University of Virginia Library

Scena XVI.

Enter Model bringing a message.
Mod.
Pardon the messenger if he relate
What he could wish were false. Morphe once was:
But after physick brought by Desperato,
Raging and crying Amorous, She died.

Fan.
Lo now, believe your Cybill next.

Ex. Fan. Fug. Mod.—
Am.
—If madness
Be now so near allied to prophecy,
I shall grow Prophet too. What angry Star
Thus frownes on all the Passions, most on me?
Ere since Prudentius dayes, we onely toil'd
In wretched mazes of confusion,
Mischeif, and discontent. I have not pass'd
One hour in those delights whereof I dream't;
And now the object of my happinesse
Is clean extinct. But how? O there's the torment!
My torment's doubled through my selfe the cause.
Curs'd be my heedlesse Love, which not content
With likely hopes, with honest wayes of wooing,
The wayes to long injoyning, headlong ran
To arts forbid. She had such Innocence
Ev'n in her body, Temper so unforc'd,
That violent mixtures tending but to Love
To her were poysons. Yet methinks, sometimes,
There's Death in Desperato's looks; perchance
He's divel in his dumps, as I in lust.
Where shall we finde the bottom of our woe,
Who but on Passion have no ground to go!
Ex. Am.