University of Virginia Library

ACTVS SECVNDVS.

Scena Prima.

Enter Ferdinand and Cornelius.
Fer.

What, is the Duke marryed?

Cor.

Questionlesse, by this time; they were at To haue
and to hold when I left 'hem. Looke you, here come the
Feathers, the inseparable Coxcombs of the Court.

Enter Callowe and Ranof.
Ran.
By the life-bloud which danceth on her Lip,
She is all Paradice, Diuine, Angelicall,
The Duchesse me thinkes lookes like a Dowdie to her.

Cor.
O for an Informer—Capitall Treason.

Cal.
If my Taylor had not bin a Knaue—

Fer.
He had bin an honest man.

Cal.
But—

Fer.

O there's a stop, I thought the brazen Image wud
ha'spoke.

Enter Bernard, Landoff, Dorilus.
Ber.
Asmody, you were best stay behind,
There's no place for Spirits i'th'Court.

Land.
O Sir, all your braue Spirits keepe at Court,
And I know my distance.

Ber.
If you donnot, here be those will teach you.
What comfort man? there is no fitter place
To attend their comming out, then here,
Here you may haue full sight, and perhaps speech.

Doril.
Nay I wil haue speech with her, & tell her roundly
How she ha's play'd the Murdresse with a man
That would haue dy'd most willingly for her.

Ber.
What, in the passionate vaine againe?

Doril.
No, but somewhat vehement.

Enter the Duke, Duchesse, a Bishop, Lord Raymond.
Duke.
The Diademe that crown'd my Head, brought
Cares along with Dignitie: But thou my Sweet
Hast crown'd my Heart with Ioyes perpetuall;
Loue, that did lead thee to the Church a Maid,
Hath brought thee backe againe a perfect Wife,
And made thee fit to be as thou do'st promise,
Mother of many Princes.

Dorilus kneeles as the Duchesse passeth by, she beckens one to bring him to her.
Cor.
Pray Heauen the Duke be in his right sences,
He talkes all Raptures, studied Poetrie.

Fer.

As euery outragious Louer does. If I were wearie
of my life, I haue an Adagie wud hang me instantly.

Cor.

What's that?

The Duchesse & Doril. talk priuatly.
Fer.

Why the old one, Hot loue's soone cold.

Cor.

To requite you, That breath were better kept, to
coole your Porredge.

Fer.
You say very right, Sir.

Ber.
This is the Face that wud not let me rest,
But visit me in Dreames: Looke this way still,
And burne me with thy comfortable Beames.

Dor.
I must confesse, I euer had a wild,
Wanton, and vntam'd Tongue, but still the Heart
Of such a Matron as my Mother was:
I did and doe still loue thee, and I protest
Purpos'd to haue married thee, but that I thinke
Thy selfe wud not haue wisht me to haue lost
A Fortune such as this—Little did I imagine,
When I did ieast those words, to haue bin a Duchesse.

Doril.
I donnot come to taske you to your word,
But to behold the Riches I haue lost,
That must confesse my selfe vnworthy of you.
Hither I came resolu'd, to let you know
That I durst looke vpon you, and could lose you
Without sigh or teare: but hauing seene you,
You haue afresh kindled the fire againe,
And I must die a Martyr in your loue.

Dor.
What shall we doe Iulia? Do'st thou see
The sad and downe-cast countenance of thy Brother?
I loue him for his owne sake, and for thine,
And wud not haue him perish; which I feare.

Iul.

Troth Madame I doubt him too: but if the worst
come to the worst, 'tis but a foolish Louer cast away.

Dor.

There are some flattering wayes yet to restore
him, if we could light on 'hem. Alas good Dorilus.

I neuer yet had other Testimonie
Of your strong loue, then that which all you Men
Vnto your Ends can faine better then Women,
Sighs and sad words, mingled with some Teares.

Doril.
If those had not bin witnesses sufficient,
Why did you not enioyne me to a Taske,
Harder then euer Crueltie did yet?
You should ha' said; I dare thee Dorilus
To die: or doe but say so yet,
That I may be assured you can loue
Dorilus dead, whom liuing you despis'd,
And I will at your feet yeeld my lat'st breath.

