University of Virginia Library

SCEN. II.

Valenzo, a servant.
(Enter Piero.
Val.
Didst meet with him?—he's here already.
Valenzo runs to embrace him, Piero retires.
Piero!—why this distance?
Is't in the power of severall climes to breake
Our sympathies in nature? true, I have
Bin long estrang'd from you, not from your vertue;
Why then should you deny your strict embraces?

Pier.
Valenzo! you are growne too great, and glorious
For my friendship; become a theame for Princes,
Whose worthy acts in rich their high discourse:
The greedy multitude, snatching each word,
As it falls from 'em, weare your praise
As their best ornament!

Val.
How have I lost my friend,
And see Piero, for being so thou would'st
Nor mocke, nor flatter me!

Pier.
Alas Valenzo!
Your prejudice your Princes wisdome, and
Your owne just merits, those favours yet
Were never worne by them, that had not first
Deserv'd them.

Val.
You meane these titles, vaine and emptie names;
Let mee enjoy thee still, I'le disinvest
My selfe of all additions, can but swell
Our pride, not vertue up; my Ancestours
Have left mee rich enough in title to
Your friendship, and fore I forfeit that!—
(Embrace.)
That wee could mingle soules.—

Pier.
Though you be prodigall of your affections,
Yet be not cruell to your Charintha,
Who must needs suffer in this wilfull scorne,
You throw on that your valour dearly purchast.

Val.
Charintha mine! I hold all worth in her.

Pier.
Were you as monstrous for impiety, as now
You are fam'd for vertue, such was her pious thrift,
In treasuring up her cleane and humble prayers,
You could not die unpardon'd, every houre
(As you are alwaies lyable to danger,)
Can witnesse, with what forward zeale she begg'd
Heaven, to avert the stroake before it came:
We have taken so much pleasure in her orizons,
That even prophane men to have heard her pray,
Would turne devout, were there no merit in't.

Val.
No more; my reason yeelds unto my passion.
And 'tis a joy requires mee meete it with
My best temper; I would not surfeit
Nor swallow it too greedily; some light mixture
Of griefe would give a relish to't; tell me, come—
What face weares the Court? how lookes it
On our new dignities? Envie (like the Sunne)
Darts her beames hottest on the rising bankes:
Ursini the grand favorite, is at Court,
And has his Princes bosome?

Pier.
That's his sanctuary,
His safety lies there, yet (though I professe
No augury) I foresee, and read
His fall, all these vast glories which he boasts,
Are built upon the ruines of Alberto,
His tombe-stone is the basis of that building,
Which we admire, but thinke not safe.

Val.
There was a noble house soone lost.

Pier.
Sooner (I beleeve) than t'will be forgotten;
But what was that Frederico, Albert's sonne?

Val.
One that with his father's vertues
Inherited his unhappy fate, young he was,
And valiant; receiv'd and knowne so.

Pier.
Had hee beene lesse fam'd, he had not yet
Beene number'd with the dead; (you are my friend,
My Lord) I speake my thoughts, and freely;—
Ursini endures no rivall.

Val.
I've maintain'd
Faire correspondencie with him at distance,
But like not his embracements.

Pier.
T'is dangerous to be neere him;
There's such an Antipathy, twixt him, and vertue,
He weares it's ruine in his lookes.

Val.
'Tis strange,
A Prince so wise and vertuours should not descry
His falshood through his visour; or at least
Lend eare to the loud cries of wronged Innocents.

Pier.
He hath no use of either eare, or eye,
But what his lov'd Ursini lends him; hee
Onely rules, and limits his affections;
Suffers him not to cast a frowne or smile,
But where he pleases; his next indearement, is
His care o'th Princesse, our Sicilian captive:
Whom sorrow for her fathers death, (slaine in
The warre, by him that was design'd her lover;
Our fam'd Prince Ferrando,) has brought
Into a desperate melancholy; what reward
He expects, I cannot tell, unlesse it be
The Crowne: you have heard of her strange distemper?

Val.
And wonder at the sudden change:
I've seene her, maugre all those sudden feares,
Her tender age, and womanhood could urge;
Stand in the head of troopes, that we ev'n fear'd
They had engag'd some Goddesse in their quarrell;
Beare up against the enemy, when her men
Lay scatter'd in the plaines, like the ripe eares
The wealthy harvest yeelds into the Grange.

Pier.
I know not how but sure sh'as made the King
Wilde; he has such divers fits, as he had learn'd
To be mysterious in's passion; I have seene him weepe,
Like a fond mother o're her tender babe,
Whom too rude fate has ravish't unripe from her:
Then rave, and curse, talke as he wanted reason
To guide his speeches Organ: or soft sleepe
To recall his stragling senses:
Mutter distracted thoughts in broken words,
Untill he lights upon her name, and then
He bowes at the recitall; blesses himselfe
In th'often repetition of Calantha.

Val.
There's somewhat in't, her passion should lye hid
So long, and now breake out so violently.
She rather seem'd too thrifty, than too prodigall
Of teares, when she left Sicily; and taught us
To call't our chiefest happinesse, we should have
A Queene, that raign'd at home, that bore more sway
Over the people of her brest, than country.

Pier.
Alas poore maid! why now she's a true captive
To passion, and to Naples: had shee beene still
Queene over her great selfe, none could have said
She'd beene unhappy; now, and not till now
She's truly miserable.

Val.
'Tis holinesse to pittie her.

Pier.
Our teares are better spent upon her sorrowes,
Than our owne sinnes, she talkes so prettily,
Clothes griefe in such a sad, and pious garbe,
So void of any rudenesse, that wee see
Composednesse in distraction, reason in madnesse;
She never walkes but when she's led along,
And that so faintly, as she had not spirits
Enough to actuate her tender limbes:
Want of meate and sleepe have made her seeme
A living coarse: to see her weepe, you'de feare
That every drop were her owne funerall teare.

(Exeunt.