ACTUS, 1. SCENA, 1.

NOble Leontius, once more y'are kindely welcome to Missena. The many civilities and curtesies I receiv'd from you at Argos, obliges me to all the fair offices and services I can do you here.

Gentle Anthenor, all I cod do to oblige a person of your worth, was abundantly rewarded in the doing it, and if you'd oblige me speak no more of it: let's talk of somewhat else. — We hear Cleander your noble General in the Attique War, with victory leading him, and fortune following him, goes on like lightning consuming all before him, [Page 2] and 'tis much wondred that imployment, was not rather conferr'd upon the Prince, who wants nor years, nor experience in the wars, to make him fit for action; but necessity of state (it seems) requir'd an older, and more experienc't Souldier.

Betwixt you and I I'le tell you, those who not onely look upon the outside of Princes actions, but boldly pry into their insides too, say, t'was not so much necessity of state that sent the brave Cleander to the wars, as more to facilitate the Dukes access unto his Lady the admir'd Erminia—. But how do's your fair Princess Cyrena? that we may freely talk of; t'was our hope the Prince at's being at Argos shud have married her, but the destinies of marriage were not pleas'd it seems to make us so happy.

It was our hopes too, and we indeed wondred as much as you he shud so suddenly leave her, but much more, she shud so suddenly after leave her countrey, since when none knows, nor can imagine, what's become of her.

You amaze me with your news!

Mean time whilst others several wayes address themselves in search of her, I'm come to Missena here, [Page 3] well knowing their former loves and the attraction of mutual hearts, when once th'ar toucht with the adamant of love

Alas, I fear you'l hardly finde so much as her memory with him now, who onely mindes the fair Erminia, about whose palace restlesly day and night like some pale ghost he wanders, carefully seeking opportunity of seeing her, whilst she as carefully avoids his sight.

This then made him it seems with so little difficulty quit his place abroad to Cleander, in hope to enjoy his place at home.—And now I see among the many possibility of things, ne'r were, nor are, nor e're are like to be; we well may reckon Lovers constancy.

SCENA. 2.

But what Youth's this, so fair and lovely, as curious Nature doubtful which sex to make, at last, ith' framing him seems to have made one, who of either all perfections had.

Oh! 'tis Aurindo the Princes page, much lov'd and favour'd by him, but much more by the Dutchess, who to avoid the Dukes jealousie [Page 4] preferr'd him to the Prince.

He muses on somewhat, and there is a solemn sadness in his face, excellently becomes him.

He is alwayes sad and musing, what ere's the matter: but I must leave you, and beseech you whilst you make your residence here, I may have honour to serve you.

You too much honour your servant, Sir.

Now I perceive 'tis not the change of place but change of minde, brings lovers rest, else 'tis but just like sickmens turning them in their beds, who sinde rest no where, 'cause they carry still their sicknesses and unrest along with them.

Sure I shud know that face.

Leontius! I must hide me from him, and avoid his sight as I'd avoid my sears.

'Tis she I know for certain now by her care not to be known:—Hark you fair Youth, a word with you I pray.

With me Sir! pardon me, I know you not.

It rather besits me ask your pardon for knowing you. But fear not, I shall call you Aurindo still, or whatsoever name in publick you please to be known by, so you'l give me leave in private to know you for my Princess.

Leontius though you might well perceive I desir'd not to be known, and therefore t'was a bold curiosity; yet since I'm well assur'd you did it with no undutiful intent, I pardon you. But I command you let this secret pass no further, neither enquire the reason of my disguise. Whilst I am here (which I hope shall not be long) in private you may know me; but in publick I charge you take no notice of me, neither be seen with me lest you discover me; for your court eyes are piercing ones, and there are many spies,—and hark I hear some coming, go, begon and leave me.

SCENA, 3.

What is't onely she! this is Althea Erminia's woman, who I know not for what sins of mine, unless for loving too much, is fearfully in love with me; deliver me from her, for love in aged veins, as fire in dry timber, burns always most terribly. I'd fain avoid her, she persecutes me worse then frosts do flowers, they blast, or Ivy, trees, they kill, with their embraces!

