 | The Island-Princess |  |
SCENE I.
Enter Pymero.Pym.
My Uncle haunts me up and down, looks Melancholy,
wondrous proof-Melancholy, sometimes
Swears, then Whistles, Starts, Cries, Groans, as he
had got the Botts: I think he has little better. And wou'd
fain speak to me; bids me Good-Morrow at Midnight, and
Good-Night when it is Noon: Has something hovers about
his Brains, that's loath to out.
Still he follows me. How he looks still, and how he
beats about like an old Dog at a dead Scent—I marry
there was a sigh to set a Ship a Sailing—These Winds
of Love and Honour blow at all ends—Now speak
an't be thy will? Good-Morrow Uncle.
Rui.
Good Morrow, Sir.
Pym.
This is a new Salute.
Sure h'as forgot me: This Pur-blind Cupid.
Rui.
My Nephew.
Pym.
Yes, Sir, if I am not chang'd.
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I wou'd fain speak with you.
Pym.
I wou'd fain have you, Sir.
Rui.
You know I love you:
Next to my self, you stand in all Employments,
Your Counsels, Cares, Assignments with me equal;
So is my study still to plant your Person,
O my Pymero!
Pym.
Sir, What hangs upon you?
What heavy weight Oppresses you? Y'ave lost
An opportunity to gain a Mistress,
Time will Cure that.
Rui.
But Oh the Reputation!
To have another get the start in Glory,
What Time cures that?
Pym.
Your Fame already has enough to live on;
It may be you fear her too, doubt your Mistress
May fall away, or be forced from you.
Rui.
O she is true, but I undone for ever.
Oh that Armusia, that new thing, that Stranger,
That Flagg stuck up to rob me of my Honour,
That Murdering Chain shot at me from my Country,
That goodly Plague, that I must Court to kill me!
Pym.
Has he not done a brave Thing?
Rui.
I confess it, Nephew, must allow it,
But that brave thing has undone me, has sunk me,
Has trod me like a Name in Sand, to nothing;
Hangs betwixt Hopes and me and threats my Ruine:
If he thus rise and blaze, farewel my Fortune.
Pym.
In Complaisance t'ye Uncle, a Pox-on-him,
And Pox-a-me for saying so, he's brave,
And like enough to hold—
Rui.
Then I must perish:
Had he set up at any rest but this,
Done any thing but what concern'd my Fame,
The everlasting losing of my Worth—
Pym.
Which yet you must retrive, I know your Drift.
Rui.
My Sword is in my hand, my Cause upon't,
And Man to Man, one Valour to another,
My Hope to his.
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Why, this is like Ruidias.
Rui.
The difference of our State flung by, forgotten,
The full opinion, each was won in Service,
Laid handsomly aside, only our Fortunes,
Our single Manhoods.
Pym.
I conceive you, Sir.
Rui.
You guess what this means.
Pym.
Yes, a Portion of Scripture, that has puzled many an
Interpreter.
Rui.
As soon as you can find him—
Pym.
That won't be long, Uncle,
And o'my Conscience, he'll be ready as quickly.
Rui.
Be sure you carry't so, that we may Fight.
Pym.
Assure your self—
Rui.
'Pray' hear me,
In some such place, where 'tmay be possible
The Princess may behold us.
Pym.
I conceive you:
Upon the Sands behind the Castle, Sir;
A place remote enough, and there are Windows
Out of her Lodging too, or I'm mistaken.
Rui.
You're in the right—if you can work this handsomly.
Pym.
Let me alone, I pray you be prepar'd
Some three hours hence.
If you have a few light Prayers that may befriend you—
Run 'em over quickly.
Rui.
Farewel, Nephew,—
And when we meet again—
[Exit.
Pym.
I shall dispatch, Sir,—I have seen this Uncle
Curry a Fellows Carcase handsomly,
And in the Head of a Troop, stand as he had been
Rooted there, dealing large Doles of Death—
Success be with him—What a Rascal was that, did
Not not see his Will drawn.
[Exit.
| The Island-Princess | |