University of Virginia Library

For the Fourth Act.

Tasting, the 4. Complexions drunck, each having a bottle of Wine in his hand.
Tast.

The other health my boyes.

Phle.

No more health if you love me.

Tast.

Indeed health agrees not with your profession.

Coll.

But we will have more health, and lesse health;
or I will make a close stoole pan of your Physitians noddle.

Tast.

Good brother Choller be pacified.

Choll.

I will not be pacified. He that deny's health, let
him think himself dead e're he pronounce it. Choller's
drye.

Mela.
So is Melancholy.

Blood.
Blood would be heated better.

Phle.
And Phlegme moistned.

Choll.
Blood's a skip-jack, and I will make him caper.

Tast.
Nay brother Choller, thou art so crosse.

Mela.
And will she not return? then may the Sun
Stable his horses ever, and no day
Guild the black ayre with light. If in mine eye
Shee be not plac't, what object can delight it?

Tast.
Excellent amorist. Here's to thee Melancholy.

Mela.
What do I see? blush gray-ey'd morne, and spread
Thy purple shame upon the mountain topps:
Or pale thy self with envie, since here com's
A brighter Venus, then the dull-eyd starre,
That lights thee up.

Tast.

Very fine Law now: Melancholy hath been
some neglected Courtier; hee's perfect in she-flattery.
If he mistake me for the idoll of his passion, Ile abuse
him.

Mela.
Oh let me kisse those payre of red twinn'd cherries.
That do distill Nepenthe.

Tast.
Kisse and spare not.
Bite not the cherry stones and eate, I care not.

Mel.
Oh turn not from me; let me smell the gumms,
Which thy rich breath creates.

Tast.
As for my gumms you'l find
Sweeter here. I have no rotten teeth behind.

Blood.
This leg's not right.

Tast.
I know it. 'Tis my left.

Blood.
Carry your toes wider.

Tast.
Take beed that I foote not you.

Blood.
Now do your cinque passe cleanly.

Tast.
My cinque passe cleanly! A cooke defyes it.

Chol.

You lye too open. Guard your selfe better, or
I shall bang your coate.

Phle.

'Tis a dangerous water. Here's an hypostasis
argues a very bad stomack.

Tast.

Some Souldier perhaps that want's his Pay.

Phleg.

This sediment betokens a great swelling in
the belly.

Tast.

'Tis some Chamber-maide sick of a Midwifes
timpany.

Phleg.

'Twere good she chang'd ayre. Remove her
into the Countrey, and if she fall agen into the greene-sicknesse,
she knows the cure. This water argues a great
heart-burning.

Tast.

'Tis a Lovers that: or some misers that dranke
small beere in the Dog-dayes at his own charges.

Phleg.

The owner of this hath an impostume in his
head, and it is neere breaking.

Tast.

Perhaps 'tis a Fencers, or some Shopkeepers,
whose wife sells underhand by retayle.

Phleg.

Let him compound for his light wife, and he
may be cur'd without the charity of an Hospitall.

To them Physander sick.
Phys.
How on a sudden my delights are clowded?
As when a surfeit makes the pleasant dish
That caus'd it more distastefull then th'offence
Of any bitter potion. My dull'd senses
Relish no objects. Colours doe not take
My filmed eyes. Mine eares are deafe to sounds,
Though by a Chorus of those lovely maides
Which Iove begot on faire Mnemosyne
Sung to Apollo's harpe.

Tast.

Is it thereabouts? Ile play the state knave, and
informe presently.

Exit.
Phys.
Sicknesse begins
To make this frame her mansion. Feavers burne it,
And shake the weak foundation: then a cold
Chills it agen, as if a thousand Winters
Contracted into one scatter'd their snow
With Northerne blasts, and froze the very centre.
Palseys dis-joynt the fabrick: loosen all
The house-supporters, and at length they fall.
Helpe me good servants.

Phleg.
We cannot helpe our selves.

Chol.
Let's kill him, or hee'l kill us.

Melan.
Phlegme doe thou choake him.

Bloud.
Ile empty his veines.

Chol.
Ile doe it. Bloud's not worthy the imployment.

Bloud.
Worthier then Choller.

Chol.
Thou ly'st in thy throat.

Bloud.
Thou hast inflam'd me.

