 | The City-Night-Cap : Or, Crede quod habes, & habes |  |
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Actus Quintus.
Enter Antonio and a Slave, one in the others habit.Slave.
But faith, sir, what's your device in this? this change
Insinuates some project.
Anto.
Shall I tell thee?
Thou art my Slave, I took thee (then a Turk,
In the fight thou knowest we made before Palermo)
Thou art not in stricter bondage unto me
Then I am unto Cupid.
Slave.
Oh then you are going, sir,
To your old rendevow, there are brave rogues there:
But the Duke observes you narrowly, and sets spies
To watch if you step that way.
Anto.
Why therefore man,
Thus many times, I have chang'd habits with thee,
To cheat suspition, and prejudicate nature
(Mistres of inclinations) sure intended,
To knit thee up so like me, for this purpose,
For th'ast been taken in my habit for me.
Slave.
Yes, and have had many a French cringe
As I have walk'd i'th' Park; and for fear of discovery,
I have crown'd it only with a nod.
Enter a Lord.
Anto.
Th'art a mad villain:
But sirrah, I am wondrously taken
With a sweet face I saw yonder; thou knowst where.
Slave.
At Venus Colledge, the Court-baudy-house.
Anto.
But this, man, howsoever she came there,
Is acquainted so with heaven, that when I thought
To have quench'd my frantick blood, and to have pluck'd
The fruit a king would leap at; even then she beat me
With such brave thunder off, as if heaven had lent her
The Artillery of Angels.
Slave.
She was coy then.
Anto.
Coy, man! she was honest; left coyness to court-Ladies:
She spake the language of the saints, me thought.
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And clapt their white wings at her well-plac'd words.
She peicemeal pull'd the frame of my intentions,
And so joyn'd it again, that all the tempest
Of blood can never move it.
Slave.
Some rare Phænix, what's her name?
Anto.
'Tis Millecenta, and wondrous aptly,
For she is Mistress of a hundred thousand holy heavenly thoughts.
Chastly I love her now, and she must know it:
Such wondrous wealth is vertue, it makes the woman
Wears it about her worthy of a king;
Since kings can be but vertuous, farewel.
A crown is but the care of deceiv'd life,
He's king of men, is crown'd with such a wife.
Exit Antonio, and the Lord after him.
Slave.
Are your thoughts levell'd at that white then?
This shall to th'Duke your dad, sir; he can never talk with me,
But he twits me still with, I took thee at that fight
We made before Parlermo; I did command
Men as he did there, Turks and valaint men:
And though to wind my self up for his ruine,
That I may fall and crush him, I appear
To renounce Mahomet, and seem a Christian;
Tis but conveniently to stab this Christian,
Or any way confound him, and scape cleanly,
And one expects the deed: to hasten it,
This letter came even now, which likewise certifies
He waits me three leagues off, with a horse for flight
Of a Turkish Captain commander of a Gally:
He keeps me as his slave, because indeed
I plaid the devil at sea, with him; but having
Thus wrought my self into him, I intend
To give him but this day to take his leave
Of the whole world; he will come back by twilight:
I'll wait him with a pistol: Oh sweet revenge!
Laugh our great prophet, he shall understand,
When we think death farthest off, he's neerest hand.
Enter Philippo.
Phil.
You and I must meet no more sir; there's your kick again.
Kicks him.
Slave.
Hold, hold, what mean you sir?
Phil.
I have brought your kick back sir—
Shoots him.
Slave.
Hold man, I am not—
Falls.
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Thou hast spoken true, thou art not—What art thou?
But I am for Verona.
Exit.
Slave.
Mine own words catch me, 'tis I now understand,
When we think death farthest off, he's neerest hand.
Dies.
Enter Lorenzo.
She lives not sure in Millain: report but wore
Her usual habit, when she told in Verona,
She met Abstemia here: Oh Abstemia!
How lovely thou look'st now? now thou appearest
Chaster then is the mornings modestie
That rises with a blush, over whose bosom
The Western wind creeps softly: Now I remember
How when she sat at Table, her obedient eye
Would dwell on mine, as if it were not well,
Unless it look'd where I look'd: Oh how proud
She was, when she could cross her self to please me!
