 | Hollands Leagver |  |
Scen. 1.
Philautus, Ardelio.Phil.
Ardelio , we are now alone, come tell me
Truly, how does the vulgar voice passe on me.
Ar.
Why Sir, the shallow currents of their brains
Runnes all into one streame, to make a deepe,
To beare the weighty burthen of your fame.
Phil.
And 'tis all true they say.
Ard.
That you are most faire,
A most exact, accomplisht, gentile Lord,
Not to be contradicted, 'tis a truth
Aboue all truths, for where is any truth,
That is agreed upon by all, but this?
Phil.
Such is the force of beauty, there is nothing
Can please without it, and who euer has it,
As there be few, is adjudg'd happy in it.
Ardel.
All this is true.
Philau.
Then he that has a pure
And sublim'd beauty, 'tis a thing sensible,
And cannot be denyed, must be admir'd,
And free from all detraction.
Ardel.
This is true.
Phil.
He that excels in valour, wit, or honour,
He that is rich, or vertuous, may be envy'd,
But love is the reward of beauty; no obiect
Surprises more the eye, all that delights us,
We ascribe beauty to it.
All this is true.
Phi.
Looke high or low, 'tis true, why are the stars
Fixt in their Orbes, but to adorne the heauens?
And we adore their beauty more than light.
Looke on the Arts, how they tend all to beauty,
'Tis their onely end: he that builds a house,
Striues not so much for use, as ornament,
Nor does your Orator compose a speech
With lesser care, to haue it elegant,
Then moving; and your Limner does obserue
The trimne, and dresse, more then the rules of painting.
Ard.
All truth, and Oracles.
Phi.
Look on a faire ship,
And you will say, 'tis very beautifull.
A Generall reioyces in the title
Of a faire Army. I'll come nearer to you;
Who were thought worthy to be deified,
But such as were found beautifull? for this cause,
Iove tooke up Ganimede from Ida hill,
To fill him wine, and goe a hunting with him.
Ard.
'Tis too much truth to be spoke at one time.
Philau.
It shall suffice, but yet you know that man
May safely venter to goe on his way,
That is so guided, that he can not stray.
Enter Fidelio.
How now, hast thou obtain'd in thy request?
Fid.
I haue with much entreaty gain'd your admittance
Phil.
Let me embrace my better Genius.
Fid.
I doe not use the profession.
Phil.
'Tis an Art
Will make thee thrive; will she be coy enough?
To tell you true, I take a more delight
In the perplexity of woing them,
Then the enioying.
Fid.
She is as I told you:
Phil.
If she be otherwise than I conceiue.
A pox on the Augury.
Fid.
But harke you, Sir,
You need not be known who you are.
Phi.
For that,
Trust to my care; Come let us goe about it.
The better part shall be ascrib'd to wit.
Exeunt.
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