University of Virginia Library

Scen: ja

Olympa Sola
Olympa:
Alass wt h all the arte of my disguise
I cannot Put of woman too, my love
Wc h once I bare Lysander, hath not left me
That dye cannot be changde: my yeeld[e]inge hearte
(To apt for such impressions) hath receivde
A deeper Tincture from his oylye wordes.
False men, who (like A visor) shift yr faith;
Yet when you please to express any thinge
Inconstante, call it woman. see Lysander
I am vnchangde in all but face & Name
See her, who for thy love, hath made herselfe
Vnlovely; her, who tendered not ye grife
Of her dear Fathers loss, so she might gaine
The[e] sight of thee; since she despayres thy loue
Thou followest sure some mere attractive fire,
Whilest this my beauty as thou oft hast termde it
Lyes thus rackde vp in Embers: Perjured man!
But pardon heaven Lysander is perjurde
I would not haue him so, he was ye same
Twas I yt altered, yet I know not how;
What pretty cruell sporte Love makes it selfe
Denyeinge me what I was mistris of
Att leaste I thought so; and still bringeinge in
Ladye Facetia store of such vaine suitors
As one of them woulde make her surfeite, yett
I finde her minde inclineinge to Comastes
And he deserves it (wer he not my brother)
Whose sweet perfections noe vnluckye chance
Hath blemishd, onely her cross Fathers humor
Denyes him free access to her faire wishes:
Vnder this vaile vnknowne to him or her
I may wt h ease further what both desire
And though my selfe vnhappy, prove for them
Enter Lysander
Successfull. But see Lysander,! that such A shape
shoulde cover falshoode beinge so neere my bliss
Makes me more miserable: here vndiscovered
she wt h drawes her selfe to ye hangeings
I may take in ye accent of that tongue
In wc h once dwelt all harmonye.

Lysand:
What A fine place have I to be imployd in?
Like a master of an hospitall, amongst A tediouse
varietye of suitors wher if I shoulde picke and choose
I were not able to patch vp A compleat man, yet
Powerfull Love what servants hast thou sent on thine
Errande? and to such A one too, ye Title of whose
Perfections none of them haue the abilitye either
To conceive or com̄ende: A beautye yt Nature contrivde
vpon seriouse consideration, when others seemed to be
hudled vp in haste, who that hath eyes to choose
Woulde pitch any wher else?

Olympa:
this Aside out of Lysander heareinge
Olympas names forgott vnkinde man—
Who didst before I sullyed thus my face
Blott out my hapless memory—

Lysand:
Olde Lepidus too makes them his sporte
And me his engine by wc h he workes on them
And yet it breeds amazemente when I see
Wt h what ambitious dangerousenes these slaves
Respectedly pursue their desperate hopes
But let them on Ile vse them as my foyles
The ouglier they appeare on her pure eyes
The more I may nigratiate my selfe
Into her likeinge; besides these intercourses
Of myrth may prove Loves opportunityes
Though now I do prtend this jocular sporte
The prize I aime att is Facetias Love
And I must win̄ that or I loose my self

Olympa
And then am I lost too

he[[illeg.]] hears her
Lysander:
But whats that whispers? somewhat did suggeste
These are but custimary vowes as once
I made vnto Olympa

Olympa.
He named me, Those lipps make good [their musicke still]
Theyr musique still

Lysand:
I did her wronge wt h my beguileinge tongue
And wrought her to A hope, from wc h to fall
Would breake ye stoutest harte (though twer of stone)
But sure hers was of A softer temper
Her bodye's now incircled in cold earth
And ther she findes stones kinder—
Soft conscience Jades me, lett me recollecte
Why should her name thus overcaste my hopes
Like A dull cloude wc h prsently defeates
The goodly promises of A faire morne?
Nere lett my fancye to my memory
Againe prsente her, but in some ouglye shape
To affright her thence againe: when I'de express
Contemptt, & scorne, bee't in Olympas name.
I do deprive my selfe by this longe stay
Facetias luster must cleare vp ye day.
Exit Lys

Olympa
False man! as blacke in soule as I in face.
Exit Ol.