Dor.
I prythee thinke me not a Murderesse,
To take delight in bloud: no, my deare Dorilus,
Liue, and liue long, that I may loue thee so.
Yet if thy loue be, as thou do'st professe,
No danger, trauaile, nothing that Art can doe,
Obtain'd with much losse, greater difficultie,
Will be left vnattempted: therefore, to try
What strength it holds in thee, and make it gain'd,
Better esteem'd of, being hardly got,
I shall enioyne thee to a strange Designe.

Doril.
Let it be dangerous, and 'tis the better,
And I shall easilier accomplish it.

Dor.
It is not dangerous, nor impossible,
For I haue read euen in effect the like
To haue bin obtained for a—Queene.

Doril.
Pray speake it.

Dor.
A Garland of the rarest Flowers on Earth,
The choisest to the Eye, and to the Sent,
Set with such Fruits the season of the yeere
Affoords not in this Clyme, And it must haue
The vertue of continuing euer fresh,
As long as you remaine constant in loue.
This is the Taske, which if you can obtaine,
By all the Faith in VVoman, and that Iustice
VVhich punisheth all Periurers, I vow
Thou shalt embrace all thy desires in me.

Doril.
A Garland of all Flowers?

Dor.
Of all the Earth produceth, that are choise:
If I, or any one that sees it, can
Call any Flower by a Name, not there,
You not performe your Enterprise.

Doril.
This is a Taske indeed.

Iul.
She ha's sent you a picking.

Doril.

But it is nothing, when the Prize is thought of
that it shall purchase.

Dor.
Will you vndertake it?

Dor.
I will not moue in any other labour,
It shall be both my Businesse and my Pleasures:
With my best dutie let me kisse your hands.
I shall not need to doubt, to enioy your loue
When I haue done it?

Dor.
May that Beautie which you adore in me,
Be blasted, but—

Doril.
I beleeue you: Faire farwell.

Dor.
My Lord, your pardon.

Duke.
For what my Duchesse? Though this day alone
Should be reserued onely to our selues,
Yet if thou please to lend thy Patience
To any one that is a Suitor to thee,
It shall giue no dislike, but rather please vs.

Fer.

Here's a Duke now will make all his Subiects kind
Husbands.

Cor.

If he continue as he begins, Ile giue my Wife
the Breeches; for Women will raigne, that's certaine.

Fer.

Raigne, I and thunder and lighten too, Ile warrant
thee.

Exeunt Duke with his Traine.
Land.

A prettie dumbe shew, this.

Doril.

How doe you Sir? you appeare to me more
troubled then my selfe.

Ber.

No, I am well: Pray what's the newes?

Doril.

I must goe trauaile.

Ber.

Trauaile, what to doe?

Doril.

To gather Flowers, Strawberries—

Land.

And Creame.

Ber.

VVhy how now Sirrah?

Land.

Something bold Sir, for Affinities sake.

Ber.

But pray be serious with me: by that friendship,
which for the time we haue bin acquainted, hath bin as
much as euer was made vp in so few houres; I doe coniure
you tell me, and tell me faithfully, all the whole passage.

Doril.

I was a telling you: She has enioyn'd me to
bring her a faire Garland, of all Flowers that can be
nam'd, which must continue fresh as long as I remaine
constant to her.

Ber.
This is not in the power of Man to doe.

Doril.
This is her imposition.

Ber.
Asmodie, what thinke you of this?

Land.
Why I say Sir, comfort your Friend, For ere
The Sun shal twice to th'Sea decline his golden beames,
Ile bring a Garland hither, made of all Flowers
That euery corner of the World containes,
And with that Charme too, that it shall remaine
Beautiously flourishing, while he continues
Warm'd in the strength of his Affections.

Ber.
Doe this my gentle Spirit, and thou shalt
Make him, who is thy Master, bound vnto thee,
He shall release thee, I will buy thy yeeres,
Although it cost me halfe of my Estate.

Lan.
No more, some few houres hence expect me.

Exit.
Ber.
Sir, will you take the counsell of a Friend,
And thrust these Sorrows from you? what wud you giue
To purchase such a Garland as you speake of?