But where now is this fair soul? like a silver cloud
She hath wept her self, I fear, into th'dead sea,
And will be found no more: this makes me mad,
To rave and call on death; but the slave shrinks,
And is as far to finde, as she. Abstemia,
If thou not answer or appear to knowledg,
That here with shame I sought thee in this wood,
I'll leave the blushing witness of my blood.
Exit.
Enter the Duke of Millain, Sebastian, Sanchio, and the Lord.
Mil.
Followed you him thus far?
Lord.
Just to this place, sir:
The slave he loves left him, here they parted.
Mil.
Certain he has some private haunt this way.
Seb.
Ha—private indeed, sir: Oh behold and see
Where he lies full of wounds!
Lords.
My Lord.
Mill.
My son Antonio! who hath done this deed?
Sanch.
My Lord Antonio!
Mill.
He's gone, he's gone; warm yet, bleeds fresh, and whilst
We here hold passion play, we but advantage
The flying murderer. Bear his body gently
Unto the lodge: Oh what hand hath so hid
That sunlike face, behind a crimson cloud!
Use all means possible for life: but I fear
Charity will arrive too late. To horse,
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The Sun in Millain is eclips'd this day.
Omn.
To horse, and raise more pursuit.
Exeunt.
Enter Lorenzo, with his sword drawn.
Lor.
Abstemia! Oh take her name you winds upon your wings,
And through the wanton Region of the Air,
Softly convey it to her: there's no sweet sufferance,
Which bravely she past through, but is a thorn
Now to my sides: my will the center stood
To all her chaste endeavours: all her actions,
With a perfection perpendicular,
Pointed upon, she is lost; Oh she
The well-built fort of vertues victory!
For still she conquer'd: since she is lost, then,
My friendly sword find thou my heart.
Within.
Follow, follow.
Enter Millain, Sanchio, Sebastiano.
Mill.
This way, what's he? lay hands on him.
Sebast.
The murderer on my life, my Lord, here in the wood
Was close beset, he would have slain himself.
Mill.
Speak villain, art thou the bloody murderer?
Lor.
Of whom?
Sanch.
His dissembled ignorance speaks him the man.
Seb.
Of the Dukes son, the Prince Antonio, sir; 'twas your
hand that kill'd him.
Lor.
Your Lordship lyes, it was my sword.
Mill.
Out slave!
Ravens shall fedst upon thee: Speak, what cause
Hadst thou with one unhappy wound, to cloud
That Star of Millain?
Lod.
Because he was an erring star,
Not fix'd nor regular; I will resolve nothing:
I did it, do not repent it; and were it
To do again, I'd do't.
Omn.
Blood-thirsty villain!
Mill.
Leave him to swift destruction, tortures and death.
Oh my Antonio! how did thy youth stray,
To meet wild winter, in the midst of May?
Lor.
Oh my Abstemia! Who cast thy fate so bad,
To clip affliction, like a husband clad?
Exeunt.
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Abst.
Good sir, the Prince makes known his wisdom,
To make you speaker in his cause.
Anto.
Me? know, Mistress,
I have felt loves passions equal with himself,
And can discourse of loves cause: had you seen him
When he sent me to ye, how truly he did look;
And when your name slip'd through his trembling lips,
A lovers lovely paleness straight possest him.
Abst.
Fie, fie.
Anto.
Go says he to that something more then woman,
(And he look'd as if by something he meant saint)
Tell her I saw heavens army in her eyes,
And that from her chaste heart, such excellent goodness
Came like full rivers flowing; that there wants nothing
But her soft yeilding will, to make her wife
Unto the Prince Antonio: Oh will you flie
A fortune which great Ladies would pursue
Upon their knees with prayers?
Abst.
No, Lorenzo:
Had law to this new love made no denial,
A chaste wifes truth shines through the greatest tryal.
Enter Morbo.
Mor.
How now, what makes you i'th' wood here? where's my old Lady?
Abst.
I know not.
Mor.
All the countrie's in an uprore yonder, the Prince Antonio's slain.
Ambo.
How?
Mor.
Nay no man can tell how; but the murderer with's sword in's hand is taken.
Anto.
Is he of Millain?
Mor.
No, of Verona: I heard his name, and I have forgot it.
Anto.
I am all wonder, 'tis the slave sure.
Mor.
Lor, Lor, Lorenzo.
Abst.
Ha, Lorenzo! What I pray?
Mor.
