University of Virginia Library

Scene III.

Manent Charita, Lucida.
Char.
But Sister, is he gone without more words?

Lucid.
I endure all from you who onely seek
To laugh.—

Char.
Indeed—but let us speak in earnest;
Let's call him back again t'explain himself.

Lucid.
Wherefore should I desire his explanation?

Char.
Oh the sad Vertue that now stings thy mind!
Doth Montenor, in all his service to you,
Shew mean effects of an indifferent zeal?

Lucid.
If I believe his sighs, I reign in's soul.

Char.
Doubtless you are ingrateful to his flame.

Lucid.
And wherefore should his hopes by me be flatter'd?
Can he be ignorant of what's my desires?
If he hath gain'd my Brother, what needs more?

Char.
Indeed this modest answer fits our times;
It's worthy you, and I my selfe esteem it:
But 'mong our selves let's lay by all disguise;
Confess with me our mindes are easily
Led thither, whither we desire to go,
And that they need not struggle for obedience,
When as our Duty, and our Love agree.
But when that Love, which does command in chief,
Finds in that Duty that which would depress it,
It quickly cures us of that ancient errour,
Which would debarre us to dispose our hearts.
No, no, if Montenor could not have pleas'd you,
Ye would not in that choice believe a brother:
Your flames would finde a very weak support,
If they were fed but by another's order.

Lucid.
You do assault me with such cunning, that
At length you force me to confess my weakness.
I love him, and my heart before possest,
With love's perplext.

Char.
Is the great secret out?
And why should love in this our age, in us
Be weakness, and a vertue in the men?
Why should we blush at our so faultless flames?
Do we want eyes to see, or hearts to love?
I know that ancient modesty requir'd,
We should seem shie even at the name of Love.
And if a servant do pretend to court us,
We must cry out before we hear him speak:
But though w'impose a silence on these sweets,
We nothing lesse seek than obedience;
And any servant would court us but ill,
Who to talk Gazets should suppress his love.
Those kinde refusalls to hear no such language,
Are but faire invitations to say more.
In fine, we all desire that they should love us,
And often run by secret plots to meet them.

Lucid.
Gods! you know all.

Char.
More, happily, than you,
But your desires contented make less shew:
Yet since that love is ready now to fix you,
Ile gather flowers to compose your Garland.

Lucid.
If Love oblige you to compose a Garland,
He'l give it by your hands to Clarimond,
And see how full of joy he comes to take it.

Char.
And yet in love Lucida must know nothing.

Lucid.
No, I know nothing but the common rule,
(going out.)
That to two Lovers any third's a trouble.

Exit.