sir.
Iasp.
A very creature, and doth serve.
Grid.
Would I might serve her, Gentlemen; I long
To weare a Fan, I have a tossing Feather
In my chamber as broad as a Sycamore tree,
It will make two dozen of Fans.
Arnol.
But for what uses could you serve a woman?
Grid.
Instead of rearing a square Sconse, I'd learne
To raise up Past; and then for push o'Pike,
Practise to poke a Ruffe.
Iasp.
These quallities will make your wages Sir,
At least foure Markes a yeare.
Grid.
My Corp'rall shall serve too.
It is an honest fellow, and a Lover;
He may wash bucks, and scowre dishes, instead of Armour.
Arnol.
Is he a Lover too?
Grido.
O I! he loves women; dares talke and handle 'em:
And would tell such pretty tales of a
Fine gentle damsell that he knew.
Ias.
What was she?
Grido.
I never saw her sir, but she boyld Chestnuts,
And sold bloat herring in the Leaguer.
Arnold.
There are waies left for you to compasse Amadine,
Better then service: you should woe, and winne her.
Grido.
Pray Gentlemen, how doe they use to woe?
Arn.
Why, with fine language.
Grid.
What's that sir, French?
Ias.
French is indeede the smothest and most prosperous.
Grido.
Alas! I can speake none, but a few words
We use i'th warre, as at our court de Guard,
We cry Que va la.
Arnol.
That sir, will serve,
When you shall meet your Mistrisse in the darke.
Grido.
And then after a battaile Randze vous.
Ias.
That may be us'd sir, when shee's obstinate,
And will not yield to love.
Grid.
This is all my fine language.
Ias.
Women are woo'd with Musicke too?
Grid.
Will the Drumme and Trumpet serve, with sad songs
Set to 'em to the tune of a dead March?
Arnol.
Yes, at the Fun'rall of a Generalls wife:
Are woo'd by letters elegantly penn'd.
Grid.
I, you are happy that can write and read.
I was taught once to set my marke to a Shoo-makers Bill.
Enter Castraganio.
Castr.
Arnoldo, do's this Soldiers humor last?
Arnol.
Still more, hee's growne demurer than
A young Geneva Bride; commits Idolatrie
To every Lawndresse in the house, and dares
Not speake to 'um, but with his hat in's eies.
Castr.
Belike the Med'cine hath not wrought; Ile lead
Him to my Sister: Follow sir, this is
The blessed houre, wherein you shall behold
Faire Amadine, and court her too.
Grid.
Good Gentlemen, pray goe and beare mee out;
But teach mee how to weare my Cloake, and when
I should pull on my Gloves.—
Exeunt.
Enter Fredeline, Sciolto, Buonateste.
Fred.
Wee are undone: I found him lying in
A Poplar shade, with colder thoughts about him,
Than old Carthusians have when they are sick:
Lesse apt for our veneriall Love than Muscovites
Benighted when they travell on the Ice.
Sciolt.
And workes so little with my Son, hee stands
Moping, and fix'd, as hee were to be sold
To a Stone-cutter for a Marble statue.
Buon.
My Lord, I'm lost in my astonishment,
Some envious Spirit checks my Art, it was
Not wont to faile the strictest minute given,
To make the virtue and effect appeare.
Sciolt.
This is the Powder that you priz'd so high,
As 'twere a grated Carbuncle, or that
Long Diamond pounded which the Sultan weares upon his thumb.
Fred.
Where's your Phylosophie? your strong deepe Art,
That piercing through the Center, would looke downe
To Hell, there number all the Fiends, and take
Account, how many load of Coales is every yeare
Allow'd for their expense?
Sciolt.
Yes sir, and when the Sun
Is blowne out by a strong Northerly wind,
You'ld undertake agen to light him with
Buon.
My Lord, I smile at these vaine injuries
You doe to Art, not mee, 'tis fitter for
Your wonder than your mirth; but take your course.
Fred.
Since your great Master Aristotle dy'd,
(Who fool'd the drunken Macedon out, of
A thousand Talents to buy Bookes) what have
The multitude of's learn'd successors done,
Wrote Comments on his workes; light, I could beat
You all, have you so many Ages toyl'd
T'interpret what hee writ in a few yeares?
Is there yet nothing new, to render benefit
For humane life, or strengthen reason for
Our after hopes? Why, doe wee build you Colledges?
