 | The Combat of Love and Friendship |  |
SCEN. 2.
To them, Theocles.The.
O the strange subleties of a womans love.
We must embrace our Punishment, and swear
We are rewarded when they torture us:
What Comfort dwells in that frail Sexe, whose best
Of kindnesse proves a sting? have I for this
Consum'd my heart in Passions? and through sighes
Breath'd out my Soul to find a better dwelling
Within Ethusa's breast, and yet does she
Dislike my Presence, and pretend love too?
Alas I must not visit her; Though't be death
Not to enjoy that Face, I dare not see it.
Let those unpitied Lovers turn their plaints
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Meets a perpetual frown; I envy that
Which they esteem the worst of misery:
Would I might be deny'd still; They, at least
Enjoy this Comfort, to behold the hand
That strikes, whiles 'tis my Fate to dye ith' dark.
The Tempest is then lessen'd whiles the Sun
Mingles his rayes with the unruly showres,
But in the horror of a gloomy night
The Shipwrack multiplies, and the sad stroakes
Fall double still. If I behold her face,
(That Face which hitherto hath made me live)
I then must cease to be; for that's the doom
Of her displeasure; howsoere my Plot
Back'd with successe may soon dispel these clouds.—
—What? Musing Sister? your looks seems to wear
A manly seriousnesse; all your Gestures
Should be as soft as an embrace.
Art.
I confesse
I did not dresse my look, nor put it on,
As we do use our Gorgets, by the glasse;
But if it brags no lustre sprung from joy
Of your Arrival, it belies my heart.
But where's Lysander pray y'? for sure you'l want
Part of your wellcome, whil'st that Name's forgot.
Hyp.
Urge that way Theocles, 'tis the best Physick
To a melancholy virgin to hear talk
Of one that loves her, nay some say there is
A sicknesse which that Name can onely cure,
Which the poor Doctor fain would undertake.
Art.
Stop thy lascivious tongue, and do not dare
To think the rest.—But brother, you tell me not
How fares Lysander.
The.
How I see friendship throughly in that Name?
Men talk of Pylades, and I know not what
Strange Enterprizes of rash Theseus;
But this Lysander, how he out-goes all story?
Give me a man made up of the Extractions
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Fame with her lowdest Trumpet hath proclaim'd
For Men of Loyal Breasts, and this same Man,
This Man thus fill'd with Friendship, shall yet learn
A way to love from our Lysander.
Art.
Sure
You'l strait commend him into some new God:
But I dare still wish after all this noyse,
That he were yet compleat in a firm love.
The.
That were to loose a wish; I never yet
Could tell of any that had made a choice
To fixe his love within the tender compasse
Of a fair Virgins bosome, to which he thought
The heavens themselves were poor, and would contemn
The gawdy competition of the stars,
And yet one whom a friends request
Might tempt from all these joyes, who for that Name
Durst leap from his Elizium: just such
A Miracle is our Lysander.
Art.
And is the faith you brag'd of come to this?
How all his Praises vanish! you do ill
To raise my hopes to such an height, and then
The onely Argument of his Constancy
Is, that he's false to Me: 'Tis no such miracle
Of Love since you thus prize it, to betray
A Credulous Maid.
The.
Heavens and Gods defend it!
He plyes my Suit, but no way leaves off you:
That love, which some say is begot by sight,
And born within the eye, yet does not perish
At every distance, nor yet die intomb'd
In a dark mournful wink, 'tis stronger weav'd,
And growes more knotty then to be easily broke
At each small Absence. When you see two Irons
Receive an equal vertue from the Loadstone,
How they both stirre at once, and though divided
By many envious miles, yet how they move
And dance one way still! Thus your Lysander's love
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And still is constant here, though still abroad:
Indeed he's grown unto that strength of love
Guarded with an unjealous Faith, he dares
In such a Cause be absent from your face,
And onely meet you in a Constant heart.
Hyp.
I alwaies told her thus, whil'st she reply'd
I was too young to know a Lovers heart.
Art.