They fall together by the eares, and Physander weakly endeavouring to part them, is himselfe hurt, and they fligh.
Phys.
Hold I command yee: How dare yee insult
Vpon my weaknesse thus? Oh I am wounded.
Perfidious villaines, was this trechery
Your duties act? What fury prompted yee
To such inhumane violence? Will no hand
Of art or heaven supply me with a balme!
Then I must die, and bury all my glories
E're they are fully gaz'd at. Why did nature
Produce me for her darling; and not arme
My passive body with a proofe 'gainst thunder?
To him Sensuality, the 5. Senses.
Oh thou in whose embraces I have slept
And dream't of heaven, when my waking sense
Possest delights in thee, I seem'd to ride
Commanding pleasure as if she had been
My captive, and her spoyles enrich't the triumph;
Helpe now to save me: or with wonted kisses
Make me to lose the sense of this great paine
My bleeding wounds inflict. Let me expire
Within thy bosome, and I shall forget
That death hath any horrour.

Sens.
This Physander!
I know him not. The bloudy spectacle
Is too offensive: Would it were remov'd.

Tast.

Please you, Ile carry the Calfe into my Slaughterhouse.
But I feare hee'l hardly be drest for your Ladyships
tooth: he hath bled too much to be sweet flesh.

Phys.
Not know me Lady! how am I transform'd!
The sand of many minutes hath not fall'n
From times gray glasse, since you vouchsaf't to call me
Lord of your selfe and pleasures.

Sens.
Let me have
Another sweet heart: one whose lustie heat
May warm my bosome. Gather all the flowers
Tempe is paynted with, and strew his way.
Translate my Bower to Turias rosie bankes,
There, with a Chorus of sweet nightingales
Make it continuall Spring. If the Sunnes rayes
Offend his tender skin, and make it sweat,
Fan him with silken wings of mildest ayre;
Breath'd by Etesian windes. The briskest Nectar
Shall be his drink, and all th'Ambrosian cates,
Art can devise for wanton appetite,
Furnish his banquet. As his senses tire,
Varye the object. Let delights be linck't,
So in a circled chayne no end we see,
Pleasure is onely my eternity.

Exeunt.
Tast.
Exit.
To him the two Genij severally.

Mal. G.
Ha, ha, he.

Phys.
Who's that can laugh at misery?

Mal. G.
'Tis I
That triumph in thy ruine. I contriv'd it,
And caus'd divorce betwixt thee and thy wife:
Whom now I will torment.

Exit.
Phys.
That wound is deeper
Then all the rest. Calling to mind my ills,
That left a chast wife for the loose embraces
O sensualitie, a paynted whore,
Common with beasts. Death hold thy ashye hand,
Till pain reconcil'd to my Bellanima,
Then strike and spare not.

Bon. G.
Fixe in that resolution,
Ile bring her to thee.

Exit.
Phys.
That's my good Genius.
The horrours of a thousand nights made black
With pitchye tempests, and the Moones defect,
When shee's affrighted with the howlings of
Crotonean Wolves, and groanes of dying Mandrakes
Gather'd for charmes; the Schritch-owles fatall dirge,
And Ghosts disturb'd by furyes from their peace,
Are all within me.

To him Bellanima, Bonus Genius.
Bon. G.
Wounded by the hands
Of his distemper'd servants that are fled.

Bella.
Looke up Physander, I am come to help thee,
Not to afflict: I share thy sufferings.
There's not an anguish but it is inflicted
As equally on me. Why would Physander
Cut wedlocks Gordian, and with looser eyes
Doate on a common wanton? what is pleasure
More then a lustfull motion in the sense?
The prosecution full of anxious feares;
The end Repentance. Though content be call'd
The soule of action, and licentious man
Propounds it as the reason of his life;
Yet if intemperate appetite pursue it,
The pure end's lost, and ruine must attend it.
But I would comfort thee. Doe but expresse
A detestation of thy former follies,
We will be reunited, and enjoy
Eternall pleasures.

Phys.
Can Bellanima
Forgive the injuries that I have done her?
Shee's milder then thou Love, or pitties self.
Let me be banish't ever to converse
With Monsters in a desart. 'tis a punishment
Too little. Let me be confin'd to dwell
On the North pole, where a continuall Winter
May bleake me to a statue; or inhabit
The Acherusian fenns, whose noysome ayre
May choake my nostrells with their poysonous fumes,
Yet linger death unto a thousand ages.

Bella.
Wee'l live Physander, and enjoy each other
In new delights: thou shalt be cur'd by Temperance.
Shee's the Physitian that doth moderate
Desire with reason, bridling appetite.
Here the fourth Scene is suddainly discover'd, being a Rock, with a spring of water issuing out of it. At the foot thereof a cave; where Temperance sits betwixt a Philosopher, an Hermite, a Ploughman and a Shepheard. Behind the Rocke a Lantskipt.
Yonder's her Cave, whose plaine, yet decent roofe
Shines not with ivory or plates of gold.
No Tyrian purples cover her low couch;
Nor are the carv'd supporters artists worke
Bought at the wealth of provinces; she feeds not
On costly viands, in her gluttony,
Wasting the spoyles conquests: from a rock
That weeps a running christall she doth fill
Her shell cup, and drinks sparingly.

