 | The Platonick Lovers |  |
Act. 1.
Scen. 1.
Enter Sciolto, Arnoldo, Iaspero, Attendants.Sciolto.
What hoe? Arnoldo, Iaspero? Dispatch,
Dispatch? You move like great fat Burghers that
Had newly din'd, Criples would stirr more nimbly
To a whipping? Are all things prepard?
Arn.
My Lord theres time enough, the Duke will not
Be here till night.
Sciol.
From whence pray that Intelligence,
From the Gazet, brought hither by a Muse from Paris sir?
Arnol.
Your Lordship receives yours
(I thinke) in a little Letter ty'd to a Tartarian arrow.
Iasp.
Or 'bout the necke of a Barbary Pigeon,
We know hee'le not be heere till night.
Sciolt.
You know? Your knowledge (sir) will scarse prefer
A Clearke, to dine upon the care of a
Tyth Pigg: death! my good serving-gentleman,
Did not I leave him a league off, and with
Him too, Duke Phylomont, their traine enough
To famish our whole Sicilie, were not
Nature bounteous to us in our good Corne?
Arnol.
Hath sprightly Phylomont Incounter'd with
Our Duke Theander by the way too?
Sciol.
Light! Your businesse is to aske questions sir?
A Court examiner? are all provisions made
Iasp.
All, all my Lord.
Sciolt.
The inner roomes new hung, and th'garden Gallerie
Adorn'd with Titians pictures, and those frames
Of Tantaret, last brought from Rome?
Arn.
Yes Sir, and Tables spread with Napery finer than
Poppeas smock, the Cuppords crack with studded Plate,
And Christall violls thick enough, t'endure
A fall, or hammer Sir.
Iasp.
Our Kitchins smoke so,
That the fat steame blowne o're a towne besieg'd,
Would cure the Famine in't?
Arnol.
The Sellers too so fill'd, that they would make
A Danish army drunke.
Sciolt.
Arnoldo? Rogue? with good pure Muskaden
Of Creet, I'm old, and must be nourish'd with
My morning Sop, like Matrons that want teeth.
Arnol.
Your Lordship shall not faile to have it spic'd.
Iasp.
And when tis noone, your Mallamucko Mellon of
An Amber scent, serv'd in a Grotto Sir,
To coole you Lordships wishes, not your blood;
For that wee guesse, hath not this many yeares
Beene Feverish towards women.
Sciolt.
A merry knave.
Goe good boyes both: call all the Waiters, and
The Groomes, t'attend upon their severall charge,
The Dukes will instantly arrive: our brave
Theander sent mee for dispatch before,
To take command of the whole house, looke to't;
I shall be bounteous, but severe.
Arn.
My Lord we love your government, and will make haste.
Exeunt Iaspero, Arnoldo.
Enter Fredeline, Castraganio.
Fred.
Walke our horses nere the Parke gate untill
A gen'rall care be giv'n for all the Troope.
Within.
I shall Sir.
Fred.
My Lord Sciolto, your good Horseman-ship
Hath put us to some trouble to o'retake you:
Let mee prefer this Gentleman unto
Your knowledge, hee will deserve them both.
Sciolt.
I thanke you for him Signior Fredeline,
No friendship of your choice can deserve lesse. How is he cal'd?
Fred., Castraganio.
'Tis hee, whom with your kind consent
The witty Amadine, whom late I plac'd
Chiefe woman to Eurithea, our grand Masters Mistris.
Sciolt.
Signior give me your hand,
I love not Courtship, but I will promise
To befriend you, and performe it too.
Castra.
Your Lordship hath just power o're my beliefe.
Fred.
He's lately posted from Uienna Sir,
And can present you with a Letter—
Castr: gives Sciolto a letter.
Sciolt.
I hope, from the noble Colonell my Sons
Governor.
Castr.
His name Sir is subscrib'd to it,
And straight you will behold your Son,
The scituation of this house, hath but a while
Imploy'd his eyes without.
Sciolt.
Fredeline, the boy comes
As I were Master o're my wish, 'tis now
Full thirteene yeares (since first of tender growth)
I sent him to the Campe, this Letter Sir,
My better leisure shall survay. But pray,
How is hee bred? My peevish humor gave
A strange direction to his Governor,
That he should never learne to Write, nor Reade,
Nor never see a Woman.