Gentle Aurindo! [Page 6] happily met, 'tis so long since I saw you last I might well expect the courtesie of a salute from you.

Oh—I were discourteous else: good Althea I'm glad to see you well.

What no more! and that so coldly too.

What wod you have? I know no other salutes.

You are not so ignorant as you'd seem, I'm sure, to know no better what salutes belongs to a Gentlewoman.

You would not have me make you a curtsy wod you? that's your womans salute, for mens I know no other.

Pitty his ignorance; I'le teach you if you know not; sie, where have you been bred I wonder! y'are so bashful! I must imbolden you: this bashfulness in you, shews worse then impudence in woman; how nice and coy he is? t'will cost me more pains and labour I fear to train him up to womens businesses, then to break a wilde unruly Colt unto the mannage: come, come, pray sit down.

Pardon me, I'm in haste and cannot stay.

Always in haste! but tarry a little and Ile tell you all my Ladies secrets.

I'm not curious.

Look you what's here—nor liquorish neither? h'as nothing of the Page in him.

Pray let me go, you have not seen my Lord the Prince?

Yes but I have though.

And where I pray?

Where you'r not like to see him, let that suffice.

Nay, if you can tell me no more news of him, I must go seek out those that can, and so farewell.

Gone? well, I pitty him he's such a backward thing, and pitty the Prince who's as forward on tother side; and one of these sighing lovers who sigh & sigh like dry pumps, or broken-winded bellows, for their Mistresses; and to hear them, you would never wonder at Lapland witches selling winds so cheap, and imbrakt (as he is) in my Lady love; I've sold him as much as comes to a little hope, send him a good voyage of it—but see my Lady, pray heaven my plot take, I've venter'd hard to give the Prince entrance, and opportunity to speak with her.

SCENA, 4.

Althea are all the doors shut?

They are Madam.

And have you given order they let none enter?

I have.

'Tis well. So should wives live, honourable wives, solitary & retir'd when their husbands are away, always apprehending what will the people say; for 'tis not now with women as t'was ith' dayes of Innocence, when none imagin'd harm, 'cause none did any; but now if we admit mens visits, they presently speak ill of it; if womens ill too, ill of every thing: & though publick rumor be but a breath 'tis true, yet fame and honour is so pure a thing, as like christal mirrors 'tis blemisht with every breath, and more pure, more subject to blemishing.

The more's the pitty.

Then if they stir abroad, the world's so foul and durty, how nicely one must go, and step by step pick out their way, not to defile their Ermine purity?

Lo there? and I go dash, dash, thorow thick and thin. [Page 9] that's my way now.

Besides, how softly and warily must they tread, not to awaken rumour and calumny, which once fastning on our fames and honours, oh how they tear them with their poisonous teeth?

What a terrible bandog do's she make of it which other Ladies play with, as familiarly as with their little Shocks or Bononi [...] Dogs?

In fine, this fame's a hard lesson, and one must study it well.—

Faith 'tis so hard as I despair

ever to learn it. I must put her out of this study, or she's a lost woman. And why this retirement and solitude, Madam? most wives have never better dayes, then in absence of their husbands. What's a husband but a man? and there are men enough in the world besides.

Is the wench mad?

No, but we shud think that woman so shud pine away, and starve her self in her husbands absence; & this is just your case: uds bodykins before I'd torment my self so for want of a husband, I'd have twenty so I would.

Peace Althea, peace for shame, and cease thy idle talk.

Pardon me, Madam, I am left in charge [Page 10] of your health, and must speak.

Speak modestly then, for I am left in charge of my honour too, and must do that, it obliges me to do: nor shall Cleander purchase more honor abroad, then Erminia shall at home.

That man never gets honour (nor woman that's never tried: what made Penelope (neither) so famous (I pray) in her husbands absence, but her entertaining so many Gallants as she did? there was a valiant woman now. Let them come as many as they wod, she fear'd them not, she knew she cod deal with them all. And you to lock up your self (a this manner) for fear of them! there's wise valour indeed!

