 | The Platonick Lovers |  |
Act. 4.
Scen. 1.
Enter Buonateste, Sciolto, Fredeline.Buon.
Where is the honor of my Science now?
Are my assertions true? I told you, though
Their cold unpractis'd constitutions might
For two short houres be an impediment
To our fierce hopes, it could not faile to worke.
Magnanimous Rabbin, thou hast conquer'd us,
Wee yield to thy Phylosophie; I would
Kneele downe for expiation of my mis-beliefe,
But that my joints are old, and it were troublesome
To rise agen, my fine Magicall Mounsier,
Be courtly in thy Learning, embrace us, and forgive our Heresie.
Buon.
But are you reconcil'd (with Pious thoughts)
Vnto the ancient Sages, and believe their knowledge of some use?
Sciolt.
They are Right Worshipfull,
I rev'rence all their Ghosts; but for th'old fellow
That walk'd with's Lanthorne to find honest men,
Introth hee did an Ancestor of mine
A private wrong, sticks in my stomack yet.
Fred.
My Lord, it needs must be so long agoe
Your goodnesse should perswade your memorie
To blot it out; but pray, what wrong could poore
Diogenes afford your Ancestor?
Sciolt.
Why meeting him in a blind Lane, hee deny'd
To lend him that Lanthorne, which you know (Signior)
To a gentleman in silk Stockings, and white Shoes, was a discurtesie.
Buon.
Your Lordship's subtle in antiquities,
And have kept a very nice Intelligence.
Sciolt.
Well Fredeline, this luckie Plot was ours;
W'have done enough; wee now may combe
Our heads, stroke 'um, strew 'um ore with Nutmegs
To gratifie our braines, then lay 'um up
To sleepe. Hast thou convers'd with the good Duke
Since hee did feele the med'cine in his blood?
Fred.
O Sir, the Ice is melted that hath kept his vaines
So frozen and condenc'd; hee must find out,
That Nature made a woman for some use
More consequent, than to converse with, and admire:
Besides, this our belov'd and knotty Sophister
Hath fill'd mee with such Potent arguments,
Divine and Morall, to perswade the Rites
Of Marriage, wise, and seemly too, as hee
Shall needs consent in's reason and his will,
That hee was once begotten, and must now beget.
Sciolt.
Th'ast drawne this Circle with my owne compasse,
And rais'd a spirit in't, Agrippa's selfe,
Fred.
Nay more, by my appointment sir, there waits
A Priest, at th'chappell dore, who just upon
The nick of his conversion may appeare,
And tye that mistick knot; which Eurithea, though
Shee pick it with her little fingers, and
Her Bodkin, hardly will unloose agen.
Sciolt.
Exquisite Fredeline, I heare the Doce
I gave my Son, hath turn'd him from a tame
Soldier to a towne Bull; I will goe seeke
Him strait, and find some meanes t'appease his am'rous wrath.
Exit.
Fred:
Phylosopher, wee two must seale a Brother-hood;
Come, let mee shake thy Hebrew and thy Greeke
Transcribing Fist: Not all thy Leatherne, nor
Thy Vellum friends, those dead companions on
Thy shelves, shall be more faithfull to thee than
Thy humble Fredeline.
Buon.
Though my owne studies sir,
Be solemne and profound, I honor a
Good Wit, and can be tickled with pure Fancie
Aswell as youthfull Poets in their wine.
Yours I have plac'd in my first choice.
Fred.
Ah my Phylosopher! if thy almighty Art could doe one courtesie
In my behalfe, I'ld fill thy Standish with
My heart blood, e're thou shouldst want inke to write,
And leave thy wisedome to the world.
Buon.
But name it sir: we that are rich in treasure of the mind,
Like others wealthy in their gold, doe of't
Preserve the best and chiefest part conceal'd.
Fred.
Couldst thou by some rare subtle compound worke
On Nature so, that whom I lov'd, might be
Inforc'd to make returne of an affection hot
And violent as mine; mee thinkes I see
A cheerfull answer in thy lookes, be kind,
And speake some comfort e're I faint.
Buon.
This may be done.
Fred.
How, how? my sage immortall friend?
Buon.
You are in love?
Fred.
Platonically sir, no otherwaies.
