 | A Fine Companion |  |
Scena I.
Spruse, Littlegood, Valeria.Spr.
But are you certaine of it?
Lit.
I oreheard it.
And seald it with her hand, and kist upon't.
You know Aurelio?
Spr.
Yes sir, was it he?
Lit.
That Begger, that undone thing.
Spr.
Let me alone
To fetch her off the quick-sands, and then Ile board her,
And steere her my selfe.
Lit.
That I were so happy
To know she lou'd you. Huswife doe you heare?
Here is a Gentleman has Land and meanes,
And wit, and beauty, more I wis then tother:
Make much of him, and what he sayes, be rul'd by him.
Spr.
Let me alone, I warrant you.
Lit.
I leaue you.
Exit Littlegood.
Spr.
Now all the powers of loue assist me in it,
To counterfeit a Passion and Dissemble.
All my delight's to foole them, and then leaue them.
I serue your women, as the Hollanders
Doe by some townes they get; when they haue wonne them,
They slight them straight. Now I addresse my selfe.
Lady how fare you? you are melancholy.
Val.
If you doe know't so well, why doe you aske me?
Spr.
Tis from the tender care I haue of you:
But an ill fate pursues my true endeavours,
To haue them still misconstrued: Tis not well done,
To lay the burthen of your cruelty
On my affection, and to make that faith,
The passiue subject of your dire disdaine,
That is so actiue in obedience.
Ual.
Pray let me counsell you.
Spr.
Counsell, whats that?
Not Phœbus with his art, or all the drugs
Of Thessaly can ease my griefe; the Sea
Knowes no such straight as I now labour in.
Val.
Why whats the matter?
Spr.
Oh my heart, my heart.
Would you would rip it up, that you might see
Your selfe enthron'd, and all my faculties
Paying their homage to your memory.
Val.
All this and more, Lovers can speake at pleasure.
Spr.
Propose a course how I might winne beliefe:
Were there a way to it, as deepe with danger,
As to the Center, I will search it out.
When I haue nothing else to doe.
Ual.
Your thoughts haue found such easie utterance,
That I suspect their truth, they seeme to savour
Of art, more then of passion. I haue heard
Great griefes are silent, neither doe I find
Those Symptomes of affection in your lookes.
You change no colour, and your ioynts are stedy.
Your eyes appeare too full of petulancie,
As if they did reflect with inward scorne,
T'upbrayd your falshood.
Spr.
Now by all my hopes,
By all the rites that crowne a happy vnion,
And by the rosie tincture of your cheeks,
And by your all subduing eyes, more bright
Then heaven.
Val.
Hold there.
Spr.
I prize you 'boue the world.
What should I say, when vowes cannot prevaile:
If you persist, and still so cruell be,
Ile sweare there's no plague like loues tyrannie.
And all this while I doe not care a pin for her.
Aside.
Ual.
I haue engagd it to your friend already.
Spr.
But loue makes no distinction.
Val.
If you say so,
I must debarre my heart the knowledge of you.
Spr.
This will not doe, I must be more lascivious.
Come my faire Venus, sit by thy Adonis.
What doe you start? are you afraid of loue,
That is all faire, and from whose brightest heaven,
Are blowne away all swolne clouds of despaire?
His brow is smooth, and all his face beset
With bankes full of delight, a golden Chaine
Of wanton smiles hangs round about his neck;
And all his way before him strew'd with roses.
Come let us sit and dally, tast those pleasures.
And yet our dainties still remaine as fresh,
As they were never toucht.
Val.
Ist come to that?
I thought whither you tended. I am unskilfull:
Vntaught in those deepe, but ill mysteries.
Spr.
Ile teach you all, and lead your wandring steps,
Through all those wayes, where to find the way
Will be to loose it.
Ual.
I am very sorry,
The times disease has so prevail'd upon you.
Tis the perfection now of complement,
The onely end to corrupt honesty.
To prostitute your oathes, and winne our hearts
To your beliefe, is the Court eloquence.
Spr.
These are harsh tunes, and ill become your beauty:
Whose proper passion should be wantonnesse.
Why should you loose the benefit of youth,
And the delights? giue freedome to your will.
When age and weakenesse mortifies your thoughts,
You may correct this loosenesse.
Val.
Sir I cannot
Heare you with safetie.
Spr.
I must dye then, I am slaine, unlesse
Those words, and smiles, that wounded me, doe heale me.
Ual.
Had I knowne that, I'd haue condemnd them both,
To silence and obscurity.
Spr.
You had then,
Rob'd nature of her best perfection,
And that had beene a sacriledge. Nay sweet,
Your beauty is a thing communicable,
And though you doe impart, you may retaine it.
Val.
Sir I haue summ'd th'accounts of all your cares,
And I doe find their number more then weight.
Things but of custome with you, and your vowes
Are but a cloud of wind, and emptinesse;
Forc'd by the storme of lust. When it is over,
And your thoughts calm'd, then you will loue that vertue,
Which as a tye and Anchor did withhold you,
From driving to destruction. So I leaue you.
Exit Ualeria.
That ever any woman should be vertuous;
I haue inclos'd a fire within my breast,
Will burne this frame of nature into cinders,
Her beauty has surpris'd mee, I am caught
In love; by this light, twere a mad jest now
If I should turne honest, and woe her so:
If shee persists, I must doe so beleeu't,
And hate my selfe, as long as I liue for it.
Well I have playd so long about the candle,
That my wings are sing'd with it, shee is honest
I see it, and that something in this age.
Out of these doubts some strange thing vvill arise,
A strong disease must have strong remedies.
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