University of Virginia Library

SCEN. 2.

To them Lysander.

—O brother hide me from that Deity
That is so much offended; I dare now
Not look on any thing that is not false
And like my self. And yet for ought I know,
There's unexpected mercy. I have heard
That Noble power does as oft appear
In lenity as just Revenge. O Sir,
If your breast harbour pity for that wretch
That could find none for you, here you may use it:
And this in all my misery shall be
The seasoning comfort that I shall supply
The object where you may imploy a vertue.

Lys.
Fairest, those knees were never meant to bow
But to the Gods that made e'm.

Art.
Sir, let this Excuse
My former stiffnesse: I have broke my vowes,
And given away my Faith, as if you first
By a recanting falshood had provok't it;
But heaven knowes you are true, and I as black
As sin can make me: yet methinks mistake
Might somewhat mollifie the Censure of
My giddy passion. No, it was enough
That I could think ought true that might impair
Your vertuous Constancy.

Lys.
I pray correct
Your erring thoughts, for I was false indeed,
And hither came for pardon.

Art.
O the vastnesse
Of faithful love! undo me not I pray
By that Immensity of Favours, which
'Twill be impossible e're to deserve.
That love should force a Man t'accuse himself!
And lest I might well think I had done basely
Thus to pretend a falshood. Come, I shall
Sooner suspect the sprightly fire should
Forget its natural wings, leave to mount upward,
And creep upon the sordid earth, then once
Your pure and elevated Thoughts could flag,
Or that your Faith could know so low an ebbe
As to think foulely. O Sir, I am anothers,
And cannot now bestow my self upon you,
Nor dis-ingage my self from all that load
Of kindnesse you have heap'd upon me, but thus— (offers to stab.


Lys.
Hold Lady, hear me out, and you will find
I'm not the man for whom you ought to die.
Know to my shame I speak it, I was false,
Nay truly false. My faith was counterfeit,
But not the breach of it: and that you may
Know so much to your self, hither I come
First t'implore a pardon, then desire
That you would render back my vowes unto me,
Forget that e're you lov'd me, or I you.
And if the least Desert of mine remain
In your fair breast, that still might prompt Affection,
Tear it away; for I have blasted all
My former merits by this Act of basenesse.

Art.
How I embrace that falshood! O it joyes me
(As now my fortune stands) more then all Faith,
All love could ever. And I would fain know
The happy reason that first mov'd you to it.

Lys.
Madam, when first I had the licence from you
To court Panareta, I was all your own,
Yet somewhat doubtful through the Jealous fears,
Chiefly through that old hate your friends bore to me,
To which being added that fair Carriage, which
Panareta alwaies studied, quite o'recame
My dallying thoughts, and turn'd them at length
To a true dotage. O she would often sit
And breathe a clowd of sighes, tell me how much
I should abuse a credulous virgin, if
I did but personate that love I made.
How if I did enjoy another Mistresse,
Her Ghost (for sure she could not well out-live it)
Would fright my soul from this my body to her:
O she would cast such powerful glances on me,
Such charming Spirits danc'd in the bright rayes
Of every view; They did draw up my soul,
And chain'd it fast to hers. Thus the fond Lark
Playing about the glittering snare does tempt
The Nets, and dares its prison, till at length
He finds his Liberty betrai'd, and all
That pomp of brightnesse, but a glorious bayt.

The.
Methinks in all the story y'have forget
The principal main businesse, my Obligement,
The Cause of all these Troubles; yet I hope
You did it not in that neglected way
As to forget it strait: why tell you not
How you may thank your Friend for these Disasters?
How faithlesse Theocles wrought all this woe?
And to Reward you, studied to betray you.

Lys.
O Friend! the rough behaviour I last used
Hath wip'd off all your score; you now stand bound
To me for nothing: nay you shall oblige me
If you will sign my pardon, for which merit
I hope I shall e're some few minutes passe,
Make and pronounce you happy in your love.

The.
Your goodnesse still o'recomes us, and your Favours
Flow in so high a strain they seem to scorn
All competition of Desert or Thanks.