University of Virginia Library

SCEN. III.

Ferrando. Ursini.
Fer:
Bid me forsake heaven, my vertue, honour,
And all that's good—

(weepes.)
Urs.
Fie, fie.

Fer.
You doe not see mee weepe,
Distill mine eyes into a dew,
I will not shed one teare, not vent a sigh,
No not in private.

Urs.
So, this becomes you—

Fer:
I have shooke off all
Those weights that clogg'd my bosome—Wee can smile,
Shewes it not handsome?

Urs.
Such a smile nere blest
The cheekes of Peace.

Fer:
How art thou lost Ursini!
Discredited to truth by this vile flattery!
Thou shouldst have said, heaven smil'd, when set with clouds
Blacke as nights swarthy mantle, when the aire
Breakes out in hideous crackes, that cleave the Temple,
And strike dead the devout Priest at the Altar:
For this an easie faith would have beleev'd,
As having lesse of contradiction in't:
My soule is rapt with furies, here they gnaw,
Like knotted Adders wrapt about my heart.
Oh! my sides swell as they would breake, they want
A hoope, lend mee your arme,—

Urs:
Circled in these
Embraces, you are safe: collect your selfe
(Deare Prince;) and let not passion triumph in
The conquest of your reason; thinke of your honour,
Your name, and spreading glories; how they dye.

Fer.
I'me blacke and ugly; all
A whole staine already: Oh Calantha,
Thou goest to heaven, to tell Ferrando kill'd thee;
And those blest troopes of Saints will wreake thy murder;
There's not one but suffers in't.

Urs.
—The King!
Helpe here—Oh! Bentivoglio, come,
Enter Bent.
Come practice here, and raise your selfe a trophey
In his recovery.

Bent.
Whence this sudden fit?—My Lord Ferrando:

Fer.
Oh Calantha.

Bent.
She lives,
Calantha lives.

Fer:
What breath is that, that mockes us
With a false sound of our Calantha's life?
She lives; yet let old time adde to his age
But one short paire of minutes, shee shall be
No more:

Bent.
No more distracted: next houre shall render
Calantha to your bosome faire, and well;
As rich in all the ornaments of minde,
As when she first blest Naples with her presence.

Fer.
Truth's but a name: 'tis false, by heaven 'tis false;
Did not I leave her sunke upon her bed,
Into a soft, but everlasting sleepe?

Bent.
So you suppos'd; and I have caus'd her women
To wrap her in her shrowd, then sit downe by her,
To weepe, and pray, as if 'twere for the dead.

Fer.
As if?—abuse mee not, thy art
Shall be no priviledge; she's gone, she's gone.

Urs.
Ben't so passionate; but heare him.

Fer.
Ursini, I have done.

Bent.
After a strict enquiry into the nature
Of her disease, I finde it by each symptome,
A melancholy deepe, not dangerous:
The parents which produc't it, griefe and abstinence
From meate, and sleepe; which as it hath encrea'st,
Has brought her now to such an extreame dotage,
That she do's verily suppose her selfe,
While living dead: In which false supposition
I've caus'd her women to continue her,
By shrowding her to her owne desire,
Strewing her o're with flowers, then weeping o're her

Fer:
What helpe from this?

Beut:
Much Sir, this will worke her
Into a strong opinion, that shee's dead
Indeed, to confirme which I have prepar'd
Some two or three, trick't up in the same fashion
With shrowdes, and chaplets, who shall sit downe by her,
Walke, talke, eate, drinke, sleepe, in all which actions
Calantha will streight imitate them: Now I have prepar'd
A potion which they shall give her,
To make her sleepe, the onely remedy
Of her disease; this I lately practis'd in the French Court,
Yet lost no credit by the experiment.

Urs.

You may beleeve him Sir, he's one of the skilfullest
Physitians our age has boasted of, Padua is proud of such an
ornament.

Fer:
Thus my Virginio.
My best, my dear'st Virginio: thou dost breath
A musicke to my soule, cures my distemper:
Thou art an honest man, we'le found a Colledge,
With a large pension to maintaine the Students
In thy rare science; thou shalt governe there,
And when thou dyest, we'le build a monument
Unto thy name, taller than Ægypts Pyramides.

Bent:
These are your Court promises,
I'le onely studie some revenge, for yon old Lord,
(aside.
Then I'le returne to'th Universitie, & dream on 'em.

Fer:
For thee Ursini, we will onely live
Exit Bent.
To do thee honour, that shall be our glory;
The world shall know thee great, and envie thee
Thy share, both in our kingdome, and our soule.

Urs.
Your goodnesse, my Lord, is as unlimited
As heavens.

Fer.
You're sad Ursini: has our Niece
Given you no cause of joy, by her soft answer?

Urs.
None.—

Fer.

The obstacle? tell mee; ift' be any in Court she affects,
by my honour I'le remove him.

Urs.

None but this, that she's too much wedded to Heaven,
and her devotions.

Fer.
If that be all, shee's thine.

Urs.
A blisse, I would for ever live t'enjoy.—
Enter Zisco. whispers Ursini.
With mee?—

Fer.
What would that Moore?

Urs.
He has letters here from his holinesse,
In which I'me certifi'd, that he lately turn'd Christian,
And has well deserv'd i'th warres,
Against the Turke;—The King admits you to
His hand.

Zis.
I am in heaven too soone.

Fer.
We'le view his holinesse commendations,
Then heare this Moore, discourse the fight at large;
My griefes begin to vanish; they'r much lighter
Than of late they were, I know not why,
But 'tis a good presage.

Urs.
Be neere us.

Exeunt, Fer. Ursini.
Zis.

Exit.