Lorenzo Me—Medico has run him in the eye, some
thirty three inches, two barly corns: they could scarce know him
for the blood, but by his apparel. I must find out my Lady: he
us'd our house, intelligence has been given of his pilgrimage
thither: I am affraid I shall be sing'd to death with torches,
and my Lady stew'd between two dishes.
Anto.
Why hath this thus amaz'd you, Mistress?
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Oh leave me, leave me, I am all distraction,
Struck to the soul with sorrow.
Enter Millain, Lords and Lorenzo guarded.
Anto.
See where they come:
My father full of tears too? I'll stand by:
Strange changes must have strange discovery.
Abst.
'Tis he: heart, how thou leap'st! Oh ye deluded,
And full of false rash judgement! why do ye lead
Innocence like a sacrifice to slaughter?
Get garlands rather, let palm and lawrel round
Those temples, where such wedlock-truth is found.
Lor.
Ha?
Omnes.
Wedlock.
Abst.
Oh Lorenzo! thou hast suffer'd bravely,
And wondrous far: look on me, here I come
Hurried by conscience to confess the deed:
Thy innocent blood will be too great a burthen
Upon the judges soul.
Lor.
Abstemia?
Abst.
Look, look how he will blind ye; by and by he'll tell ye
We saw not one another many a day,
In loves cause we dare make our lives away.
He would redeem mine, 'tis my husband, sir,
Dearly we love together: but I being often
By the dead Prince your son solicited
To wrong my husbands bed, and still resisting,
Where you found him dead, he met me, and the place
Presenting oportunity, he would there
Have forc'd me to his will; but prizing honesty
Far above proffer'd honour, with my knife
In my resistance most unfortunately
I struck him in the eye: he fell, was found,
The pursuit rais'd, and ere I could get home
My husband met me, I confest all to him:
He excellent in love as the sea-inhabitant,
Of whom 'tis writ, that when the flattering hook
Has struck his female, he will help her off
Although he desperately put on himself;
But if he fail, and see her leave his eye,
He swims to land, will languish and there die:
Such is his love to me; for pursu'd closely,
He bid me save my self, and he would stay
With his drawn sword, there about the place, on purpose
To requite my loyalty, though with his death.
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Hath brought me back to preserve innocence.
Seb.
The circumstances produce probability.
Lor.
By truth her self, she slanders truth: she and I
Have not met these many months: Oh my Abstemia!
Thou wouldst be now too excellent.
Anto.
These are strange turns.
Mill.
Let not love strangle justice; speak on thy soul,
Was it her hand, that slew the Prince?
Lor.
Not, on my life,
'Tis I have deserv'd death.
Abst.
Love makes him desperate,
Conscience is my accuser: Oh Lorenzo!
The Duke and Lords whisper.
Live thou and feed on my remembrance,
When thou shalt think how ardently I lov'd thee;
Drop but a pair of tears, from those fair eyes,
Thou offer'st truth a wealthy sacrifice.
Lor.
Did ye hear her, sir?
Mill.
No, what said she?
Lor.
She ask'd me why I would cast my self away thus,
When she in love devis'd this trick to save me?
Sanch.
There may be jugling sir in this, it may be
They have both hands i'th' deed, and one in love
Would suffer for't.
Enter a Lord.
Mill.
What newes?
Lord.
The Dukes of Venice and Verona
With some small train of gentlemen are privately
This hour come to th'Court.
Mill.
Bear them to prison,
Until we have given such entertainment, sorrow
VVill give us leave to shew: until that time
The satisfaction of my lost sons life
Must hover 'twixt a husband and a wife.
Exeunt: manet Antonio.
Anto.
How strangely chance to day runs! the slave kill'd
In my apparel, and this fellow taken for't,
Whom to my knowledg I ne'er saw: she loves him
Past all expression dearly: I have a trick
In that so infinitely dear she loves him,
Has seal'd her mine already; and I'll put
This wondrous love of woman to such a nonplus,
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Honour and love to fight for life and death:
Beautie (as Castles built of cards) with a breath
Is levell'd and laid flat.
Enter Philippo, putting on a disguise, lays down a pistol.
Phil.
Misery of ignorance!
It was the Prince Antonio I have slain.
Anto.
Ha! the clew of all this errour is unravell'd;
This is the valiant gentleman so threaten'd me;
He met the slave doubtless in my habit,
And seal'd upon him his mistaken spleen:
If it be so, there hangs some strange intent
In those accuse themselves for't.