Doril.
I thought you Sir of more humanitie,
And better breeding, then to mocke miserie.

Ber.
I donnot mock you, and may accuse you now
For hauing me in such suspition:
We are but young in our Acquaintances,
And that begets these doubts: will you impart
Halfe your Estate to him shud bring you this?

Doril.
All, and become in debt to pay that Man.

Ber.
What doe you iudge your Estate to be, Sir?

Doril.
Better then three hundred pound a yeere.

Ber.
Why that shal do it. Pardon me Sir, I am poore,
And such an Accident as this perhaps,
To make a Fortune, will not in all my Age
Befall againe: nor can you lose by it,
For in her fauours you shall be aduanc'd.

Doril.
Without those wise Considerations,
You instantly shall haue it made to you,
Not in words onely, but in deeds,
If you performe what you propose to me.

Ber.
Why you say wel Sir, wil you now to the Scriueners?

Doril.
Most ioyfully, and with what speed you please.

Ber.
Lead Sir, Ile follow: Is it not strange to see,
That a man shud, as hath bin often showne,
Cure others griefes, yet cannot helpe his owne.

Exeunt.

Scena secunda.

Enter Lodwick, father to Dorigene; Fredericke, a Lady, and Smirke.
Lod.
Now Sir you are so dy'd i'the Grape, & so deboisht
With Tauerne Quarrels, that here your carriage
Amongst the inferior sort will proue ridiculous:
For we shall haue you downe i'the Wine-cellar,
Or at the Beere amongst the Guard carou
And after, fall to Cuffes; your Band and Doublet
Torne from your Neck & Back, and your braue Breeches
Stain'd with the variation of each soyle.

Fre.
Nay good Sir donnot aggrauate a Fault:
I know I haue bin often i'the durt,
(And so ha's many a better man then I)
Before I was the Dukes Brother; but now
I will giue no man place at Wall or Kennell.

Smi.
My yong Lord is in my mind to a thred for that.

Lod.
I know thou hast matter ynough in thee,
And parts sufficient to make a Courtier;
But this same Drinke, and Countrey Libertie,
Ha's spoyl'd thee irrecouerably.

Fre.
Why Sir, what wud you ha' me do? you shall find
I will be capable.

Lod.
Why you must bend your selfe vnto the Ladies.

Smi.
Bend to the Ladies: Alas poore old man, he talks—

Lod.
I meane, apply your selfe, conuerse with 'hem,
And still be tendring your seruice to 'hem;
They will looke for't: Looke you, here come Presidents;
There's a young Lord now, a Knight followes him,
Marke but how they endeuor in the businesse.

Fre.
Vdsfoot, I thinke my Father thinkes I am an Asse:
Cannot I lead a Lady by the Arme,
Hold off my Hat, and dance my Cinque a pace;
And after a long story of my silence,
Aske how she does? I will satisfie him,
He shannot find me to degenerate—
By your leaue Lady.

Lady.
What's he tro? he ha's reasonable handsome
Clothes, but they become him not.

Smir.

The dumbe Lord's frighted, his haire stands an
end.

Ran.

My Noble Lord, the Duchesse Brother.

Call.

Your pardon my good Lord.

Fre.

What Masculine Baboone's this—Lady, I
honor you.

Lady.

O my good Lord, there are better Faces i'the
Court for you to honor.

Fre.
By that all-killing Eye, that murdring Lip—

Lady.
Fie, fie, my Lord, you make me blush.

Fre.
O Madame, donnot so, you'le spoile your painting.

Smi.
Looke you my Lord, my Lord your Sonne is at it.

Lod.
A shrewd Boy: I thought, because my selfe
Haue bin bred vp a Souldier, and vnfit,
And euer was, to these Court Complements;
He, hauing not bin exercis'd, wud be so:
Ile leaue him now, and take no more charge of him.

Smi.
No, no, let the Surgion looke to him.

Enter Iulia.
Iulia.

