University of Virginia Library

Scena tertia.

Corisca.
Who ever saw, what heart did ever prove
So strange, fond, impotent a Passion? Love,
And cold Disdain (a miracle to me
Two contraries should in one subject be
Both in extremes!) I know not how, each other
Destroy, and generate; enflame, and smother.
When I behold Mirtillo's every grace,
From his neat foot to his bewitching face,
His unaffected carriage, sweet aspect,
Words, actions, looks, and manners, they eject
Such flames of love, that every passion
Besides seems to be conquerd by this one.
But when I think how dotingly he prizes
Another woman, and for her despises
My almost peerlesse face (although I say't)
On which a thousand eyes for alms do wait,
Then do I scorn, abhor, and loath him more
Then ever I did value him before,
And scarce can think it possible that he
Had ever any interest in me.
O if my sweet Mirtillo were mine own,
So that I had him to my self alone!
(These are my thoughts sometimes) no mortall wight
More blisse could boast of then Corisca might!
And then I feel such kindly flames, so sweet
A vapour rise, that I could almost meet
His love half way; yea, follow him, adore
His very steps, and aid from him implore:
Nay, I do love him so, I could expire
His sacrifice in such a pleasing fire.
Then I'm my self again: And what (say I)
A proud disdainfull boy! one that doth fly
From me, and love another! that can look
Upon this face of mine, and not be strook!
But guard himself so well as not to dye
For love! Shall I, that should behold him lye
Trembling and weeping at these feet of mine
(As many better men have done) incline
Trembling and weeping at his feet? O no!
And with this thought into such rage I grow
Against my self, and him, that sounding straight
Unto my eyes and fancy a retreat,
Mirtillo's name worser then death I seem
To hate, and mine own self for loving him;
Whom I would see the miserablest swain,
The most despised thing that doth remain
Upon the earth; and if I had my will,
With mine own hands I could the villain kill.
Thus like two seas encountring, Hate and Love,
Desire and Scorn in me dire battell move:
And I (the flame of thousand hearts, the rack
Of thousand souls) languish, and burn, and lack
That pitie I deny'd to others. I
Who have in Cities oft been courted by
Gallants and wits, to whom great Lords have bent,
And yet withstood vollies of complement,
Squadrons of Lovers, jeer'd their idle fires,
And with false hopes deluded their desires;
And now enforc'd t'a rustick swain to yeild
In single sight t'a fellow that's unskill'd!
O thoü most wretched of all womankind
Corisca! Where couldst thou diversion find
Hadst thou no other Lover? how asswage,
Or by what means deceive thy amorous rage?
Learn women all from me this housewifery,
Make you conserve of Lovers to keep by.
Had I no Sweet-heart but this sullen Boy,
Were I not well provided of a joy?
“To extreme want how likely to be hurl'd
“Is that ill houswife, who in all the world
“But one Love onely, but one Servant hath?
Corisca will be no such fool. “What's faith?
“What's constancy? Tales which the jealous feign
“To awe fond girls: names as absurd as vain.
“Faith in a woman (if at least there be
Faith in a woman unreveal'd to me)
“Is not a vertue, nor a heavenly grace,
“But the sad penance of a ruin'd face,
“That's pleas'd with one, cause it can please no more.
“A handsome woman sought unto by store
“Of gallant youths, if pleas'd with one alone
No woman is, or is a foolish one.
“What's beauty (tell me) if not view'd? or view'd,
“If not pursu'd? or if pursu'd, pursu'd
“By one alone? Where Lovers frequent are,
“It is a signe the partie lov'd is rare,
“Glorious and bright. A womans honour is
“T'have many Servants: Courtly Dames know this,
Who live in Towns, and those most practise it
Who have most wealth, most beauty, and most wit.
'Tis clownishnesse (say they) to reject any,
And folly too, since that's perform'd by many,
One cannot do: One Officer to wait,
A second to present, a third to prate,
A fourth for somewhat else; so it doth fall
Out oft, that favours being generall
No favours seem: or jealousie thus throwne
To whet them, all are easier kept then one.
This merry life is by great Ladies led
In Towns, and 'twas my fortune to be bred
with one of them; by whose example first,
Next by her rules, I in Loves art was nurst
Up from my childhood: she would often say,
“Corisca, thou must use another day
“Thy Lovers like thy garments, put on one,
“Have many, often shift, and wear out none.
“For daily conversation breeds distast,
“Distast contempt, and loathing at the last.
Then get the start, let not the servant say,
H'as turnd his Mistresse, not she him, away.
And I have kept her rules: I've choice, and strive
To please them all: to this my hand I give,
And wink on him; the handsom'st I admit
Into my bosome; but not one shall get
Into my heart: and yet I know not how
(Ay me!) Mirtillo's crept too neer it now.
He made me sigh, not sigh as heretofore
To give false fire, but true flames to deplore;
Robbing my limbs of rest, my eyes of sleep,
Ev'n I can watch till the gray morning peep
(The discontented Lovers truce); ev'n I
(Strange change!) to melancholy walks can fly;
And through the gloomy horrors of this grove
Trace the sweet footsteps of my hated Love.
What wilt thou do, Corisca? sue? my hate
Permits not this, nor stands it with my State.
Wilt thou then fly him? That would shew more brains,
But Love sayes no to that: What then remains?
First I will try allurements, and discover
The love to him, but will conceal the Lover;
I'll use deceipts, if that avail me not;
And if those fail me too, my brain shall plot
A brave revenge: Mirtillo shall partake
Hate, if he spurn at Love; and I will make
His Amarillis rue, that she was ere
A Rivall unto me, to him so deer.
Last I will teach you both what 'tis to move
A woman to abhor where she did love.