Buon.
Fie, fie! professe a friendship, and presume
To gull mee with a Ladies Paradox!
Doe not I know what that imports?
Fred.
Well sir, you that have skill t'interpret all
Into what sense you please.
Buon.
If you expect redresse, the Mistris whom
You love must grow familiar to my sight,
That I may study her complexion, and
Her yeares; then marke which way her soule's inclin'd.
Fred.
I know 'twill be as safe a secret in
Your knowledge as in mine, 'tis Eurithea.—
Buon.
I thanke you much, not for the trust you put
Into my brest, but for your brave ambition sir,
For I affect great Spirits like great Wits:
But give mee leave to aske.
Fred.
I will prevent you sir, for I presume
You'l but demand what others privie to
My bold designe have question'd twice, why I
Thus toile to make Theander marry her,
Since by my hopes prescrib'd for mine owne bed?
Buon.
You guesse my wonder to the full.
Fred.
My other Instruments I thought too thick
And heavie soul'd, to merit knowledge of
This mysterie, but you have reason sir, and shall be satisfi'd.
Buon.
Signior, I weare your praise as my best dignity.
Fred.
Pray listen then. If I should thinke t'enjoy
Her by the tame and formall title of
A Wife, I were but simply gull'd by my
O'reweening, and too sawcie Ignorance,
As knowing well my birth, my fortune, and
My yeares make me unfit for such a hope;
Yet it is apt shee marry too: and why?
That shee may taste man, for sir, in this cold
And frozen life of her virginity,
There is no meanes to prosper my desires,
But when shee comes to rellish Man, whose warme
Contaction makes her thaw, then like a Spring
Too long imprison'd in her Ice, shee'l spread
Into a lib'rall streame, that ev'ry thirsty Lover may
Carouse, untill his heat be quench'd.
Buon.
'Tis subtly said; but Signior, now suppose
The wedding past, have you no other meanes
To prosecute your love?
Fred.
More cunning and sublime
His bridall kisses coole upon her lips,
Hee shall grow jealous of her chastitie.
This sir is certaine as the nights
Succession to the day, and well you know,
Shee that finds her husband jealous without cause,
Will lye Perdu untill shee give him one.
Buon.
Thy bold ambition and thy wit, indeer'd
Thee first unto my thoughts, but now I find
Thee deeply read in Lovers Polliticks;
The lustfull Priests of Paphos might have been
Disciples to thy skill. How I affect
Mischiefe, when mannag'd by a braine, can lead
And usher it in new untrodden waies?—
Fred.
But will you make this compound sir?
Buon.
It shall be strait prepar'd, which, e're you sleepe
You must receive into your nosthrill by a fume
Made on a little fire of Cassia roots; then gaze
On her to morrow but two minutes space,
Untill your am'rous Optick spirits by
A secret transmitation steale into
Her eyes, and straight the worke is crown'd.
Enter Theander.
Fred.
I am oblieg'd to sacrifice my life:
The Duke is come, away. It is not fit
Your friendship should be yet begun; goe to
Your Limbeck deare Phylosopher.—
Exit Buon.
Theand.
Leisure, and drowsie sloath, did first beget
These crooked and abortive thoughts: they are
The progenie of ease. What doe I heere?
When I had businesse in the Campe they ne're
Durst tempt mee in my idlest dreames: But oh!
They have o'recome my nature, and my strength!
If there be remedies, Ile chuse the best.
Fred.
This morne your excellence was pleas'd to thinke
My councels, learn'd, and requisite; I wish
Your wise opinion may not change her faith;
There waits a Priest within will give a sweet
And sudden cure to your disease.
Theand.
I thanke you sir; have you acquainted Phylomont
With my desire of peacefull conference?
He will obay you sir—look where hee comes.
Enter Phylomont.
Phyl.
Sir, I am told, you wish'd mee here on some
Affaire, may much concerne us both, and that
Our meeting should be full of equall courtesie.
Theand.
Sir, I have done you wrong, and made mine eyes
Severe Inquisitors to find your faults,
But vayl'd them when they look'd upon mine owne:
I'm growne lesse temp'rate than your selfe, something
I feele, which to extenuate with civility
I'ld name, unrulinesse of youth, though I
Was wont to call't a Sin.