Sciolt.
Yes, and allow 'um Pensions too, that they
May scribble for no end, but to make Paper deare.
Buon.
For one unluckie scape in knowledge, must
I suffer all this tyrannie?
Sciolt.
You studie Phisick too?
Fred.
Hee knowes to cure sick Chickens o'the Pip.
Sciolt.
I'ld faine see one of that profession live
Five hundred yeares without losse of a tooth.
Fred.
No Sir, they'l suffer ruine and decay
In their owne bodies for examples sake,
That others may fall sick and make 'um rich.
Sciolt.
Right Fredeline, for notwithstanding, all
Their Min'rals and their hearbs, wee must be faine
At last to betake our selves to the wide yawne,
Grinning, and the long stretch.
Buon.
You make all knowledge
But deception sir, and Cheaters of the learn'd Phylosophers.
Fred.
Troth little lesse, the merry Fop of Thrace,
That alwaies laugh'd, pretending, 'twas at vanitie;
Alas, 'twas his disease, going to steale
Mushromes for his supper, the blew mouth'd Serpent skulk'd
Under a Dock leafe, and hit him by the thumbe,
From whence hee tooke that laughing Maladie.
Sciolt.
And his Antagonist would ever seeme
To weepe out of a Pious cause, a fine
Dissembling fellow, 'twas not sorrow made him weepe.
Buon.
No sir, make that appeare.
Sciolt.
Ile shew a Manuscript, now kept i'ch Vatican that proves
Fred.
Meere couz'ners all.
Sciolt.
As for Diogenes, that fasted much,
And tooke his habitation in a Tub,
To make the world believe hee lov'd a strict
And severe life, hee tooke the diet sir,
And in that very Tub, swet for the French disease.
Fred.
And some unlearn'd Apothecarie since,
Mistaking's name, call'd it Cornelius Tub.
Buon.
My noble friends, make much still of your spleenes,
Tickle your selves with strawes, if you want sport,
I shall have my revenge e're long.
Sciolt.
I thinke y'have poyson'd the Duke, and my Son too.
If it be found, Ile cut your throat so wide
Open, that when you take your Morning's draught,
You shall goe neere to spill your drinke.
Buon.
My Lord, I scorne your callumnies;
Ile to Messina, and contemne you both.
Exit.
Sciolt.
My feares mis-give mee Fredeline; if hee
Should now take horse, and leave us here to owne
His trecherous fact, that were a fine Phylosophie.
Fred.
Unlesse he have the subtle art to flie, wee'l overtake him;
He shall not stir, untill we know his med'cines quality.
Exeunt.
Enter Theander like a noble Shepherd.
Theand.
Three wearie circuits of the Sun expir'd,
Fierce Phylomont and I shall meet
To know the diff'rence of our Stars, till then
Ile practise Rites of Love: My Eurithea must
Not know our anger, nor the cause. Come forth
My Princely Shepherdesse, and leave thy Lambs
(Lesse gentle than thy selfe) whilst wee a while
Enter Eurithea like a Shepherdess.
Grow pensive in this gloomy shade.
Eurith.
Why should we hide our selves Theander from
The free discoveries of the light, that know
Not guiltinesse to cause a bashfull feare.
Theand.
This greene and fragant pallace tempts our stay,
Here sit, where Nature made the sharper sented bryer,
And luscious Iesmine meet to quallifie
And reconcile their diffring smels within
The hunnie woodbines weak and slender armes; sit neerer, wee are
Too remote—
Eurith.
How, my Theander, am I still subdud
Would heaven had nere begun these joyes, till it
Had kindly promis'd they should never end.
Theand.
Yet whilst they last, wee'l strive to make the strict
Example of our love, an easie Law, unto the vaine fantastick world.
Eurith.
The nimble Dwarfe,
And lazie Evenuch then (which are the spies
And messengers of their blind god) might rest
Upon their quilts, at home, for all their toyles
And simple business upon earth should cease.
Theand.
And that small god himselfe (who ne're could tempt
Wise Poets to increase his stature, or
To mend his eyes, as knowing what
A uselesse Deitie they mad) might soone
Goe shake his Quiver, and unplume his Shafts.
The influence with which his fond Idolaters
Are giddily inspir'd, is incident to falshood and to change.
Eurith.
But our affection, Time, nor sad distresse
Have power to alter or destroy.
Theand.
