University of Virginia Library

SCEN. 1.

Panareta. Ethusa.
Pan.
Sister, you know how oft you have profest
My word should be the Square of all your Actions.

Eth.
I not deny the promise, and my deeds
Shall speak as much.

Pan.
How I should hugge thy kindnesse,
If this soft temper were but settled on Thee:
And Thou as yet knew'st not the rigorous Scorn
To hate a worthy Lover.

Eth.
Such a one
Next to your self I'de cherish, but you then
Must give me leave with mine own eyes to see
And judge him worthy.

Pan.
Ah Sister! do you thus
Observe what you profest? Is my word now
The square of all your actions?

Eth.
Pardon Sister,
This is a matter of a higher Nature,
Then to be taken up on trust: In things
Of an indifferent strain I shall submit:
But on that base which props my Fate, I must
Call my own judgment unto Counsel there.

Pan.
Where is that solemn Reverence then you'l pay
To my experienc'd Discretion?
Is this the honour you bestow upon
A Judgment, to intrust it with meer Trifles?

Eth.
Then you would have me to love Theocles?

Pan.
'Tis the Ambition of my best wishes: Hee's
A man so well accomplish'd, that I should
Grow Envious, if he were once bestow'd
On any but a Sister.

Eth.
Hee's a man
Sufficient, whose Suit I'de hear with pity,
If you'l grant mine.

Pan.
Speak, and thou hast thy wish.

Eth.
Then cease to love Lysander; one of that state
That hee'l be woo'd forsooth; you must bespeak
And flatter his Affection; shortly I fear
Hee'l have you visit him and kisse his hand.

Pan.
Ah cruel Sister! do'st thou thus reward
My best of wishes for thy unhappy self,
To rob me of mine own? Th'hast giv'n a wound,
Onely Lysander can inflict a greater:
When that Name's tortur'd then I feel a rack,
My fortunes are so woven into his,
(Like Phydia's Image in the Deity)
(And hee's my God too) that what ere mishap
Strives to deface him, the same ruines me.
Not love him? prithee bid me not be Panareta,
Bid me confine the ayr within my hand,
And grasp a Thought: This were an easier task.

To them Theocles his Page.
Pag.
The onely fair of Ladies!
My Master Theocles with his humblest service
Directs this Letter to kisse your white hands.

Pan.
You mean my Sister sure.

Pag.
It is indors'd
With your name to Panareta,

(She takes the Letter.)
Eth.
The Lad speaks well, had his Neat Complement
But left some beauty too for me: Did Theocles
Teach you these manners?

Pag.
Madam within that Face
I see your Picture drawn so well, I may
Without a wrong to your divinest Feature,
Stile that the onely beauty.

Pan.

Return our thanks, tell him h'hath shewn a Skilful
Friendship.

Pag.

Madam, I'le blesse his Ears with your acceptance.

(Exe. Page.)

Pan.

I must perus't again; such good Newes gathers
Strength, and growes ith' Repetition.

(She reads.)
Eth.
See how she melts! with what delight she reads?
And dwells upon each syllable; as if
She had receiv'd a packet in one letter.
Sure it must needs be love! if Theocles
(Fool that I am, that I cann't call him mine)
But if my Theocles should bow his Flame,
And force it 'stoop unto Panareta's Love,
To what a passe then hath my Coynesse brought me?
I fear 'tis no vain guesse; perhaps he thus
Shoots his disdain at me; and he may now
Love with Revenge more then Affection.
Now Sister; how do you like his Courtship?
Is it not full, as if there dropt a heart
From his swoll'n pen?

Pan.
I like his Courtship?

Eth.
Heavens! shee's too honest to deny't,
H'hath learnt contempt from me.

Pan.
How Sister, caught?

Eth.
I am, and foolishly have caught my self;
I had not lost him, had I not bin too sure
That he was mine.

Pan.
Sister, y'ave made me glad
In this discovery, Newes almost as good
As that the Letter brought me.

Eth.
And can you then
Prize any thing as high as Theocles?
His love should be more then expression.

Pan.
Still you increase my joyes.

Eth.
Nay let it not
Be sport that I am ruin'd, because thence
You gain a fortune.

Pan.
Since 'tis gone thus far,
I hope 'tis past recal: Then you love Theocles!

Eth.
As I do health or vertue: but do not mock
At my misfortune; sure he lov'd me once.

Pan.
And does so still: if you desire a proof,
Read his own Letter.

Eth.
Thus he that executes
Holds out the Axe which cuts away our life,
And we are first kill'd through the Eyes. I'le read,
But prithee Sister, if I chance to sigh
Or wet the paper with a Tear, as if
I'de drown the sad contents, prithee at least
Bestow a pity on me, and confesse
My losse deserves this sadnesse. Now I die.
She reads.

Artemone, through a Jealousie I wrought in her, hath cast off
Lysander; my aym is; that despairing here, he may esteem
your love as it deserves—

But is it then no worse? I feel a Joy
Running through all my veins, and I conceive
That I may live still.

Pan.
Nay but read on,
There's somewhat else left that requires your notice.

Eth.
Oh is the wound behind still! I had thought
There could no Poyson follow such fair words:
But be it what it will, I'le taste it.
She reads on.

—I have my reward, if you further my suit to Ethusa.

Theocles.

I'de thought I was in heaven before: but now
I'm past the reach of Envy.

If you further my suit to Ethusa.

O what a rellish
Flow from these words? I am thine Theocles,
Thine own without a mediators help:
But prithee Sister do not thou betray
The weaknesse of my passion; let me still
Hold out, and though you know my eagernesse,
Let me come slowly on; I would yeeld
Too soon, though I have yeelded all already:
I cann't deny his suit, yet I'de be loath
To flye into his armes; I would retain
Some modesty ith' height of passion.

Pan.
As I would not desire you should wooe,
So I would wish you would not be too stiffe,
One stubbornnesse may lose us both.

Eth.
I'le not wrong
The hopes of either, since to Tyrannize
Longer o're him, were to torment my self.