Phyl.
O, is it come to this? Ile cashiere my new levy'd troops.
Wee'l kill no Souldiers sir, there's hope wee may beget
Some now. Theander, speake? Shall wee preserve
Our Ensignes folded, and proclaime a peace?
Theand.
My Sister you shall marry, Phylomont.
Phyl.
I thanke you Sir, most heartily: You, if
You please, shall marry mine, and then doe with
Her what you list; for Ile make bold with yours.
Fred.
This Duke is one of Plato's Hereticks.
Theand.
How e're our inward inclinations are
Most sulpherous and foule, let us (I pray)
Inforce a little vertue from Hypocrisie,
And hide it from externall view.
Phylo.
Theander, I was bred under as chaste
And modest Discipline as any Prince alive;
And can affect a Lovers tendernesse,
And decencie of speech, but not to know
The order, and the course of things were fond
Unmettal'd Ignorance. Is't not the custome Sir,
That wee must marry first, and then to Bed?
Theand.
To Bed, that is to sleepe.
Phyl.
Right, if the Bridegroome Sir be mad, sleepe is
His Med'cine then; I'm sober, I thanke heaven,
And know my businesse, your Sister shall find it.
Theand.
All this is newes to mee, either thou knowst
Too much, or I have thought a virtue what
More pregnant men, may terme a dull mistake;
It cannot be, I have a strange instinct
Phyl.
Injoy it still, your life and motion sir,
You can preserve by immateriall fire,
Wee that are forc'd to keepe our spirits warme
In flesh and blood, must be content to live
As other mortals doe.
Theand.
I prethee let's dispute it bashfully;
Yet I would learne, is custome growne so bold?
First marry Phylomont, and strait to bed!
Phyl.
To bed, that's as you said to sleepe; and then
'Tween sleepe and waking sir, to touch, as twere
By chance, not purpose, and so fall into
You guesse the rest.
Thean.
Enough, Ile heare no more.
Phyl.
But where's your Sister? I would faine dispatch.
Theand.
Conduct him to her, Fredeline; this Key
Will open you the way, if I shall need
Her pardon to excuse m'unskilfulnesse,
Intreat it for mee sir.
Phyl.
It shall be easily attain'd.
Fred.
This is a service I have much desir'd to do your excellence.
Phyl.
Signior, you have deserv'd my thanks.
Exeunt. Phyl. Fred.
Theand.
This noble youth was by the generall voice
Held most exact and heavenly in the whole
Demeanor of his life, his judgment is
Of late defil'd, or what I feele is no
Rebellion of my reason, but my strength,
Not a disease, but some odd sawcinesse
Enter Eurithea vayl'd.
Of health, which hee doth merrily commend.
Behold my faire Cathusian now appeares,
Whose purer thoughts and beauty soone will turne
This new opinion to an heresie.
Eurith.
I was perswaded sir, thus vayl'd, to wait
On your commands.
Thean.
Tis now (sweet Eurithea) in thy power
To shew a mercie that may save my life.
Slaves that are chain'd unto the heavie Oare,
Who labour till they chafe the restlesse waves
Into a foame, are not inthrall'd like mee.
Eurith.
Can you believe my Lord, your griefes are so
Contracted to your selfe, so slow and lame
With their sad weight that in this tedious space
They nere could travell to my heart?
Are lodg'd; and I could wish (though strangers much
Vnwelcom'd at the first) they never would
Returne from whence they come.
Theand.
Thou art too pittifull: but be so still,
That I may flatter my oppressions with
Some hope, if not with remedy, grant a
Request which I unwillingly must urge,
And thou shalt faintly heare.
Eurith.
Why doe I languish with delaies? call't not
(Theander) a request, but a command,
And justly confident reveale it strait.
Thean.
O that we could
Exchange intelligence with our dumbe thoughts,
And make our meaning knowne e're it should need
The tongue! I cannot, dare not nam't.
Eurith.
You wrong th'umblemish'd vertue of your soule,
Your contemplation never could create
A businesse so deform'd, as not deserves
To be deliver'd by your voice, I sigh,
And mourne untill I heare't.
Theand.
If I must speake, I would some Northern frost
That purifies the morn's infected mists, would purge
My breath, e're it arrive unto thine eare.