Wud I were i'the Countrey againe, I shall run
mad here: your tumultuous Courtiers wonnot let me
rest; Visitants early and late, and all come about one businesse,
to tell me I am faire, which I know well ynough,
yet can be well content to let them sweare it. I haue the
Prayers of all the Mercers, Taylors, Haberdashers, i'the
whole Citie, and their Wiues Curses; for not a Man
lookes that way: I am the Bird, at which each well-drawne
Courtier shoots his Bolt. Looke you, I am spyed
already: They leaue all Companies, all Places; vpon
Seruice times, the Chappell, if I be not there.

Now my tongue-tyed Lord, whose Language is i'the
Motion of his Necke, I wonder he is not troubled with
the Cricke: What does your Lordship say? I donnot
heare you.

Call.
Hum.

Iul.
Wud the World beleeue there were such a Man?
Pray my Lord tell me your meaning?

Call.
Hum.

Iul.
Sure your Honor had a silent Nurse.

Ran.

He wud ha' prou'd the Miracle of the World, if
he had bin a Woman.

Iul.

He wud indeed Seignior: I donnot thinke, but
if his Tongue were clipt, he wud talke yet; what thinke
you?

Ran.
I thinke as you thinke, Lady.

Iul.
Take heed of that, so you may wrong your selfe.
I wud my Lord that I could vnderstand you,
I doe perswade my selfe then I could loue you.

Call.
O sweet Lady.

Iul.
Why this is well my Lord, can you goe on?

Call.
I had a hard heart else.

Iul.
Admirable; good my Lord goe forward,
Talke, and Ile loue you infinitely, that is, beyond talke.

Call.
Silence Lady is the best part of Wisdome.

Iul.
Let Wisdome goe to graue ones, giue vs Talke,
It is Youth's Musicke, and doth stirre Affection,
As Motion, Hear. Good my Lord talke.

Call.
Why Lady, I can talke.

Iul.
O my Lord.

Cal.
What ayle you, Lady?

Iul.
You will rauish me.

Call.
Not I, Ile assure you I come not of the kind.

Iul.

I meane you'le ouercome me: And if you talke
much, I shall entreat you you will hold your peace.

Call.

Nay, beleeue it Lady, I will not talke much: but
if I list to talke, I haue a Tongue that can talke much,
and lowd, as another Man.

Ran.

I was afraid he wud ha' said, Woman.

Call.

But talke's but talke, therefore I vse it not: but for
your sake, sweet Lady, it may be that I will find a Tongue

to talke of something; and that same something must be
of you, or else 'tis nothing.

Iul.

Away my Lord, I am bound to stop mine eares;
the Syrens sing in you.

Call.

VVhy let 'hem sing, Song is but Song, no more
then Talke's but Talke; yet Talke does well, where Talke
is well regarded, otherwise 'tis lost: And I haue bin a
Talker in my time, and will be so againe, to giue content
to such a Lady as doth loue to talke, or knowes what
talke is, and can talke her selfe; else 'tis much better for
to hold ones peace: For I haue heretofore bin a great
Talker, and foolish Ladyes that vnderstood me not, haue
pray'd me hold my peace, and they wud loue me; iust as
you now, on the contrary, pray me to talke, and not to
hold my peace, and then you'd loue me.

Iul.

I will maintaine this in him, to make him talke his
Lungs out.—Oh,—Oh.

Call.
VVhat is the matter?

Iul.
VVud I had neuer heard this Tongue of yours:
But I was curst to heare it, more to prouoke it.

Call.

VVhy doe you say so? For this Tongue of mine
shall be pull'd out, and throwne vnto the Dogges, or to
the Hawkes, before it shall offend your daintie Eares,
that loue to heare a Tongue talke as a Tongue should
doe, of VVit and Beautie, and Beautie and VVit, which
doe abound in you.

Iul.

Fie, fie, fie, this is not to be endur'd.

Call.

Beleeue it Lady, but it is; 'tis fit that you shud
heare me, and I shud talke, the Subiect being You, and
I the Talker. Wherefore haue Ladyes Beautie, and Men
Eyes and Tongues, but to behold that Beautie, and then
talke of it. I doe proclayme him here a Dunce, a Sot,

that ha's a Tongue, and cannot talke of you: nay, though
he had ne're a Tongue, yet he might thinke a talke; and
that, though not as good, might serue for talke.