Castr.
My Lord, you are obay'd in both: Hee is
A good Souldier, and by his Learning will
Sooner confute the Foe, than a Phylosopher,
As for Women, th'are things he nere heard nam'd;
Nor can the Campe present him any, but
Course Suttlers Wives, creatures of so much durt,
That shovell'd well together, they will serve
To make a Trench ere they are dead, more fit
To heave the stomack, than to stir the blood.
Fred.
I know 'um perfectly. They weare no smocks
But cut out of an old cast Tent, and bind
Their haire in horses Girths in stead of Phylliting.
Sciolt.
Such I dare allow him.
Fred.
Yet, with the freedome of your Lordships leave,
These are but homely Principles to give
For education of a Son and Heire!
Not Write, nor Reade, nor see a Woman
I will endure the hazard of a new
Experiment, and try how Nature will
Incline him; learning (I finde) doth make men
Sawcy with their Maker, and false unto
Themselues, and Women make us all fooles.
Enter Gridonell.
Castrag.
Here comes your Sonne.
Practise your reverence sir, there stands your Father.
Grid.
Well, which is he?
stands still gazing about.
Castra.
There sit, with the gray beard.
Grid.
A comely old fellow, by this hand sir;
I am glad to see you with all my heart!
Sciolt.
If you stand upon these points, sir and I you!
Cast.
Goe aske blessing.
Grid.
Does the old man look for't?
Sciolt.
Not I introth, for though the custome be
Devout enough, it showes me thinkes too like a complement.
Grid.
You are in the right sir, and I hate complement as much as you.
Fred.
My Lord, his Governor hath follow'd your
Directions to the shaddow of a haire,
Hee's rarely bred to make a Favorite in the French Court.
Sciolt.
Goe pick you eares, good Signior, if you like
It not, 'tis musicke unto mine; but sonne,
How ere these manners are not much in use,
You can be dutifull?
Grid.
Sir I am taught, My Father is my officer, I must
Performe my duties, and obey him; besides,
I love you more then a good Sword.
Sciolt.
Why, I thanke you Sir: there is no love lost.
Fred.
Fore me, exc'lent courtship! Iust like the parley
'Twixt Mounsier Hobbynoll, and Collen Clowt.
Grid.
I pray a word? I'm told I should expect
Certaine duties from you too.
Sciolt.
May't please you Sonne, I shall be glad to learne.
Grid.
You must allow me still new choise of Armour,
Brave Horse for service, and high pric'd Ginnets
To curvett i'th streets, and rich cloathes.
Sciolt.
Heaven forbid else.
Grid.
Iewels, and mony too.
Sciolt.
O Sonne, I shall know my duty.
Grid.
And when the time conspires with my necessities
To call you to't, You must make haste and dye.
My Lord, how like you that? This breedings right:
Nor is it altogether new, or strange.
Sciolt:
I'd rather ever find it on his tongue,
Than once believe it in his heart: a rough boy;
I must keepe him still from sight of the Ladies.
It will continue him in's Innocence; hold Sir,
This Key will lead you through the Tarris, that
Orelookes the Orchard walke, and then you passe
Into an Armorie, spend there your time
A while, and take your choyce, I know the Duke
That ownes it, will make good my gift: Will you walke Sir?—
Grid.
I pray Sir lead the way.—
Sciol.
Nay, I beseech you Sir.—
Grid.
I know 'tis fit, I give place to my Elders.—
Sciolt.
But I have businesse here, doe you thinke sonne,
I'd be so much uncivill else, as not to wait upon you?
Grid.
Well, take your course, I love to see good Armor.
Exit.
Sciolt.
If I can keepe him from the Ladies, I
Am happier than King Priam that had fifty Sons,
But sure, not one like this—
Flourish a far off.
Fred.
My Lord, this summons shewes the Dukes are come,
Sir, stand you here, Ile find a time for your addresse.
Leads Castraganio aside.
Enter Theander, Phylomont, Atendants.
Within.
Make way there, hoe! beare backe, beare backe!
Theander embraces and whispers Phylomont.
Fred.