Poore Eurithea, you must marrie mee.
Eurith.
Is't this, that so hath vex'd your utterance?
More willingly than I would leave the black
And sootie Caves, where Fiends reside, to walke
I'th fragrant dwellings of the blest: Lead on,
Be cheerfull, and recall your health, your owne
Domestick Priest, with ceremonious Rites
Will quickly perfit your desire.—
Theand.
So willingly I stay Eurithea, can you guesse th'intent
Of what you would performe, of many new
And undiscover'd trials you shall make
Of things, we had not courage yet to learne;
Darke deeds, and practis'd in the night, which when
Our hastie youth shall aske our wisdome leave,
May seeme perhaps convenient, but not good.
Eurith.
Why should I make my meditation judge
Of what your better knowledge hath resolv'd?
I'th open interview of light, approve
And justifie your worst and secret thoughts.
Theander, lead the way.
Theand.
O cruell stars! I shall betray a Virgin now, whose innocence
Is so extreame, it yields, and turnes to guilt!
Eurith.
Why doe you stay my Lord, and strive to make,
Or find new sorrowes, e're the old are lost.
Theand.
Leave mee my gentle Love; I will not goe,
Nor tell the cause: Would thou wer't wicked as
My selfe awhile, that thou might'st know't: my eyes
Grow sick; 'tis not secure to weare
Thy beauties thus display'd.
Eurith.
Alas, these are but couz'ning formes, there is
No truth in your delayes; I know you spoke
In the sincerenesse of your soule, when you
Profess'd our marriage would assist your minds
Recoverie. Theander, come.
Theand.
Dull Fate! where is the vigour that I show'd
When our lowd Cannon seem'd to stifle the
Affrighted day with smoke, and Rivers slow'd
Themselves into a new extent, swelling
Their tides with humane blood? In Lovers soft
And simple war, I'm weaker than a child.
Eurith.
Still more delayes! you kill mee if you stay.
Theand.
Shee is resolv'd, her better Angell sure
Is ever by her side, no danger then
Can harbour where shee goes, and yet I blush
As I should need her vayle to hide my shame
E're I commit the Sin—lead you the way.
Eurith.
This is a strange command! here, follow sir.
Theand.
Thou little, though imperious God of love,
(Warmely inthron'd within thy mothers lap,)
How wilt thou sit and smile when thou shalt see
To sooth thy wantonnesse, and swell thy pride,
The Bridegroome woo'd, and usher'd by the Bride?
Exeunt.
Enter Gridonell, Castraganio, Arnoldo, Iaspero.
Grid.
I will not follow a Platonick Duke,
So tell him sir, I am inspir'd, and know
The meaning of the word.
Be not so furious sir, I'm of your Sect,
Vnlesse hee suddenly recant, I am
Resolv'd sooner to serve the great Turke.
Grid.
The Turke! Is hee Platonically given?
Castra.
Troth sir, not much; hee hath some seven hundred
Of those taff'tie creatures you admire so, in's owne house.
Grid.
Would I were the great Turke
But for one Month; yet 'tis a chargeable place,
Hee cann't spend lesse than a Corronels pay
In Pins among these Damsels, besides Muffes,
And fine white Gloves! Poore Gentleman, hee lives
At a great rate. Castraganio, a word—
takes him aside.
Castr.
Be not so boisterous sir, the Powder workes strangely.
Grid.
Fetch mee your Sister hither strait.
Castr.
But for what purpose?
Grid.
What's that to you. I've occasion to use her.
Something I must doe, I know not what 'tis,
But I begin to feele shee will be very
Convenient for mee at this time.
Castr.
If you'l agree upon the wedding houre.
Grid.
How long then must I stay?
Castra.
Till a License be brought from Palermo,
And the Priest have done his office.
Grid.
I have not patience to expect till then,
Goe bring her hither strait; dispatch,
Or Ile weare out my Fist upon your smooth countenance.
Castr.
You are too rude, I'le leave you sir.
Exit.
Grid.
Deny mee such a poore request? 'tis an
Ill natur'd Rogue! Come hither Iaspero, have you a Sister?
Iasp.
Yes, and a pretty one, I thanke my Stars.