Enter Lord Raymond and the Duchesse.
Iul.

The Duchesse; good my Lord leaue vntill another
time.

Call.

I, another time, and then weele talke foure or fiue
houres together.

Fre.

By this hand Wench Ile keepe touch.

Lady.

Touch and take my Lord, else no meddling.

Fre.

Goe, you are a Foole, Farewell; Expect me.
Sister Duchesse, how do'st? I thanke thee for my Lordship.
I knew thou wert borne to make vs all, aduance vs
to the third Region. How does my Brother Duke deale
with thee? Do'st thou Bugeou? Shall wee haue Bonfires,
and the Bells rung out, for ioy thou hast made an Vnckle?
How now Iulia? what's thy Title? Lady of Honor, and
Principall Secretarie to my Sister, is't not? who breakes
the best Iests now?

Iul.

My Lord.

Fre.

My Lord; no, my Lady by all meanes.

Dor.

Fie Brother, vnderstand your selfe; and as you
haue taken on Dignitie, so put on Grauitie, or you will
proue ridiculous.

Fre.

Let me proue what I will Sister, Ile haue all the
Court to imitate me: if I had bin borne a Foole, I wonder
what's he wud ha'bin wise? Come VVench, be thy
selfe still, and thou shalt be the Miracle of Princes,

Haue all the wit thy Subiect; vtter, thine,
And drawne together in a Volume, call'd,
The Duchesse of—her Apothegmes;
VVhich shall put downe the Tales of other Nations.
Thy Birth-day shall be made a Holy-day,
And crown'd with full Cups, and with deepe ones too,
And I my selfe will first begin the Health,
And bring it vp in Germany a Fashion,
Oft to salute the Cup, and kisse it sweetly.
But where's the Duke my Brother? tyr'd and retyr'd?

Dor.

Pray my Lord doe you speake to him, happily he
will endure reproofe from you.

Ray.

My Lord.

Fre.

I haue sworne not to graunt any Suits this weeke,
therefore prythy donnot trouble me—O, my Lord,
I cry you mercy.

Ray.
The Duchesse wud be priuate.

Fre.
Neat and priuate she shall be, 'tis fit,
Let you and I shake hands, Wisdome and VVit.

Dor.

Thou art all wildnesse, that nothing I thinke will
tame, but a long Voyage, and vnfortunate.

O Iulia, I doe thinke vpon thy poore afflicted Brother,
Good Gentleman, that he should place his loue so disastrously.
I wonder how he does?

Iul.

He is as great a stranger vnto me as to you Madame,
I neuer saw him since.

Dor.
I hope he did not spend his time so ill
In the Vniuersitie at Wittemberg,
But he ha's learnt so much Philosophie,
To tame those headstrong Passions.

Iul.
You may pray rather he ha's not spent his time
As Faustus did, and many that are there,
In Negromancie, so to performe the Taske
You haue layd on him.

Dor.

Alas poore VVench, do'st thou beleeue there
can be such an Art?

Iul.
VVhy, haue we it not recorded, Faustus did
Fetch Bruno's Wife, Duchesse of Saxonie.
In the dead time of Winter, Grapes she long'd for?

Dor.
Such a Report there goes, but I hold fabulous.

Iul.

Well, had I bin as you, I'de not ha' layd so deepe
an Oath vpon't.

Dor.

Wud that were my worst feare.
Enter Doril.
Looke where he comes. Iulia leaue me, Ile hold conference
with him, and by delayes seeke to weare out his
Sorrow.

Iul.
I obey you Madame.

Dor.
Why kneele you Dorilus?

Doril.
Dutie ha's taught me, though you were not her
Fortune ha's made you: Euery thing delights
To be commanded by you; vnder your wish
Lyes all things vpon Earth, and growes for you,
Prospers for your sake, striues to be louely,
In emulation of your Excellence.
Here is a Garland of those Flowers you spoke of,
Which Nature put forth, and Art fetcht for you;
Place it vpon your Head, and it shall dim
The glorious splendor of your other Crowne:
Lasting it is, as it; for it shall flourish
According to your wishes, till I alter
And change the course of my Affection.