This is Theander Sir, whose present sway
Palermo owes allegiance too, rich in
His mind and fame, as in his large extent
Of Land, and to augment his wealth, Hee comes
Loaden with Spoyles of frequent victories,
Though but i'th blossome of his life, hee hath
Already done enough to fill a Historie,
And is deriv'd from th'old Sicilian Kings:
Him I have chosen to prefer you to.
Castra.
If I could double all my faculties,
You have oblieg'd them wholly to your use.
What is the other Signior, whom he seemes
To court with such a fervent show?
Duke Phylomont, that neighbours to his Government,
And rules the Western borders of this Isle:
All that the rich Mazara yields, he equals Duke
Theander, in the best of's vertues, and his fate;
And now brings too, though from a climate more
Remote, the triumphs of a war; but yet
If midnight howlings heard in Cities sack'd
And fir'd, the groanes of widow'd wives,
And slaughter'd childrens shrickes can pierce the eares
Of heaven, the Learned thinke, their glorious Ghosts
Will have a dismall welcome after death.
How ever in this world 'tis good to follow 'um,
I would not fright your nice and pious mind
T'unprofitable feares.
Castr.
Kind Signior doubt me not.
Theand.
Thou breath'st into me (mighty Phylomont)
No other soule but mine: my better thoughts
Are moulded in thy breast; and could wee grow
Together thus, our courteous hearts would not
Be neerer, nor yet more intire; I gratulate
Thy victories in Spaine, thou haste undone
A Nation with thy noble deeds, and taught
Them how to fight by seeing frequent conquests on
Themselves, when brave examples come to late
To immitate, and they are left no Land
To fight for, or defend.
Phyl.
Renown'd Theander, what delight can wise
Historians have to mention me, whilst Naples keepes
The sense, or memory to mourne, thou art
The argument of all just praise? alas,
My battels will be thought, when thine are nam'd:
But village-quarrels that poore Heardsmen make
To keepe their Common from their Land-lords sheep.
My Ensignes not deserve to hang
As Curtaines at thy Shrine, when thou shalt lie
Ador'd, and stil'd the Wars first Saint,
That taught thy Armies how to clense, not sack
The Citties thou hast won.
Theand.
No more; be these imbraces ever hearty, and
Renew'd, till time shall lay us both asleepe within one Tombe.
Phylom.
I am no more alive. When these
Theand.
Sciolto, where's my sister (faire Ariola?)
Me thinkes her welcomes are so slow, they scarse commend her love.
Sciolt.
Your Excellence will find
She'le bring such an excuse with her, as soone
Shall be receiv'd; the Princesse Eurithea
Whom she's gone t'entreat, to honour this
Solemnitie, they'le instantly appeare.
Thean.
That's joy indeed, the Musicke of her name,
Salutes the eare, with sounds more cheerefull and
More full of Triumph, then the showts of Victory!
Phylo.
As much doth faire Ariola surprize
My sense, with gladnesse, wonder and with love.
Fred. takes Theander aside.
Fred.
This is the Gentleman to whom your Grace
Vouchsaf'd to promise Entertainement at
My humble sute.
Theand.
He shall be well receiv'd:
Sir, you had skill to know your businesse needs
Must thrive, when you chose Fredeline your advocate.
Castra.
I am the creature of your excellence.—
Enter Eurithea, Ariola.
Theand.
Brave Phylomont, intreat my Sister to
Forgive a while the tendring of my love,
Till I have breath'd it into thine.
Phylom.
The like request. Theander to my Sister make,
Till thine have first receiv'd the righteous vowes
And offrings of my heart.—
Eurithea runs cheerfully to imbrace Theander; Ariola seemes to retreat a little at Phylomonts salute.
Castra.
Sir, our Theander and his Mistris meet
(Mee thinks) with more allacritie, and free
Consent, than Phylomont and his Ariola;
Shee weares him at a carefull distance from her eyes.
Fred.
Right Sir, the first are Lovers of a pure
Cœlestiall kind, such as some stile Platonicall:
(A new Court Epethite scarce understood)
But all they wooe, Sir is the Spirit, Face,
And heart, therefore their conversation is
For naturall ends.
Crastra.
As how I pray?
Fred.