Phil.
It seems some other had laid the plot to kill him;
This paper I found with him, speaks as much,
And sent to the intended murderer,
Happen'd it seems to his hands: it concurs;
For they say, there is one taken for the fact,
And will do me the courtesie to be hang'd for me:
Antonio takes up the Pistol.
There's comfort yet in that: so, so, I am fitted,
And will set forward.
Anto.
Goose, there's a fox in your way.
Phil.
Betray'd!
Anto.
Come, I have other business afoot; I have no time to
discover 'em now, sir; see, I can inforce ye: but by this hand,
go but with me, and keep your own counsel; garden-houses are
not truer bawds to cuckold-making, then I will be to thee, and
thy stratagem.
Phil.
Th'art a mad knave, art serious?
Anto.
As a usurer when he's telling interest-mony.
Phil.
Whatere thou art, thy bluntness begets belief: go on,
I trust thee.
Anto.
But I have more wit then to trust you behind me sir:
pray get you before, I have a private friend shall keep you in
custody, till I have past a project; and if you can keep your own
counsel, I will not injure you: and this for your comfort, the
Prince lives.
Phil.
Living! thou mak'st my blood dance: but prithee let's
be honest one to another.
Anto.
Oh sir, as the Justices clarke, and the Constable, when
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fair distance, and take no great strides.
Exeunt.
Enter Lorenzo and Abstemia, as in prison.
Lor.
Can then Abstemia forgive Lorenzo?
Abst.
Yes, if Lorenzo can but love Abstemia,
She can thus hang upon his neck, and call
This prison true loves palace.
Lor.
Oh let Kings
Forget their crowns, that know what 'tis to enjoy
The wondrous wealth of one so good: now
Thou art lovely as a young spring, and comly
As is the well-spread Cedar; the fair fruit,
Kist by the sun so daily, that it wears
The lovely blush of maids, seems but to mock
Thy souls integrity; here let me fall,
And with pleading sighs beg pardon.
Enter Antonio.
Abst.
Sir, it meets you,
Like a glad pilgrim, whose desiring eye,
Longs for the long-wish'd altar of his vow;
But you are far too prodigall in praise,
And crown me with the garlands of your merit,
As we meet barks on rivers, the strong gale,
(Being best friends to us) our own swift motion
Makes us believe that t'other mimbler rows,
Swift vertue thinks small goodness fastest goes.
Lor.
Sorrow hath bravely sweetned thee: what are you?
Anto.
A displeasant black cloud: though I appear dismal,
I am wondrous fruitful: what cause soever
Mov'd you to take this murder on your self,
Or you to strike your self into the hazard
For his redemption, 'tis to me a stranger,
But I conceive you are both innocent.
Lor.
As new-born vertue, I did accuse
My innocence to rid me of a life
Lookt uglier then death, upon an injury
I had done this vertuous wife.
Abst.
And I accus'd
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Of my most noble husband.
Anto.
Why then? now 'twould grieve you,
Death should unkindly part ye.
Lor.
Oh but that, sir,
We have no sorrow: now to part from her,
(Since heaven hath new married, and new made us)
I had rather leap into a den of Lyons,
Snatch from a hungry Bear her bleeding prey,
I would attempt desperate impossibilities
With hope, rather then now to leave her.
Anto.
This makes for me.
Abst.
And rather then leave you, sir, I would eat
Hot coles with Portia, or attempt a terrour,
Nature would snail-like shrink her head in at,
And tremble but to think on.
Anto.
Better and better!
If you so love him, what can you confess?
The greatest kindness can express that love.
Abst.
To save his life, since there is no hope,
Seeing he so strongly has confest the murder,
We shall meet the happyness to dye together.
Anto.
Fire casts the bravest heat in coldest weather,
I'll try how ardently you burn; for know
Upon my faith, and as I am a gentleman,
I have (in the next room, and in the custody
Of a true friend) the man that did the deed
You stand accus'd for.
Abst.
Hark there, Lorenzo.
Lor.
Will you not let him go, sir?
Anto.
That's in suspence; but mistress, you did say
You durst eat coals with Protia, to redeem
The infinitely loved life of your husband.
Abst.
And still strongly protest it.
Lor.
Oh my Abstemia!
Anto.
You shall redeem him at an easier rate:
I have the murderer you see in hold.
Lor.
And we are blest in your discovery of him.
Anto.