Dor.
Thou do'st astonish me: wud I coud call
This any thing but Truth, a Dreame, a Vision,
With Terrors following it, enough to sinke me
Deeper in Earth then I am now aboue it.
When Flora striues to decke the Earth with Flowers,
She neuer shew'd halfe such varietie.
Good Dorilus leaue me a while to thinke.
And to collect my selfe, and then returne.

Doril.
I shall.

Exit.
Dor.
Why did these Flowers grow? to blush for me?
Or do they blush, because they haue wrought my shame?
Why did not Stormes and North winds nip your Buds,
And kill'd yee, ere you shew'd the Sunne your Leaues?
Why did not Lightnings blast yee? Beasts or Wormes
Plucke vp your Roots, and make you fit for Fire?
There you had shew'd more glorious then here:
For here you bring, vnder so many Colours,
A shew of Sweetnesse, that will breed the Plague,
And run infectiously into our Blouds.
For if I fall, what Woman will be honest?
Or being so, what's he that will beleeue it?

Enter the Duke.
Duke.
How now my Duchesse? talking to thy selfe?
What's that? Why do'st thou hide it from me?
It is rich vnto the eye, but much more rarer:
Flowers so plentifull, and at this time,
It wonders me? Prythy let me see it,
I neuer saw so many rarious Formes
Knit vp so curious: beleeue me, 'tis a Present
Fit for the Queene of Nations, and for thee;
He well deseru'd, that did bestow it on thee.

Dor.
'Tis not to be bestow'd Sir, 'tis to be bought,
And at a deare Rate too.

Duke.
Why, and thou do'st, no matter,
For trust me 'tis a very pretty Toy.

Dor.
A pretty Toy must buy it.

Duke.
If it wud not fade.

Dor.

It will not fade Sir, it will keepe too long I feare,
for you to like it.

Duke.
Why do'st thou thinke so? it is like thy selfe,
Full of Varietie, and choise Delights,
And th'longer I behold it, the more it likes me.

Dor.
O, there are Serpents in't, and vgly Toades,
That burst and shed their poyson; not a Flower,
But beares a sting in it, that wounds my heart:
Foule Lust and Murder, that doth follow it,
Lyes hid amongst the Leaues. O throw me Sir,
Throw me from your Embraces, as far as the wild winds
Doth driue the Dust before it, and destroy me.
Like it to nothing: Purge your Land, by making
Bonfires of it and me vpon some Hill,
That the blacke Smoake may vanish into Ayre,
And not infect your Turrets.

Duke.
Why do'st thou talke thus?

Dor.
First kill me Sir, it will be Charitie,
Then rip my Bosome vp, and in my Heart
There you shall find what my Tongue loathes to vtter.

Duke.
I thought, deare Dorigene, I neuer shud
Haue bin a stranger to your Thoughts, till now:
I prythy speake, what is it troubles thee?

Dor.
If I were sure that breath shud be my last,
You shud not then entreat me; but receiue it,
Hoping you will be mercifull, and kill me.
There is a Gentleman, named Dorilus,
That lou'd me 'fore you saw me, and I him,
Although I neuer gaue him any hope:
Vpon the VVedding day he met me here,
And lookt so like a man that meant to perish,
That I was willing to restore some comfort;
VVhereon I wisht him get me such a Garland,
Made of all Flowers that the World contaynes,
Not thinking such a thing could haue bin done,
And for Requitall promis'd him—I cannot
Vtter no more, nor shud haue thought so much.

Duke.
Is this all?

Dor.
All? wud you more wud you we should proceed?
Grow impudent in sinne, till Thunder rent vs?

Duke.
Why, but such promises may be dispens'd with.
Though you had seal'd it with a Vow.

Doril.
I did Sir, and a great one: nor left there,
But added two or three to that; the least was,
The blasting of this Beautie he ador'd.

Duke.
I know not how to doubt, yet this may be
A Cunning; I will try her. Let it not trouble thee,
Deare Dorigene; thou shalt performe thy Vow;
Ile be the Sufferer, and take the sinne on me.

Dor.
But the damnation must be mine, my Lord,
And if I pull it on me, i'shalbe this way,
Offers to stab her selfe.
Rather then wronging you.