Grid.
Fetch her to mee instantly, I cannot stay.
Iasp.
You must have patience till her Nurse have made
Her ready sir.
Grid.
Her Nurse, what does shee with a Nurse?
Iasp.
Shee is at suck, and hardly six monthes old.
Grid.
At suck! nay, if shee lye at that poore Ward,
Tipling of milke, shee is not for my turne.
Arnoldo? prethee fetch mee thine.
Arnol.
I would be glad to doe my friend a courtesie.
Would you had spoke in time, for sir, introth shee's dead.
Grid.
I doe not like a dead commoditie.
Close at the Laundry dore, and bring mee the
First prize; no words, it must be done.
Arnol.
Gladly, wee love th'imployment sir.
Iasp.
This Soldier has din'd with the devill lately,
And fed on Sea-coale Cakes, hee's vildly alter'd.—
Ex. Iasp. Arnol.
Grid.
I'm wondrous hot within; my guts are dry'd
To a bundle of match: and I breath Gunpowder.
What have I done of late, where have I bin? Let me consider it.—
Enter Sciolto.
Sciolt.
Hah! Melancholly, Son; thy Corporall would
Looke merrier when hee see's his Feather worne
I'th Enemies hat, and's Knapsack without bread,
Tell mee, what do'st thou want?
Grid.
Something that you may helpe mee to; you sir
Are old, and well experienc'd in the world.
Sciolt.
And thou shalt have it then: tell mee, what is't?
Grid.
Why sir, a wench.
Sciol.
How boy! make me your pimp!
Doe not vex mee, you shall know I could fight in my Youth.
Grid.
I sir, any man will fight for a wench.
Sciolt.
You will provoke mee, get you in, and give
Attendance to Theanders marriage rites, tis strait to be perform'd.
Grid.
Alas, I dare not goe; there is a cause not fit to be told.
Sciolt.
You know what's fit! y'had best to tell it me.
Speake, what's the cause you dare not goe?
Grid.
Sir, I should ravish the Bride.
Sciolt.
Are you so eager bent? Rare Phylosopher!
Grid.
If I but see a Priest, and a Maid by,
Though her dowrie be but a Silver Thimble,
And a skein of Silke, I shall beat him sir,
Vnlesse hee doe his office strait, and marrie us.
Sciolt.
Hah! Tis high time to weare mine eyes open.
Hee may chance in this mad fit, contract himselfe
To some Inheretrix that's landed on
The High-way, whose Father sels fine Crab-sticks,
And hazle Nuts to riding Citizens.
Come Son, this Key must lock you up; you shall
Remaine a Prisoner in my Chamber till you grow more tame.
Grid.
Ile not be taken Prisoner sir, by any man alive.
Sciolt.
Nor yet obay your Father, you: you'l not
Grid.
No sir, you had not best.
Sciolt.
D'you threaten boy! not best to draw my sword?
Grid.
No sir, for feare you spraine your arme: these weake
Old fellowes know not what's good for 'um.
Scio.
Sirra go in, one disobedient word, & I will dis-inherit thee.
Grid.
My Lord, Ile yield, but if you would but lock
Faire Amadine a prisoner i'th same roome.
Sciolt.
Thou traitor, get thee in.
Grid.
Perhaps she would be willing sir.
Sciol.
Go in I say.
Ex.
Enter Phylomont, and Ariola.
Phyl.
Let mee a while containe thee in mine armes
(Belov'd Ariola) the force of Indian winds
That shake the aged Cedar from his root
Shall not divide us now.
Ariol.
Here I would stay
(My valiant Phylomont) till death should wave
His dart, and becken us to follow him
Vnto the hidden shades, till hee should make
By angry power these kind embraces cold.
Phyl.
How sad and dismall sound the farewels which
Poore Lovers take, whom destiny dis-joynes,
Although they know their absence will be short?
And when they meet agen, how musicall
And sweet, are all the mutuall joyes they breath?
Ariol.
Like Birds, who when they see the wearie Sun
Forsake the world, they lay
Their little Pensive heads beneath their wings,
To ease that weight which his departure adds unto their griefe.
Phyl.
'Tis true my love: but when
They see that bright perpetuall traveller
Returne, they warme and aire their Feathers at
His beames, and sing untill their gratitude
Hath made them hoarse.