If you will give consent that I shall taste
That sence-bereaving pleasure so familiar
Unto your happy husband.
Abst.
How?
Anto.
Pray hear me:
Then I will give this follow up to the law:
If you deny, horses stand ready for us,
A bark for transportation, where we will live
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Lor.
But we will call for present witness.
Anto.
Look ye—
Shews the Pistol.
Experienc'd navigators still are fitted,
For every weather: 'tis almost past call
To reach the nimblest ear: yet but offer it,
I part ye presently for ever.
Consider it;
The enjoying him thou so intirely lov'st
All thy life after; that when mirth-spent time
Hath crown'd your heads with honour, you may sit
And tell delightful stories of your loves:
And when ye come to that poor minutes scape
Crowns my desire, ye may let that slip by,
Like water that ne'er the meets Millers eye:
Compare but this, to th'soon-forgotten pleasure
Of a pair of wealthy minutes: the thirstiest Lapidarie
Knows the most curious Jewel takes no harm,
For one days wearing: could you sir (did your eye
Not see it worne) your wife having lent your cloak,
(If secretly return'd and folded up)
Could you conceive, when you next look'd upon't,
It had neatly furnish'd out a poor friends want?
Be charitable, and think on't.
Lor.
Dost hear, Abstemia?
Oh shall we part for ever, when a price
So poor might be our freedome?
Abst.
Now goodness guard ye!
Where learnt you, sir, this language?
Lor.
Of true love:
You did but now profess, that you would dye
To save my life, and now like a forward chapman,
Catch'd at thy word, thou giv'st back asham'd
To stand this easie proffer.
Abst.
Could you live,
And know your selfe a cuckold?
Anto.
What a question's that?
Many men cannot live without the knowledge:
How can ye tell,
Whether she seems thus to respect your honour,
But to stay till the law has choak'd ye? It may be then
She will do't, with less intreaty.
Lor.
I, there, there 'tis.
Abst.
'Tis your old fit of jealousie, so judges:
A foul devil talks within him.
Lor.
Oh the art,
The wondrous art of woman! ye would do it daintily,
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I should dye nobly to preserve your honour;
That dead ignobly you might prove dishonourable,
Forget me in a day, and wed another.
Abst.
Why then would I have dyed for you?
Anto.
That was but a proffer, that dying you might Idolize her love;
'Twould have put her off the better.
Lor.
Oh you have builded
A golden Palace, strew'd with Palm and Roses,
To let me bleed to death in! How sweetly
You would have lost me! Abstemia, you have learn'd,
The cunning Fowlers art, who pleasantly
Whistles the bird into the snare: good heaven?
How you had strew'd the inticing top o'th' cup
With Arabian Spices! but you had laid i'th' bottom
Ephesian Aconite: you are loves hypocrite:
A rotten stick in the nights darkness born,
And a fair Poppie in a field of corn.
Abst.
Oh sir! hear me—
Kneels.
Lor.
Away, I will no more
Look pearl in mud: Oh slie hypocrisie!
Durst ye but now die for me? good heaven! die for me!
The greatest act of pain, and dare not buy me
With a poor minutes pleasure?
Abst.
No sir, I dare not; there is little pain in death,
But a great death in very little pleasure:
I had rather, trust me, bear your death with honour,
Then buy your life with baseness: as I am expos'd
To th'greatest battery beauty ever fought,
Oh blame me not, if I be covetous
To come off with greatest honour; if I do this
To let you live, I kill your name, and give
My soul a wound; I crush her from sweet grace,
And change her Angels to a furies face:
Try me no more then, but if you must bleed, boast,
To preserve honour, life is nobly lost.
Lor.
Thou wealth worth more then kingdoms, I am now confirm'd,
Past all suspition, thou that art far sweeter
In thy sincere truth, then a sacrifice
Deck'd up for death with garlands: the Indian winds
That blow off from the coast, and cheer the Saylor
With the sweet savour of their spices, want
The delight flowes in thee: look here, look here,
Oh man of wilde desires; we will die the Martyrs
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With which they stab sweet modestie, and ingender
Desires in the hot room; thy noble storie
Shall lawrel-like crown honest ears with glory.
Anto.
Murder, murder, murder!
Enter the three Dukes, with Lords.
Mill.
Ha, who cries murder?
Phil.
As y'are a gentleman, now be true to me.
Abst.