Duke.
Why so thou wrong'st me worst,
And wut depriue me of all the ioyes in this World,
Thou wilt teach me by ill example, how to follow thee.
Sweet, let me kisse thee, I will beg for that,
Which all men else doe labour to auoid;
It is but one houres losse of thee, I prythy
Make no more scruple of't then other Women:
It is a Cryme, that not one night i'the yeere,
But some where or other such a Fault is made,
Nor lookes the Wise the next day worse for it.

Dor.
No more Sir.

Duke.
Thou wilt consent?

Dor.
I will.

Duke.

Why I thanke thee. I haue bestow'd some

paines to begge my selfe into an Order. O Dorigene, if
thou beest false, the Serpent parted with his Subtletie,
and clos'd it in the Fruit he gaue thy Sex.

Exit.
Dor.
I know not whether I am greater blest
Or curst in such a Husband: Fate thou hast thy ends,
And I haue mine. Come Dorilus, and take me
Now whilest I haue Obedience:
Giue me not respite, to enter into Considerations,
Lest I doe worser then performe my Vow.
Enter Dorilus.
He comes—Welcome my Dorilus, be merry man,
And looke vpon me as a Louer should,
That ha's obtain'd his Mistris: I am thine,
And for the time free, as I am the Dukes.
Be bold man in approaching, there's no feare
Of Spyes vpon vs; we are free, as people
That know no Lawes, or doe command the Lawes:
I haue the Dukes consent for what I doe,
Nay, his entreatie: he does like to haue
A Ryuall in the thing he loues, and is
Not different from the common sort of men,
That doe esteeme them most, that most abuse 'hem.

Doril.
How many wayes doe you desire to kill me?

Dor.
Why Dorilus?

Doril.
You say the Duke's acquainted—

Dor.
With our Loues, 'tis true:
But there's no harme in that, for heele be secret,
As I haue Life, he will.

Doril.
Why doe you abuse me thus?

Dor.
I donnot: for as I haue a Soule, I'm serious,
He bid me keepe my Vow; and said, the Man
That did bestow this Garland, did deserue—

Doril.
What? to enioy you?

Dor.
I, to enioy me.

Doril.
He did it then to giue vs leaue to sinne,
That he might punish.

Dor.
O no; he did it for my quiet: he will sooner
Strike his owne eye, to offend it, nay, his heart,
Rather then mine.

Doril.
VVhat doe we then contriuing Lust together?
That Rebell Bloud, which rageth against him,
Had better bin bestow'd vpon rude Beasts,
Wilder then VVolues or Tygres; we are worse:
They that wud wrong this truly Royall Prince,
This Prince of his owne Passions, as of Men,
Deserue to see no day, to tast no foode,
No cloathes to shield him from the rage of winter,
But liue more wretched then the last of Beggers,
Die without teares or prayers, and want a graue.
Take your vowes backe againe, and place 'hem better,
For here I make a generall release
Of all debts twixt vs, be a free woman,
And set vp anew, with caution, that you neuer
Proue banker-out againe, deale not so largely,
Nor trust so prodigally, lest you do meete
VVith such as will take the full forfeiture;
So Vertue guard you and your goodnesse Crowne,
Your thoughts and actions with true chastitie.

Ray.
This is not as I looke for, nor do wish.

Dor.
O stay, let me not be so wretched, but to pay
The almes of a true heart, thankes for your bountie,
Which hath beene greater then I can requite.
Now I do loue thee Dorilus as deere
As thy owne mistresse vertue. And I beseech thee
Depriue vs not thy presence at the Court,
For I will liue to studie a requitall,
And the Duke with me, that shall know thy worth,
And finde it in thy deeds, shall entertaine thee,
And in his bosome fixe thee a true friend:
Thou shalt not go vnlesse thou promise me,
I may receiue and welcome thee at Court,

Dori.
Since you command me, Ile not faile to offer,
My seruice to my Soueraigne and you.

Dor.
With teares of ioy I loue thee.

Exit.
Ray.