Ariol.
My Brother I request may be forgiven, and call not my
Restraint his cruelty, t'hath mended me
Within, and fill'd mee with such bless'd designes,
As will deserve your wonder and your thanks.
Forgive him, Phylomont.
Phyl.
Our friendship is
Restor'd, which thus I will confirme with vowes
Vpon thy sacred hand, but surely it
Were better ratifi'd upon thy baulmie lip,
Allow to those, who are delighted when they meet.
Ariol.
Your virtues have such great and safe
Authority, they cannot aske what's fit to be deny'd—
he kisses her.
Phyl.
This seemes (me thinks) a new
Demeanor shee is alter'd much, more free
And kind than shee was wont.
Ariol.
Why dost thou ruminate aside, as if
Thy Meditation were too guilty, or too great to be reveal'd?
Phyl.
Give mee (thou precious darling of my heart)
The privilege to doubt a little, and
Resolve me strait; why are thy courtesies
So great now, and easily attain'd,
Which heretofore thou didst deprive mee of
With frownes, and strict behaviour of thy brow?
Ariol.
It shall be ever thus, my passion, and
My thoughts are chang'd, as Eurithea with
My Brother lives, so shall our conversation take
All liberty, and our salutes be far
More amorous and bold, though vertuous still.
Phyl.
This bounty had been excellent, when you
Had privilege to give, or to deny; but now
Your charter's out of date, and mine
Begins to rule: the Priest attends below
To celebrate our Nuptiall rites, which is
The happy houre that doth advance
The husbands government; come, to the Chappell, Love.
Ariol.
A little pawse; what need wee marry sir?
I lately was instructed to
A clearer choice of our felicitie: is it not better to live thus, in a
Perfection that wee know, than to attempt
New joyes, which our unskilfulnesse should
Make us doubt? this is the Angels life;
My Brother told me so, and then hee breath'd
Such holy Lectures as have prosper'd much upon my soule.
Phyl.
Not marry (my Ariola?) is that the fatall word?
Take heed how you are sooth'd into a strange, and fond beliefe.
Ariol.
Your caution (sir) is onely needfull to
Your selfe, can you desire a blessing more
Exact than this wee may possesse, to live
Wee doe, yet still embrace, and love, although
In persons not conjoyn'd, united in our soules?
Phyl.
These are but triviall documents, alas!
I'm hardly taught, thus rashly to renounce
What all the wiser world have taken so
Long leisure to aprove; besides, Ariola,
You much mistake your Brother, for just now
I saw him married, the deeds past, these hands
Gave, and presented him to Hymens use,
And hee's preparing for my Sisters bed.
Ariol.
Your Sisters bed! (gentle my Lord) beware
How you confer a callumnie, which all
Your Orizons and mine, to helpe them cann't excuse to heaven.
Phyl.
Let mee conduct you to him, and your eyes
Shall witnesse my assertion for a truth.
Ariol.
No sir, if hee be guilty growne, I shall
Now wish to see him so; can hee recant
Thus soone, the faire religion hee did preach
With all the fervencie of mind?
Phyl.
Do not lament,
Th'example you should rather follow, than
Accuse: come, my Ariola, like him
Wee'l marry too, our wisdome shall perswade us to't.
Ariol.
Some wicked spirit strives sir, to betray
Vs both: make triall of this new
Vnusuall happinesse a while, live, and
Converse beneath the spreading poplar for
Our shade, and for variety wee'l sit
On yonder Rivers flowry bankes.
Phyl.
There whisper till wee court him to delay
His journey to the Sea, and swell, untill
Hee leave his scalie deafe inhabitants
Vpon the Shore, as tribute to our Loves.
Ariol.
I, Phylomont, these are the guiltlesse sports.
Phyl.
Fine holy dreames indeed, but cannot last,
You and I must marry, 'tis resolv'd.
Ariol.
Banish that thought, or I will take my leave,
And be estrang'd for ever from thy sight.
But when reclaim'd, seeke mee i'th mirtle Grove.
Phyl.
Stay, faire Ariola, my reason sure must laugh
Will on, fredome and kind addresses shee
Hath still assur'd; come, follow mee, like an
Vnwilling Proselyte, I slowly move
To try the pleasures of Platonick Love.
