 | The Surprisal |  |
SCENE VIII.
Enter Cialto solus.Cial.
Love's constant diet is not hope, I see;
For mine wou'd then be starv'd; but it is still alive,
And strangely on despair knows how to thrive.
Yet think, Cialto, how preposterous 'tis
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In thee now to wish.
But though the Sun must at a distance shine,
It would beget an horror in mankind,
Shou'd they but fear he wou'd for ever set.
Though in this place she rises a degree
Up towards Heaven, yet she sets to me.
Enter Villerotto, Montalto, and two Companions, with their hands on their Swords.
Ha! who are these, whose dismal looks
Are seconded by their postures!—
Which is your way, Gentlemen?
You stare as if you had lost it.
Vill.
No, we know our way, 'tis to thy heart,
And thus we force it.
Cial.
'Twill be hard to find.
As they fight, enter Miranzo in his Friars Habit; he snatches a Sword from one of them, and by his help the Assailants are beat off.
Mir.
What horrid Act is this! How, Cialto!
Vill.
Villains, make up; sure I have sped him.
Cial.
So bold, Sir?
Vill.
Bold as your self, Sir.—It is in vain;
Hell take these Rascals.
Mir.
What caus'd this foul play, Sir?
Cial.
Holy Sir, you know as much as I.
Mir.
How do you feel your self?
Cial.
Hurt, Sir; but not to any danger, as I guess;
Yet I bleed: Your timely aid
Makes my life yours; I shou'd not have expected
Such a relief from any in your Habit.
Mir.
How, Cialto, do you not know me?—not yet?
Look again; sure if you lov'd me
There's no disguise cou'd hide Miranzo from you.
Cial.
How, Miranzo! O, my Friend, what means this Habit?
Mir.
You bleed; I dare not spend the time to tell you
All my story; I doubt here was foul play.
One of these Villains I know to be Brancadoro's Servant:
But whither were you going?
Cial.
To the Nunnery; but prethee satisfie my longing,
What's to be done in this disguise?
Mir.
A very pious work, I can assure you;—why,—
I am going to confess my Mistress.
Cial.
Thy Mistress!
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You may remember my Uncle was in a fair way
To marriage.
Cial.
Why, is he not married?
Mir.
No.
Cial.
How so?
Mir.
I frighted his Mistress away, and in this Nunnery
She has taken Sanctuary; her I am going to confess;
I should be abominably out of countenance—
Cial.
At what, man?
Mir.
Why, if she shou'd confess, amongst her sins,
That she lov'd me, for one.
Cial.
You wou'd absolve her, wou'd you not?
Mir.
Yes, and her pennance shou'd be to continue in her Sin;
But we trifle here, forgetting thy condition.
Cial.
Pish, I scarce feel my hurts.
Mir.
Come, our Adventures lie together; lean on me;
Nay, yet more; counterfeit enough, 'twill move the more
Pity; thy Wounds and my Habit will without doubt
Open these charitable Gates.
[They knock.
A Nun appears.
Nun.
What is your business, Father?
Mir.
I am sent from Father Vincentio, unto the Lady Emilia.
Nun.
Here's no such person.
Mir.
How! 'tis not the Custom of holy places to deny truths.
Nun.
Nor is it now practis'd.
Mir.
Why her Father sent away Father Vincentio,
Immediately to dispatch some holy man,
To reconcile her troubled Spirit,
Which caus'd her to fly hither.
Nun.
She came not to this place.
Mir.
Nor Samira, Castruccio's Niece?
Nun.
By all that's holy, neither.
Mir.
I dare not but believe you,
Pardon me for pressing you so far.
Nun.
All Peace dwell with you.
[Exit Nun.
Cial.
How, not here! did you not mistake, Miranzo?
And have forgot, and sent her to some other place?
Mir.
I am amaz'd!
Cial.
Do not wonder; you cannot lose your Sister, sure.
Mir.
Not lose her!
Cial.
I hope so; for 'tis probable she knows your mind.
Mir.
I scarce understand yours, nor do you know your own;
If you do, 'twill be ingenious to speak it plainer.
Cial.
If I shou'd be jealous, or dislike any thing,
'Twou'd seem ridiculous; such humors
Are only fit for those that either hope,
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I wish your Sister happy.
[He offers to go out.
Mir.
Stay;—consider this is the second time
That you have started into mean suspitions:
You will repent.
Cial.
I do repent that I pursu'd your Sister
With a passion that hath out-liv'd all my prosperity,
As if a Ghost shou'd love; for 'tis not I,
But 'tis Cialto's shadow that you gaze on.
Mir.
'Tis indeed his shade, or somthing less,
That bears no shape of him, nor of his mind.
Cial.
I know it but too well;—yet perhaps
You may have so much friendship left, at my request,
To give it out that I am dead.
Mir.
What's your design in that report?
Cial.
You will not do it then.
Mir.
I wou'd know why.
Cial.
Nay then.
Mir.
Come, your humour shall have its course,
I'le do't without a question:
But why shou'd I report that you are dead?
Cial.
You said you wou'd not ask me; nor need
You fear to give out an untruth; it may be shortly so:
In the mean time I must disguise my self,
As from henceforward I shall every day
Resemble less and less what once I was.
Things running to decay grow every moment
More unlike themselves; and so do I.
That at the last the name of Friend
Will not fit you or me; for I shall be decay'd,
Never to be repair'd again; and we must part
Still more and more, till at the last our distance
Will grow so great that none will guess
We ever were united: So Lines
Both from one Centre drawn, still more and more divide,
Till for the World at last they grow too wide.
[Exit.
Mir.
I forgive thee, poor Cialto; for I am sensible
What a distraction governs thee, by the confusion
That throws my thoughts into as much disorder;
For I have rais'd a War where Peace still flourish'd,
In the calm Empire of Emilia's breast;
And she is fled from me back to her peace.
—Yet—
[He studies.
What is the meaning that my Sister fails?
I know not what to think; I stand like one has
Lost his way, and no man near him to enquire it of.
Yet there's a Providence above that knows
The roads which ill men tread, and can direct
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In the wide Ocean, where no paths are,
Look up, and leave their Conduct to a Star.
[Exit.
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