Sir.
Ven.
Sister?
Vero.
My shame, art thou there?
Ven.
Oh sister, can it be
A Princes blood should stain that white hand?
Ambo.
Hear us.
Anto.
No, no, no, hear me, 'twas I cry'd murder:
Because I have found them both stain'd with the deed,
They would have throtled me.
Lor.
Hear us, by all.
Mill.
Upon your lives be silent; speak on, sir:
Had they both hands in our sons blood?
Anto.
Two hands a piece, sir:
I have sifted it, they both have kill'd the Prince;
But this is the chief murderer: please you give me audience,
Ye shall wonder at the manner how they kill'd him.
Mill.
Silence.
Anto.
He came first to this woman, and truth's truth,
He would have lain with her.
Mill.
Her own confession.
Anto.
Nay good your Grace.
Mill.
We are silent.
Anto.
Coming to seise upon her, with the first blow
She struck his base intent so brave a buffet,
That there it bled to death: she said his horse
Would reach him better manners: there he dy'd once.
Vero.
VVhat does this fellow talk?
Abst.
I understand him.
Anto.
He met her next i'th' wood, where he was found dead:
Then he came noblier up to her, and told her
Marriage was his intent; but she as nobly,
(Belike to let him know she was married)
Told him in an intelligible denial,
A chaste wives truth shin'd through the greatest tryal:
There the Prince dy'd again.
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There's twice, beware the third time.
Anto.
The third time, he came here to them both in prison,
Brought a pistol with him, would have forc'd her again;
But had ye seen how fairly then she slew him,
You would have shot applauses from your eyes:
Oh she came up so bravely to that Prince,
Hot potent Lust, (for she slew no Prince else)
With such a valiant discipline she destroy'd
That debosh'd Prince, Bad Desire; and then by him
So bravely too fetch'd off, that (to conclude)
Betwixt them they this wonder did contrive,
They kill'd the Prince, but kept your son alive
Discovers himself.
Mill.
Antonio?
Omn.
The Prince.
Ven.
Come home my sister to my heart.
Vero.
And now Lorenzo is again my belov'd kinsman.
Anto.
Oh sir, here dwells vertue epitomiz'd,
Even to an abstract, and yet that so large,
'Twill swell a book in folio.
Lod.
She swells beyond my wife then:
A pocket-book bound in Decimo Sexto
Will hold her vertues, and as much spare paper left
As will furnish five Tobacco-shops.
Mill.
But here's the wonder, who is it was slain
In your apparel?
Phil.
I will give them all the slip.
Offers to go.
Anto.
Here's a gentleman of Ferrara.
Phil.
As you are noble.
Anto.
That saw them fight: it was the Slave was slain, sir,
I took before Palermo; he that kill'd him,
Took him but for a gentleman his equal:
And as this eye-witnss says, he in my apparel
Did kick the t'other first.
Phil.
Nay, upon my life, sir,
He in your apparel gave the first kick; I saw them fight,
And I dare swear the t'other honest gentleman
Little thought he had slain any thing like the Prince;
For I heard him swear but half an hour before,
He never saw your Grace.
Mill.
Then he kill'd him fairly.
Phil.
Upon my life, my Lord.
Ven.
T'other had but his merit then: who dies,
And seeks his death, seldom wets others eyes.
Anto.
Let this perswade you, I believe you noble,
I have kept my word with you.
Phil.
You have out-done me, sir,
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In mine own person thank you.
Omnes.
Philippo!
Phil.
Unwittingly I did an ill (as 't happen'd)
To a good end: that slave I for you kill'd,
Wanted but time to kill you: Read that paper
Which I found with him, I thinking by accident
You had intercepted it: we all have happily
Been well deceiv'd; you are noble, just and true;
My hate was at your cloathes, my heart at you.
Vero.
An accident more strange hath seldome happen'd.
Lor.
Philippo, my best friend, 'twixt shame and love
Here let me lay thee now for ever.
Abst.
Heaven
Hath now plain'd all our rough woes smooth and even.
Mill.
At Court, large relation in apt form
Shall tender past proceedings; but to distingush
(Excellent Lady) your unparallel'd praises
From those but seem, let this serve: bad women,
Are natures clouds eclipsing her fair shine;
The good, all gracious, saint-like and divine.
FINIS.
| The City-Night-Cap : Or, Crede quod habes, & habes | |