Enter Bernard.
Ber.
Well met Sir. How now? Melancholy.
But now I thinke on't, euery man is so
After his height of dalliance, I did heare
You had admittance: And I faith how find you her.

Dori.
You haue my land Sir.

Ber.
Yes, in my pocket, a large hose youle say
Can hold so many Akers: But impart,
You told me, being familiar with the Cause,
I should partake in the Euent.
She ha's performd—

Doril.
Yes, very gracious.

Ber.
Why so then, what wud you more?

Doril.
No more.

Ber.
Zfoot, hee's turn'd Eccho: but I haue obseru'd,
Knocke at the heart of Man after full ioyes,
And you shall find him like an emptie Vessell.
I will leaue you Sir.

Doril.
Heare me first.
Because you may not spread a Calumnie,
Which when y'are not your selfe, Wine may bring forth:
Here I protest by all that's Righteous,
Both in Earth and Heauen, though I had bought
And payd for this Sinne as your selfe can witnesse,
And might haue purchas'd it (but with her Curses)
I gaue her Vowes backe freely to her selfe,
Made her the same Duchesse that she was,
And is still absolute.

Ber.
How? freely gaue her what cost you so deare?

Doril.
Freely: and had my Life bin in the Bargaine,
It had gone, And Wife and Children,
If I had bin worth 'hem—O you donnot know,
And it is tedious to relate it to you.

Ber.
You are a franke Giuer, and you shall teach me
(For in all Goodnesse I will be your Scholler)
To imitate, though not to equall you:
Here take your Bonds againe, If you coud checke
That vntam'd Fiend, call'd Lust, why should not I,
By your Example, bridle Auarice:
He is not worthy to receiue, that knowes not how to restore.
Pray take it, you wonnot,
You wud be singuler, then looke you Sir tis canceld:
Thus from the letters I do teare the law,
As you the crime you went with from your heart,
You haue your owne againe: And I am richer
Without it, then possessing. Fare you well Sir.

Doril.
Pray stay Sir, and make me not so wretched
As leaue that vgly sinne Ingratitude
For my Companion: I may through your friendship
Thinke this life happy, to score age vpon me,
And die, with Stories of you to my children.

Ber.
And I of you wud doe the like to mine:
That shall if I can worke it, call you vnckle.

Doril.
Bernard my friend, and chamber-fellow.

Discouer himselfe
Ber.
And brother that wud be, nay must be;
Though I vndertake as bad a taske as picking of flowers.
For here's my spirit Asmody can flie
The same way againe.

Landoffe in his owne shape.
Lan,
No, I haue clipt his wings.

Ber.
Zfoote my Tutor, I am vndone.

Lan.
And bound him to a fierie chariot
For threescore yeares, and after to be throwne
Into the bottome of the burning lake,
Boyling with Pitch and Sulphure.

Ber.
Alas poore Asmody, he will be ouer coddled,

Lan.
For his audaciousnesse.

Ber.
Alas Sir, 'twas not his fault; for to say truth, I coniurde him.

Lan.
You coniurde him, into what? into a blew coate
And a beard, did you not? look you ther's your Asmody.

Ber.
Troth Sir, you haue bin to cruell with him,
You might a let him haue boyld in his liuorie,
For his heard, it was not a misse to be pluckt off,
For in time it wud a bin scalded.

Lan.
Come, you are a Nouice, did you think you could
Proceed in my owne Art, but I should know it?
I was that Asmody appear'd to you,
When you kept such a thundring, with words
That were of as much effect to call or moue
Spirits, as mountaines: But my Dorilus,
My louing Pupill, for whose good I cannot
With all the Art I haue, labour enough.

Doril.
O, your zeale Sir hath bin euer showne.

Lan.
Presume vpon me, for I do predict
There will be need of me, and of my Art
Ere it be long: And vnlesse it please
My Pupill Bernard, here to turne me off,
Ile eu'n in to my liuory againe.

Ber.
You may do as you please Sir, but if you do,
I shall forget you are my Master, and make account
I haue my seruant Asmody againe.

Lan.
Do so, and command me as you haue done,
Ile be vnto your will obedient
As your owne lymbs, and how so ere things sort,
In spight of Fortune weele haue a little sport.