Why such a way as Libertines call Lust,
But peacefull Polliticks, and cold Divines
Name Matrimony Sir; therefore, although
Their wise Intent be good and lawfull, yet
Since it infers much Game and Pleasure i'th event,
In subtle bashfulnesse, shee would not see me
To entertaine with too much forwardnesse,
What shee (perhaps) doth willingly expect:
Sir this is but my guesse, and I beseech
It may remaine a secret unto you.
Castr.
Signior, my lips are seal'd.
Theand.
O doe not strive t'afflict thy tendernesse
With unkind thoughts, 'tis not the fortune of
A day, the victors glory, when hee toyles
To humble others pride, that he may swell
His owne: nor yet to leade a Nation cold
And naked forth, then bring them home, gay and
Fantastick in their Silks, swetting in Furs
Pontificall, as they had sate
Like civill Iudges to redresse those men
Whom for their owne reliefe they slew.
No Eurithea, these were not the charmes
That have so long betrayd me from thy sight.
Eurith.
Then I have cause to feare your wearinesse
Of love, and that would poyson my weake faculties
With a disease, that can admit no ease
To sooth my willing hope, nor cure, but death.
Theand.
Old Pilots, when benighted, have more cause
To doubt their Stars direction to their Card;
Or th'Adamants true friendship to their Steele,
Than thou, the loyaltie of my strong faith.
Eurith.
Three Sommers absent from your native Land
And mee, as many tedious winters too,
To make up time more sorrowfull and long;
How can you fashion an excuse so well, as to expect beliefe?
Theand.
Truth wants no power:
I went in search of vertuous fame, to make
For the encounter of thy love.
Eurith.
Alas! how are you certaine of my modesty
That you should give me such continuall cause
To Blush; I should finde courage sure
To chide you for't, but that I'le minister
No cause to hasten your remove from hence,
Where I have hope my pray'rs and Innocence shall keep you long.
Theand.
Els I should loose such a felicitie,
As he that hopes for better in the other world
Must fast, and live severely to attain't.
Phyl.
The rugged fashion of the warre hath dull'd
My understanding and my speech, or else
Your eares (Ariola) have lately lost their wonted tendernesse.
Ario.
Sir, you doe willingly mistake in both:
But 'tis because you know, you have as great
A priviledge to injure me, as to abuse your selfe.
Phyl.
Shall I be heard then when I speake, and cheerfully
A little listned to, that by degrees,
I may recover my sick hope?
Ariola.
You cannot loose your vertue sir, and then
I'm sure my courtesie will never faile:
To promise more, would make me seeme too prodigall,
Of what you cann't in noblenesse receive.
Phylo.
The favour of your hand I may,
—Offers to kisse it.
Ario.
That not becomes your dignity.—
Phylo.
Indeed my bold ambition rather would
Advance me to the sweetnesse of your lip.—
Ario.
That worse becommeth mine.—
Phylo.
Forgive me kind Ariola: I thrive
By chastisement, and meane to sinne no more.
Theand.
Me thinkes since yonder building on the Mount,
And that large Marble square was turretted,
The house lookes pleasant, and would tempt us to
Injoy the Sommer in't; what sayes my Phylomont?
Shall we forsake the toyles o'th Campe, and here
With triumphs celebrate the peace that wee
Have purchas'd and deserv'd?
Phylo.
I'm here Theander govern'd by your Lawes,
And must consent, but they are such I like.
Come Eurithea, let me hasten to
Begin my happinesse: lead to the Mertle-walke.—
Exeunt all but Frede. Cast. Sciolto.
Fred.
My Lord, make me indebted to your eares
A while, before you goe; this Gentleman
May safely share with us i'th privacie.
Castra.
You doe me honour with your trust.
Fred.
How worthy 'tis of griefe, a Prince so young,
Endow'd with all the helpes, that nature, art,
Or fortune need to make up perfect man,
Should weare away the happiest season of
His strength, in tedious meditation thus,
Severe discourses, and a cold survey,
Of beauty that he loves, yet feares to use?
Sciol.
Oh Signior! It hath forc'd me make a very spunge
Of my Pillow, I've wept at midnight for't,
It is a thought too dangerous for one,
Of's grey hayr'd friends to beare in memory.