As though there were not as much valour, in Passive Fortitude, and holding out a siege, against the enemy, as in the Active one, of fighting them in the field. The one is Cleander's honour, the other shall be mine. In either we'l declare our selves invincible.

I grant you a mans honour chiefly consists in sighting, and a womans in defending her chastity; but there's discretion in all things; a man may fight and fight, and yet be counted a quarrelsom Coxcomb for his pains: [Page 11] and a woman proud and peevish, in defending her chastity: give me a fair condition'd man or woman 'long as you live; & one, that understands reason. I cannot blame young maids to have always for burthen of their song, a husband, a husband, for they never tryed, and therefore may long perhaps; but for married wives to be alwayes in that tone, and crying out for their husbands, like fools and children for their baubles, shews a kinde of incontinence, and insatiate desire in them.

Cleander was my first love, & shall be the last and onely one I'le ever have.

That shews your ignorance now; for as that man shud never be a great scholar who never red but in onebook, so shud she never be a wise woman, who never knew but one man. Variety is good in every thing; and use in that, as in all things else makes perfectness.

Well Althea, I know you say this by way of argument now, and onely to try your wit; but take heed, 'tis dangerous disputing against known verities; and Atheisme in Religion, Rebellion in States, and dissolution [Page 12] in life and manners, had all their rise at first from knowing the best, and arguing for the worst.

Well then, since you will needs be so far out of fashion of other wives, to remember your husband in's absence; how can you better do't then by recommending him in your Orasons to the Gods? and my Lord Cleander being now expos'd to the dangerous chance of war, towhom can you better recommend him, then to the God of war?

Now thou advisest well.

SCENA, 5.

I do.

Prodigious! the Statue speaks!

'Tis you, fairest, have animated it.

A good beginning, if it hold on as well.

Cold horror seizes me! and I'm become by wondrous metamorphose, of living, a dead statue, as that of dead's become a living one.—And see it moves too!

'Tis your beauty, fairest, has given me life and motion; and if in the cold veins of frozen marble t'has the vertuous force to inspire and infuse such spirit and vital heat, imagine in my bosom what it must needs beget.

Ha! my Lord the Prince!

The Prince your servant, dearest, for you metamorphos'd into statue thus, for you, thus chang'd into my self again.

Stay Madam, whither go you? he will not hurt you.

Gods and my better Angels defend me! [Page 14] how came you here?

Your powerfull charmes, sweetest, did bring me hither.

That's well answer'd, I was afraid he would have said t'was I

And what wod you here?

Onely that you would please to hear me speak.

Though I might well deny you, coming as you do, yet on condition you speak nothing but what is honourable, nothing but what besits both you to say, and me to hear, I am content.

Shame on this Honour, I'm afear'd he'l hardly speed.

What can be more honorable? or how can I honour you more? then to come here with no less devotion, then to the Temple of the Immortal Gods, to offer my vows and orasons at your shrine.

That's an Idolatry I cannot admit without a crime, an honour too too great and too divine for me.

To com to that which is more humane then, I come to beg your help for one that's sick, your pitty for a miserable wretch, burns, languishes, and consumes away, for love of you.

Nay, if you talk [Page 15] of love once, I'm gone.

And if you go I dye:—of what shud I talk but of love to you? who are all lovely? Cruel as you are, can ye behold my sufferings and never pitty me! shud Heaven be so pittiless, alwayes to look upon the Earth with cruel Canicular eyes, we soon shud see all burn, languish, and consume like me.

You call me cruel, and you your self are far more cruel to your self then I; for what remedy for one, will needs be sick? or what means to quench their fires will needs Nero-like, be their own incendaries? But now, to let you see I'm not so pittiless as you imagine me, If't be my sight occasions your malady, and inflames you so, I'le instantly be gon and leave you.

Ah do not, do not go; that were a remedy worse then the disease. Think not, think not excellents of your sex to quench the fire y'ave kindled in my breast by taking away the Torch that kindled it; that were to mock my flame and me. No, no, your Eyes have double vertue, to wound and cure me too.