Exeunt.
Enter Amadine, Fredeline with a Paper, and Castraganio.
Amad.
Dispatch sir, it growes late, my Lady will
Expect I wait on her to bed, th'intelligence
I bring is still of certainty and truth.
Make your advantage of't with your best skill.
Fred.
Wilt thou adventure Amadine, 'tis but
(At worst) the forfeiture of thy poore service,
Which ile requite, with giving thee young Gridonell
To be thy husband, and to rule; my plots
Have so design'd, why did I order't else
That hee should take the Med'cine which hath forc'd
Him to such Fœminine attempts?
Amad.
Indeed hee's growne more bold with mee of late,
And will come fairely on in time.
Fred.
O doubt it not, can my experienc'd head study in vaine?
Captaine, my indeer'd friend, will you forsake
Mee now, when such a ripe occasion showes
It selfe, to give successe unto my hopes?
Your sister is content to hazard all.
Castra.
Tis full of danger sir.
Fred.
I will be there my selfe, and stand between
Your person and his vvrath.
Castr.
'Tis certaine losse sir, of my company.
Fred.
How? what's a company that brings as fraile
Revenew, and uncertaine, as our purchases
At dice, who'd live, and be maintain'd by others deaths?
Looke here, just now I caus'd him signe this grant,
The Provostship of Necosia newly voyd,
Which being under's hand and seale confirm'd,
No new relapse of favour can recall
The gift. You see your name here sir carv'd out
In Roman Characters; the feat but done,
Ile put it in your hand, then strait you may
Take horse, ride post unto your government,
Your Sister with you, on some Parsons strong
Tall double Gelding sir, kept in my stable for
Amad.
But shall my husband Elect follow us?
Fred.
And ride as swiftly as a Scythian from a battell lost.
Amad.
In my weak judgement Brother, our rewards are faire,
I am resolv'd to venture it.
Castr.
Early i'th morning sir?
Fred.
Iust at the first appearance of the light.
The dore I told you of, must be the place.
Castra.
You will be there protected with your sword?
Fred.
A Captaine, and raise doubts, that sound like feares!
Come sir, all shall be safe. You to your Lady.
Let's meet i'th upper lobby two houres hence,
And there consult. My Chymick fume I have
Already t'ane, if that succeed, and this
Plot thrive, I will require no more from my
Vncertaine Fate, nor Art, whose usuall scope,
Is but to pay learn'd industry with hope.
Exeunt.
Enter Theander, Eurithea, a Table, stooles, and lights set out.
Theand.
Husband, and Wife, wee have a calling now;
Shewes it not strange, disquieting thy tender eares
With sounds th'are unacquainted with? Titles
(Mee thinks) that yet wee know not how to weare,
Wee should be taught behaviour, and some formes
Of gravity, are they not usefull, Eurithea?
Eurith.
My Lord, I am more ignorant than you.
If wee have ventur'd upon errours, wee'l
Conceale them, and forgive our selves.
Theand.
Her beauty kindles in my brest new fires,
Before the old are quench'd; wise Fredeline
Told mee, our marriage would procure my remedie,
Alas! the cure's to come, and now I must
Require't as custome, or a duty from her;
In my nice thoughts 'twill teach her impudence.
O curs'd disease! What shall I doe?
Eurith.
Theander, you are still perplex'd, I thought
The holy Priest had a Mysterious power
To make these troubles cease. Did you not vow
Our Nuptials was the meanes to save your life?
Theand.
To Bed, my Eurithea, it is late.
They say the married paire are incident
To bed; shall I goe call thy woman?
Eurith.
My Lord, you are not kind: the tedious houres
I could contract to Minutes in your company,
And waste them faster than our village girles
That dance in Meadows all the Month of May.
Ile take my leave, yet boldly too,
Withall the solemne sweetnesse of a Bride—
Kisses
My Lord, good-night.
Theand.
I am inflam'd agen; did she not take her leave, and say
Good-night? Then whither must I goe?
One bed I thought kind Hymen had allow'd
To both, since by his God-head wee are made
But one; thus it is gen'rally receiv'd: stay Eurithea, wee must talk.