Phys.
Shee cannot
Heale my affliction; mercyes selfe denyes
A time and meanes, and onely black despayre
Whispers th'approach of death.

Bon. G.
Remove that sinne,
And hope with sorrow. Greatest faults are small,
When that alone may make amends for all.

Phys.
Might I yet live to practice my resolve
Of reformation, sooner should the day
Leave to distinguish night; the Sunne should choake
His breathlesse horses in the western mayne,
And rise no more, the gray morn ushering in
His light approach, then my relapse from thee,
And goodnesse cause new miseryes. Direct me,
Yet heavenly ministers; informe my knowledge
In the strict course that may preserve me happy,
Whilst yet my sighes suck in th'unwilling ayre,
That swells my wasted lunges. Though not in life,
In death Ile be Bellanima's.

Bella.
Physander,
Expire not yet: thy wounds are not so mortall.
Helpe me to beare him yonder; gently rayse
His weakned body. What can we not endure,
When paynes are lessen'd by the hope of cure?

Temp.
What wretched piece of miserable riot
Is this that needs the ayde of Temperance?
What caus'd his sicknesse?

Bella.
Liberty in ills
To please his senses, which have surfeited
With an excesse: and if your art supply not,
Death will divorce us. Pitty then sweet Lady,
And from your treasure of instructions
Prescribe a powerfull medicine that may quicken
His cold defects, which more and more increase,
Less'ning his weakned powers. To a chast wife
Preserve (now 'tis reform'd) her husbands life.

Temp.
Let the earth be his bed; this rock his pillow;
His curteines heaven; the murmur of this water
Instead of musick charm him into sleepe.
And for the cates which gluttony invents
To make it call'd an art, confected juice
Of Pontick nuts, and Idumean palmes
Candy'd with Ebosian sugar; lampreyes guts
Fetcht from Carpathian straights, and such like wantonnesse,
Let him eat sparingly of what the earth
Produceth freely, or is where 'tis barren
Enforc't by industrye. Then poure this balsome
Into his wounds, and whil'st his senses rest
Free from their passive working, and endure
Partiall privation of their meanes and objects,
His slumbers shall present what mor's requir'd
To make him sound.

Bella.
My endlesse thanks great power,
Mother of other vertues. Whilst he sleepes,
My cares shall watch him. Oh thou death like god,
That chayn'st the senses captive, and do'st rayse
Dreames out of humours, whose illusive shadowes,
Oft work on fancy to beget beliefe
Of prophecies, let no black horrours mixe
Their frightfull presence, but with gentle showes,
(Yet such as are instructive) sweetly worke
Vpon what wakes within whilst th'other cease;
Then sleepes the figure of eternall peace.

They daunce every one in a proper garbe, shewing their respect to Temperance, whilst Physander sleepes betwix. Bellanima and Bonus Genius, that seeme to dresse his wounds.
Phys.
I feele quick sence return, and every Organe
Is active to performe its proper office:
I am not hurt. What miracle hath Heaven
Wrought on me?

Bella.
Next to Heaven, the thanks are due
To this thy lifes restorer. She hath precepts,
By which thou mayst preserve it to a length,
And end it happie.

Temp.
What thy dreames presented,
Put straight in act, and with a constancie
Persever in't. Rewards will onely crowne
The end of a well prosecuted good.
Philosophie; religious solitude
And labour waite on Temperance: in these
Desire is bounded; they instruct the mindes
And bodies actions. 'Tis lascivious ease
That gives the first beginning to all ills.
The thoughts being busied on good objects, sinne
Can never find a way to enter in.

Phys.
Let me digest my joyes; I onely now
Begin to live: the former was not perfect.

Bella.
Wee'l shortly to my father, who with joy
Will entertaine us.

Tempe.
I will meet ye there;
Where ye shall be invested by the hands
Of Iustice, Prudence, Fortitude and me
In the bright robes of immortalitie.

Phys.
My heart's too narrow to conteine the joyes
This reconciliation fills it with.
Chayne me agen to misery, and make me
Wretched beyond despayre when next I fall.
Let this my resolution be enroll'd
Amongst eternall acts not to be cancell'd.
Then man is happy, and his blisse is full
When hee's directed by his better soule.

Exeunt.
Temperance with the rest of hers being return'd into the Scene, it closeth.