University of Virginia Library

Scen. 2.

Enter Virtusus reading a Letter.
Vir.
Thine for ever Thesbia . If this be true
I am above thee Fate. Why should I doubt it? Her hand
Is the truest Character of her faith, her Seal
The firm and furest obligation of her Love
Which like the Gordian Knot binds most inseparably.
'Tis that divinest Thesbia that has tide
Our absent souls together, reuniting too
Our hands though distant in as firm a Knoe
As Hymen and his sacred Rites could do, though present.
Be frolick then my soul; To day
Thou art wedded to thy happiness. Swell high my blood;
I'le entertain my Thesbia in a dream:
There my delighted fancy may in spite
Of cursed distance, kiss its fill,
There in a second slumber I may lye
Melting my soul with hers, whil'st each embrace
Invites another, and each amorous look
Calls to a second Parley; There my ravish't senses
Rapt to the highest extasie may find out
New sorts of pleasures, and sweet fresh delights.
Rest here then melting soul, to All good night.

He sleeps
Enter Thesbia.
Thes.
Did our chief bliss consist in worldly pleasures
As Epicurus did define, I might suppose my self
Most happy; But alas, take heed,
Trust not a Lyon though he fawns.
Oh ye powers! why did ye not?
When this same fabrick lay like melted wax
Void of all form or feature, why did ye not
Frame it most miserable? why was I made
Beyond the reach of happiness?
I would Bermudo thou hadst hated me,
I could have been ambitious then, and Crowns
Are like Love, nere pleasant but in getting,
Once got, they are troublesome: Happiness consists
In expectation only; Fond Gamsters when they play
Desire to win, but having won, their play is ended.
Sick men wil please their thoughts with that,
Which to enjoy were deadly: Ambition
Were a virtue could is shun the end.
What sleeping prisoner? Thou art happy in thy thraldom;
Kings cannot sleep so soundly;
Where is my father Shepherd? where is he?
For whom thou endur'st this thraldom?
Cannot thy sleeps inform me? This Paper may.
She takes the Letter.
Ha? Amaze me not ye Heavens!
Do not abuse my too inclining senses with the sight
Of this same flattering object. Oh desire
Thou art a false Optick misleading of our fancies
To that sight which most we cover.
Why thus transform'd Virtusus? Are these a Princes Robes?
Is sleep a Lovers fellow? at noon tide too?
Then Thesbia is forgotten.
Sleep on sweet soul, she has deserv'd thy scorns;
Let Quires of heavenly Spirits guard thy slumbers,
And when thou walk'st let thy enamourd soul
Turn to those pleasing sounds: Thesbia would have
No mortall Rivall. Alas he wakes.

Vir.
Stay Morpbeus stay, force not thy leaden wings
So quickly from mine eyes: oh let me ere behold
This Pleasing object. How has my fancy
Travel'd all this while? what Seas, what Gulfs,
What unknown Lands has my imagination compast?
If dreams those weaker fancies of our brain
Can work so really upon our souls,
Oh let me dream eternally, let all my life
Be one continued slumber: Ha? a Vision!

Thes.
No, a reall piece of Misery, one that begs
Upon his knees a Curtesie.

Vir.
Thou art my Jayler boy,
Thou mayst command it.

Thes.
I not command, but my obedient soul
Poures out it self in supplication: Because I am your Jayler.
Let not that keep back your clemencie,
I will become your fellow-prisoner rather,
Weep when you weep, sigh when you sigh,
And be the true and perfect flatterer of your misery.
Tell me, oh tell me! where's that unhappy King Sperazus,
Whose life thy loss of liberty has purchas'd?
Long have I sought him up and down,
Yet still was so unhappy as to miss him.

Vir.
Wouldst thou betray him then false Boy?

Thes.
Far be it from me, I would but chide him only;
Tell him he was cruell, inhumanely cruell,
Cruell to his own dear daughter,
Robbing her of that affection by his strict command
Which she had plac't on Prince Virtusus:
Nor was this enough to satisfie his ire,
But he must force her to revile him too,
(Heaven knows too much against her will.)
How oft poor maid has she with showres of tears,
Distilled from those never empty fountains,
Pray'd that the heavens would set an everlasting seal
Upon those lips that utter'd such a prophanation?
But they reserv'd them for to sing in heaven,
As now they do.

Vir.
Is she dead then?

Thes.
No, she lives in heaven a sacrifice Unto Virtusus ire.

Vir.
I have heard too much: Hence Night Raven
Hencethou black interpreter of death,
Haste to the Stygian shades, be never more
Here heard on earth: Thy voyce will blast us all.

Thes.
I am sorry sir—.

Vir.
Hold, stop thy accursed Mouth;
Let it not breath such dismall vapors:
Haste unto Pluto's Quire, there let the Mandrakes voyce
Yell forth his Mattens; Howl there the Dirges
Of tormented souls; Learn Harmony from Toads.

Thes.
Yet hear me.

Vir.
Never, oh never.

Exit.
Thes.
Thus often Politicians with their too much care
Turn what was perfect to a just dispair.

Exit.