Heavens know, and the Gods witnesse, I'de allow
So long an absence as might even bring
My love in question, if ought thence should rise
To further your Desires: But pardon Brother,
If I esteem th'adventure of one visit
Lesse fatal then to crosse your hopes: He might
Advance your flame, and not neglect his own.
The.
Sister, he dares not dream of a neglect.
Hyp.
Still for my faithfulnesse.
Art.
He should much wrong
The love I bear his vertues to contemn it:
But though he fling no other Scorn upon me,
'Tis one that he is absent.
The.
How I grieve,
That Love should be thus blind.
(aside.)
Art.
What? troubled Brother?
The.
Onely I thought how ill Ethusa's Face
Did suit with a disdain.
Art.
There's something more
In the quick change, you were not wont so soon
To let Lysander vanish from your Thoughts,
When hee's fixt there he, fills so great a space,
That Nothing else can enter, no not Ethusa;
Your looks inform that you unwilling hide
A truth which you are loath to utter: say,
What strange mishap dares vex your knowledge? is
Lysander safe?
The.
Alas Sister know,
'Tis one that's nearer then Lysander suffers.
Art.
What still Ethusa?
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Nay one nearer yet:
Know then 'tis your misfortune throwes these clouds
Upon my darkned Face.—And I could still
Suppresse the Cause. Faith Sister let it passe.
Art.
Nay then I will conjure you to reveal
Your Thoughts at full.
The.
I can hold out no longer.
First then (with pardon that your self hath scru'd
And wrung out the Relation which my promptnesse
Should freely offer) know that Lysander loves
Panareta; nay so as I could wish
His love as great to you: At first indeed
He did but fain Affection, and put on
Courtship, as if he thought you present still,
But won by her sweet order'd Carriage
And fair converse, he like the giddy Fly,
Long sporting with the pleasant light, at length
Embrac'd the cruel flame: He needs not strive
To vent an artificial Sigh or Tear,
He does not labour now t'expresse a groan
Or doubtful accent, which may more betray
Skill then affection; Cupid uncompell'd
Sits in his Face, as proud to conquer him,
Whose Counterfeit seem'd to upbraid his Pow'r.
This sad discovery, to my troubled thoughts
Carries an equal irksomnesse t'unfold,
As to suppresse; for thus I lose a Friend,
Who else should wrong a Sister.
Art.
Brother,
Is not the summe of all, Lysander's falshood?
Methought I heard a Thing like this: That sense
Had but that discreet faculty to erre!
The.
O this villain Falshood! That I might
Enjoy my own wish, and not murther his!
(aside.)
How I repent my Sin ere it be done!
But I must through it, and yet bring it out
This new strange way by still denying it.
No Sister hee's not false.
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What was it then
Your speech deliver'd to my trembling Ear?
The.
'Twas that Lysander was grown false: I cannot
With my best Art conceal't: Indeed hee's false.
Hyp.
What will become of me now? They'l believe
My treachery hath wrought all this, and then
Where is that Faith I bragg'd of?
Art.
Prithee Brother
Withdraw a while; heaven knowes I love thee better
Then to enjoy thy company in teares.
The.
I'le obey, and watch the progresse of his Suite:
What though Lysander yet is my true friend,
(If that can be whil'st hee's my Sisters foe)
That Title shall not draw a wrong on you,
Hold then and I already clasp Ethusa.
(Exit. The.)
Hyp.
Fair Madam—
Art.
Prithee I am not fair,
I was so when Lysander lov'd me; That
Was all my Beauty.
Hyp.
I am glad yet she will not
Hear me; she has not leisure then to chide.
Art.
And can Lysander thus forget his vowes?
And cease to love? or place his unjust flame
In a new Bosome? He can; and may perhaps
Feel a Revenge high as his Injury.
'Tis vain to shed a Tear: if he be false
He not deserves one Jewel from my eyes.
(For thus he once would flatter even my teares)
Grant me but this ye Gods, that he may feel
A cold repulse, and once more wooe my love,
I would then trample on his base Devotions,
And joy in my revenge, which onely thus
Would seem too Small that it comes after his;
And to his further Rage, I'de even wooe
A flame hid in his Enemies breast.
| The Combat of Love and Friendship | |