Yet say the furie of some sudden war
Should leade us captive to a cruell Land,
Couldst thou indure the frownes of Destinie,
And be thus beautious still? When scornfull men
Shall aske, where now are all those Persian Loomes
Your Lovers flowing wealth imploy'd to weave
Your vestments ever new, when you appear'd
Like gawdie Aprill in Cecillian Meades,
Or various Tulips in the Ides of May?
Eurith.
Feare not my love; the homely weeds spun by
The course and heavie finger'd people, that
Reside i'th neighbour vale, should well become
My beauty then, since humbled by my thoughts,
The briske pert linnet in his russet Feathers flyes,
As warme as any Bird of Paradise
With all his painted and his guilded trim.
Theand.
But oh! me thistles I heare thy mourning, and
The sawcie Foe demand, where are those Fumes
Of sweet Assyrian Nard, wilde Cypresse Boughes,
And sifted Amper of the Southern Sea,
Which ever as you mov'd, Theander burnt,
You in those costly mists, from Rivals eyes.
Eurith.
Then with my wiser scorne I shall reply,
For sweets, behold yond' bed of Violets,
That leane and hang their heads together, as
They seem'd to whisper and consult, how to
Preseve their odor to themselves, whilst neere
Each Christall brooke the jolly Primrose stands
Triumphing on his stalke, as he disdain'd
His hidden roote, ambitious to be worne
Within a chaste, although a captives breast.
Theand.
Sill, still me thinkes, this rugged conqueror
Derides thee with his Iron wit, and askes
Where are the whispers of your amorous Lute,
That sooth'd you into slumbers till your dreames
Became your greatest sinne.
Eurith.
When I shall musick need, Ile say each tree
Doth entertaine a Quire at natures charge:
And what is he dares touch the Tuscan Lute,
Whilst in the night he heares the Bird begin
Her pensive notes; whose feather'd Ancestor the firie Tereus wrong'd?
Theand.
And whilst thy dayes of bondage last, thou shalt
With artfull needle draw in silken Imagry,
The stories of our fatall love, and learne
T'out worke that mistick nourserie of Maids—
Theander gazing on her, rises and starts.
The Phrygian Sybill taught.
Eurith.
Ay me, what sudden terrour shakes you thus,
Into a wild demeanor of your lookes?
Theand.
Such fire as this, I have not felt before,
It boyles my liver, and it burnes my heart,
My blood runs flaming till my scorched veines,
Together cur'll like broken treble strings.
Eurith.
Tell me, the best of Princes, what's your griefe?
Theand.
Tis strange; come Eurithea let us walke.
Eurith.
Will you divide your troubles from my breast?
Shall I not know your griefe, which though
My pitie cannot remedy, my prayers may?
Theand.
It is a Fire, kindled and bred in Hell
For it perswades, and warmes me to a guilt:
As strange and distant from my knowledge, as
Goe back a while, till I've subdu'd my thoughts.
Eurith.
Helpe him sweet heaven, preserve his reason safe.—
Theand.
Nay, doe not weepe; those watrie obsequies
Serve to lament, not quench such Fun'rall fire as mine.
Eurith.
A Funerall fire?
Theand.
O yes; 'twill burne me after death, though thou
Couldst drop more showres than Aprill weepes when March
Hath blowne the ruder winds into his eies;
Though every teare thou shedd'st were swell'd into
A wave, thou couldst not quench this secret fire.
Eurith.
Deare Theander!
Thea.
Hide, hide thy beauty e're
Thou speak'st; put on thy vaile: nay, closer yet—
She vailes her self
Eurith.
You carefull Angels that reside above,
Can you have businesse of more grace or need,
Than to consider such a change as this?
Theander, speake; what may it meane?
Theand.
To name it, were such impudence, as Bawds
And Ravishers cannot attaine, till they
Are growne long exercis'd, and old.
Eurith.
These words are newer than the wondrous cause
That gives them breath.
Theand.
Bold devill! thou imperious flame,
Sure I shall stifle thee at last. Now come
My Eurithea, let's move on, thy strong
O'recomming beautie clouded thus, wee may
Converse, and safely too I hope. Alas,
Why do'st thou weepe? O sad, sinister change!
I am resolv'd; for if my tainted vaines
Still harbour this disease, I will not need
Thy anger Phylomont, to make mee bleed.
Exeunt.
| The Platonick Lovers | |