 | The Mulberry-Garden |  |
SCENE I.
Enter Eugenio, and Philander.Eug.
Dear friend, I am in doubt whether I shall
This scape, a blessing, or misfortune, call;
Since now I live to hear, Althea must
Be to her Duty, or to me unjust.
Ye Powers that were so kind, my life to spare,
Oh why was not my Love as much your care?
You sav'd my life, that I might live to feel
Despair can wound as mortally as Steel.
My cause till now my antidote has been,
'Gainst all the mischief it cou'd plunge me in;
The strictest Prison, I have freedom thought,
And been on Scaffolds without terrour brought.
But these few words (Althea is a Bride)
More wound my Soul, than can the world beside.
Phil.
Why does Eugenio Fancies entertain,
That are Althea's wrongs, and his own pain?
Like Boys, who in the dark, strange shapes create
In their own brain, themselves to tremble at:
Despair's the portion of the damn'd below,
And in a generous mind shou'd never grow;
Trust to Althea's virtue, trust her love,
And you will safe in either of 'um prove.
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But sure no friend cou'd so my quiet hate,
As this Report, of nothing, to create.
Phil.
Perhaps her Father does no less intend,
And she, a while, her Answer may suspend.
Not that her vertue doubts, what it shall do,
But that she may gain time to speak with you:
Every black Cloud does not with Thunder swell,
Nor every symptom a Disease foretell.
Some storms blow over; though thy Fate appear
Thus gloomy now, anon it may be clear.
Eug.
It may, but who can unconcerned be,
A Tempest heard, and his whole wealth at Sea?
I with more ease all other harms cou'd bear,
Than of Althea's loss but simply hear.
Phil.
All that we hear, we are not to believe.
Eug.
Our hopes do oftner, than our fears deceive.
Phil.
The advantage man o're Beasts in Reason gets
He pays with interest in fond conceits;
They cannot fear misfortune till it fall,
And when 'tis gone remember't not at all:
But man 'gainst his own Rest in Battel plac'd,
Feels mischiefs e're they come, and when they're past.
The smiles of Fortune you so false have found,
Methinks, you shou'd not mind her when she frown'd:
How wou'd Althea's Vertues grieve to find
Themselves suspected in Eugenio's mind!
Like Princes murder'd on the Royal Throne,
Where 'till that minute they had brightest shone.
Eug.
Sure my Althea cannot disapprove
These fears that spring but from excess of love.
Of love and courage none too much can share.
Phil.
But 'tis their use, that does their worth declare:
Courage, when brutal, ceases to be brave,
And love, grown jealous, can no merit have.
Eug.
A higher mark of love there cannot be,
We doubt no Lover, whom we jealous see.
Phil.
So Fevers are of life sure proofs we know,
And yet our lives they often overthrow;
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And fears, although remov'd, our loves impair:
True love, like health, should no disorder know.
Eug.
But who, alas! such love, or health can show?
Our passions, like our selves, are fram'd to dye,
And have still something they must perish by;
We none (brave friend) for being hapless blame,
But all allow, 'tis baseness to be tame;
He that has rais'd this Tempest in my mind,
Shall in the Billows his own ruine find;
I'le fight him instantly, and make him know,
I am not more his Rival than his Foe.
Phil.
Thy life, alas (dear friend)'s no longer thine,
Thou hast engag'd it in a brave design:
Thy bleeding Country, and thy Princes Right,
Are th'only Quarrels that thy Sword shou'd fight,
If you into the Tyrant's hands shou'd fall,
'Twou'd pull a sudden ruine on us all.
Which, if you stir, we may have cause to fear,
Since Tyrants Eyes and Hands are every where.
Eug.
Now thou hast touch'd me in the tendrest part,
Though Love possess, Honour must rule my heart;
My Nation's Fate's too great a Sacrifice
For me to make, though to Althea's Eyes;
No, I am calm'd, and happy am to have
A friend so full of temper when I rave,
And hope the gods, whilst I my own neglect,
To fight their Quarrel, will my Love protect.
[Exeunt.
| The Mulberry-Garden | |