 | The Jealous Lovers |  |
SCEN. X.
Pægnium, Techmessa, Ballio.Pæg.
Madam, the wretched Pamphilus!
Tech.
What of him?
Pæg.
Is through your cruelty and suspicion dead.
Ball.
That news revives me.
Tech.
Haste, Techmessa then:
What dost thou here when Pamphilus is dead?
Cast off this robe of clay my soul, and flie
To overtake him, bear him company
To the Elysian groves: the journey thither
Is dark and melancholy: do not suffer him
To go alone.
Pæg.
Madam, I joy to see
With how much sorrow you receive his death.
I will restore you comfort: Pamphilus lives.
Ball.
If Pamphilus live, then Ballio's dead again.
Tech.
Do you put tricks upon me? we shall have you
On a little counterfeit sorrow, and a few drops
Of womans teares, go and perswade your master
I am deeply in love with him.
Pæg.
If you be not,
You ought in justice.
Tech.
I'le give thee a new feather
And tell me what were those three Ladies names
Your master entertain'd last night.
Pæg.
Three Ladies!
Tech.
You make it strange now.
Pæg.
Madam, by all oaths
My master bears a love so firmly constant
To you, and onely you; he talks, thinks, dreams
Of nothing but Techmessa. When he heares
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And lives on that sweet aire. Here he has sent me
(he layes down his sword, to pull out his letters.
With letters to you; which I should deliver
I know not, nor himself: for first he writes,
And when that letter likes him not, begins
A second stile, and so a third and fourth,
And thus proceeds, then reades 'um over all,
And knows not which to send: perchance tears all.
The paper was not fair enough to kisse
So white a hand, that letter was too big,
A line uneven, all excuse prevail'd,
Language, or phrase, or word, or syllable,
That he thought harsh and rough. I have heard him wish
Above all blessings heaven can bestow
(So strange a fancie has affection taught him)
That he might have a quill from Cupids wing
Dipt in the milk of Venus, to record
Your praises and his love. I have brought you here
Whole packets of affection.
Ball.
Blessed occasion!
(he steals away the sword.
Here is a conquest purchas'd without bloud.
Though strength and valour fail us, yet we see
There may a field be won by policie.
Exit.
Tech.
Go, Pægnium, tell your master I could wish
That I was his, but bid him choose another.
Tell him he has no hope e're to enjoy me,
Yet bid him not despair. I do not doubt
His constant love to me. Yet I suspect
His zeal more fervent to some other saint.
Say I receive his letters with all joy.
But will not take the pains to read a syllable.
Exit.
Pæg.
If I do not think women were got with ridling, whippe
me: Hocas, pocas, here you shall have me, and there you shall
have me. A man cannot finde out their meaning without the
sieve, and sheers. I conceive 'um now to be engendred of nothing
but the winde and the weather-cock. What? my sword gone?
Ha! Well. This same pandarly-rogue Ballio has got it; he sows
suspicions of my master here, because he cudgels him into manners.
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a devil bring forth such an Angel as my Lady Techmessa? unlesse
it were before her fall. I know all their plots, and yet they cannot
see 'um. Heaven keep me from love, and preserve my eyesight.
Go plot Enginners, plot on:
I'le work a countermine, and 'twill be brave,
An old rogue over-reach'd by a young knave.
Exit
| The Jealous Lovers | |