Enter Amadine.
Amad.
Madam, your Bed's prepar'd, shall I undresse
Your Ladiship, or the Bridegroome first?
I'th Province where I liv'd, wee us'd to call
A dozen apron Squires t'uncloath the husband,
Then sow him in a Sheet, and lay him on his Pillow
Tamely, to expect the Bride two houres before shee came.
Eurith.
Wench, thou art mad! D'you understand her sir?
Theand.
A little, Eurithea, doe not you?
Eurith.
Shee talkes as it were fit wee two.
Amad.
Should lye together, that's my meaning Madam.
Eurith.
Hence, and leave us, immodest foole.
Amad.
I knew t'would come to this—Fredeline will
Find my words true; the morning may perhaps
Make yee both Melancholly.
Exit.
Eurith.
This wench, Theander, hath been fam'd for wit;
I doubt shee hath experience too, in things
Not decent for th'observance of a Mayd.
Theand.
Alas, shee talkes but what she heares, and in
Her understanding seemes proper and fit!
Eurith.
That we should sleepe together in one bed.
Theand.
Indeed it sounds most strangely to us yet,
But use will dull those scruples to the eare;
It must be done, custome will be obay'd.
Eurith.
Never by us. We'le live to be examples.
Not sir to follow those, we cannot like.
Consider gentle Love, ere you believe
Your owne opinions best. Why did we marry?
Eurith.
That's easily resolv'd, I thought Theander,
Some wild sad jealousie had vex'd thy heart
With feare of rivallship, and by this sacred band
Thou would'st secure and tie me to thy selfe,
More safely to destroy anothers hope,
Though these were needlesse doubts I never gave
You cause to hold my love in your suspect.
Theand.
Thou dost mistake my griefes, it hath a cause
More soule, which I'ld aquaint thee with, if it
Were comely to reveale't, but since I have
Betray'd and led thy guiltlesse feet into
This sacred share, 'tis fit t'avoid the scornes
Which singularity, and overbashfull
Nicenesse will beget; we'le live as others doe,
As much i'th practises of night, as day.
Eurith.
O Theander! the sweetnesse of thy soule
Is sowr'd, like Cretan wines that are too excellent
To last; my blood thou hast to water turn'd,
And I shall soone consume it all in teares.
Theand.
Goe Eurithea to thy bed, sleepe like
A Virgin not a wife, be by thy owne
Embraces warm'd, Injoy thy bosome to
Thy selfe, away! hast to thy bed, I to
My grave, and let my Coffin lye
Vngarnish'd in the earth, come not to strew
It o're with flowres: I am so pestilent
That I should blast thee after death.
Eurith.
Theander stay! Who knowes but heaven may give
Such mighty blessings to my speech, that straite
I may perswade thee from thy guilty thoughts?
Theand.
Never: my breast is now become
The burning prison of the fiends, it is
So sulpherous and hot, me thinkes they find
Their punishment increasde, and would to coole
Themselves, returne vnto their former hell.
Eurith.
O direfull extacie! can I heare this and live?
Theand.
Ile tell thee more, to make thee fly
With some kind Angels borrow'd wings, from this
Our marriage vowes (which certainely were first
Ordain'd for holy use) I meerely tooke,
As formall helpes to my pernicious lust.
Eurith.
Yet stay, in this short tyranny of Time,
Thou canst not be so sinfull growne, as to despise
My pitty and my praiers too! ō stay.
Thean.
I dare not, for thine eyes augment my smart,
Each small neglected beame they shed,
I gather up in flames, and quite pervert
Their vertuous influence to a lustfull fire.
Eurith.
Thou lost remainder of the noblest Prince,
The active Warre, or wiser Courts e're knew,
How doe I blush to find my groanes and sighes
Have left me breath enough to speake my last
Farewell?
Thean.
How farre is it to heaven, that yet
This Ladyes mournings are not heard, for if
They were, my sufferings and my guilt would cease;
Or cannot our petitions climbe, and get
Accesse as nimbly as our faults? O this
Is it that so emboldens vex'd humanity,
Makes us complaine, those undiscern'd
Immortall governors are often in
Their bounty slow, in Iustice too severe,
And give not what we beg, but what we feare.
Exeunt.
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