Fred.
His name (if he continue ignorant
O'th use of marriage thus) must perish with
Himselfe, and all his glorious conquests have
Atchiev'd, be left without an heire.
Sciol.
Right sir, for I believe those babies he,
And Eurithea doe beget by gazing in
Each others eyes; can inherit nothing,
I meane by th custome here in Scicilie,
As for Plato's Love-lawes they may entaile,
Lands on Ghosts, and shaddowes for ought I know,
I understand not Greeke.
Castra.
How sir is she inclin'd?
Fred.
As coldly as himselfe.
Castra.
Is there no way to tempt their simple loves to the right use?
Fred.
My Lord I have conceiv'd a remedy
In my owne thoughts, 'tis an experiment,
Which if your Lordships Iudgement can allow,
May meet with glad successe
Sciolt.
I'm bound to heare't.
Fred.
There lives within Mesina (three leagues hence)
One Buonateste, a Physician, and
A sad Phylosopher, who though his wealth,
Not makes him eminent, yet he is rich
In precious vellum, and learn'd Manuscripts,
Yellow'd with age, in old disjoynted Globes,
Enow to fill a Braziers shop, which with
His Magazin of coles, and Stils of glasse,
For Chimick purposes is all he hath.
Sciol.
A very rich Alderman Phylosopher.
Fred.
Believ't (my Lord) this Kingdome will receive
More future fame by being honour'd with
His birth, then by our Æschylus, our Diodore,
Our Gorgias, and Empedocles, Euclide,
And our Archymedes, who all tooke here
Their knowledge, and their lives.
Sciolt.
Well Sir, wherein consists our present benefit?
Fred.
This man by Art shall make him marry whom
Hee now so ignorantly Courts.
Sciolt.
That would incline much neere a Miracle.
Fred.
Reward my care but with your Patience, and
Observe. I'm no protector of their silly faith,
Who thinke (forsooth) that Phylters mixt with Hearbs,
Or Min'rals can inforce a love, those Sir
Are Fables, made to comfort distress'd Virgins,
That want estates to marry 'um.
Sciolt.
How then Signior?
Fred.
I say my reason thinks it possible,
With long indevour'd Art (where love is fix'd
And enterchang'd already) by a free
Consent, to heat their bloods into desire,
And nat'rall appetite; And these desires
They both may exercise (being married Sir)
With leave of Custome, and our Lawes: You apprehend.
Sciolt.
With little labour Sir: Give me your hand,
And let mee thanke you for't; for as you said,
Though Art cannot inforce a mutuall love
When it hath found a lover out, it can
Provoke and warme him to doe notable feats.
But by what subtle meanes is this perform'd?
Fred.
Hee hath a rare Elixir.
Sciolt.
Well Sir, you give much reason, and some hope:
But in my greener yeares I thought no Elixir
Like Powder'd Biefe, and good round Turnips to't,
If eaten heartily, and warme.
Cast.
My Lord I'm your Disciple.
Sciolt.
Nay, I have found an humble Bee, pickled,
But who will you imploy unto this Man
Of Art? It must be secretly design'd.
Fred.
Castraganio, you Sir, shall straight take horse:
My former trust imboldens mee to make
No fitter choyce, this Letter will insinuate
Our plot, which with five hundred Crownes that Purse
Containes, may speed him hither ere't be night.
Castra.
My care shall make me worthy of your love.
Fred.
Farewell, be swift and prosperous.
Sciolt.
Ile in, and wait the Dukes commands.—
Exeunt Sciolto, Castraganio, severally.
Fred.
This fellow hath a wondrous little skull;
And sure, but halfe a soule, easie and fit
To knead and manage in all formes, my darke
Contrivements shall designe; but for
My hum'rous Lord, that his old gowty feet
Should stumble too into my snares, hath in't
As much of fortune, as of mirth: Downe, downe,
The secret troubles of my brest, I have
Not long to mourne, if all my Arts prove safe;
My midnight purposes are new and strange,
But heavie headed Mules tread in the plaine
And beaten Path; The fat dull Porpoyse still
With danger, on the open water playes;
Wise Serpents creep, in crook'd, and hidden wayes.
Exit.
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