'Tis vice not vertue to kindle unlawful fires. Know Sir, I am anothers: and as t'were crime [Page 16] in me to give away what's none of mine, so 'tis no less in you to covet what's none of yours.

'Tis crime in Cleander rather to appropriate to himself an universal good, and injustice in you to consent unto th' impoverishing the world to enrich Cleander's bed.

And you would steal me from him. Is this noble? this Prince-like? do you not see one may as wel bereave you of your principality.

I may taste the fruit and yet not be proprietary of the Tree.

Without theft you cannot, unless the owner will; and I'm so absolutely Cleanders, he cannot alienate me though he wod, nor relinquish his right of me.

O Madam, Madam!

Ha! what's the matter?

My Lord the Duke.

What shall we do then? My Lord, you see what dishonour y'are like to bring upon my house and me, if you be seen here.

To your disguize my Lord; be a statue agen, and all will be well: nay quickly, quickly, so.

SCENA, 6.

What's here? silence; where Fame's loudest tongue proclaims all Excellency? and solitude, where she is, who with fames of her excellence fills all the world? leave, leave this sadnes Madam: I come to bring you joyful news. Cleander your noble husband has finished the wars, and onely attends dispatch of a few affairs, to return and bring us peace, and you the joy and happiness of seeing him.

Your Highness too much honours your humblest servant, to be messenger of this your self. Propitious heaven has heard my prayers for the publique safety then I see, if Cleander but return with victory.

And I hope You'l have some care of my private safety too, fair cruel Mistress, and not suffer me to perish here at home, whilst Cleander so nobly abroad, preserves us all from perishing.

Can you remember that my Lord, and be so unjust and ungrateful to him, to seek to dishonour him, who honours you so much; [Page 18] and tempt me to so vilde ingratitude?

Dishonor is but the blasting of publick breath let us be private onely in what we do, and there's no fear of that.

Whilst there is heaven and conscience, there' no privacy for sin.

there is no greater sin then uncharitablenes and want of love, and of that y'are highly guilty Erminia. Think on't, and though it be Empire to be beautiful, yet Majesty and Beauty share Empire equally betwixt them, and remember I'm your Prince.

I do my Lord, and wod your Highness did but remember't too, and the mighty obligation Princes have to be good & vertuous; who are to give example of goodness, and vertue unto all. Princes are publick fountains, from whose maners all others are deriv'd; & if they be infected once, a general infection necessarily follows:—and is this the example you give the Prince your Sonne?

Pho! he sees it not, and hears not of it.

But statues, have ears, and eyes.

Will she discover me?

What will become of this? I must finde out some means to send him hence, or he'l mar all.

Come, now we are alone, [Page 19] I must tell you, modesty's a habit Ladies wear in publick, & it becomes them well: but in private they alwayes lay't aside, & so shud you. And if you'd know the difference 'twixt the modest and immodest, 'tis onely this; t'one puts off their modesties with their clothes, t'other before, that's all.

I'le tell you my Lord another difference yet, the modest stop their ears 'gainst such immodest purposes as these, and can't endure to be where they are spoke.

Stay, you will not leave me, I hope.

I hope you will not force me? shud you offer it, the very statues here (I'm sure) wod stand up in my defence.

Ha!

And see the God of War, in just resentment of the injury you offer to the best of Warriors, begins to stir in it.

Oh, Madam, Madam!

What news!

My Lords' return'd.

Is't possible?

How! without my privity, and unknown it cannot be.

Beseech you my Lord be gon. to me Cleander loves me more then his life I know, [Page 20] but his honour more then me. Imagine then what storms and tempests the clouds of jealousie to see you here must raise in his noble minde.

I'm so confounded I know not what to say, nor what to do.

So, let him go to's Duchess to cure his love-sick fever; she's yong & handsom and having so good remedy at home, what needs he seek abroad? But for the Prince, the poor Prince, who's wholly unprovided, in truth t'were charity to help him.

Well remember'd help, help him away before my Lord comes, by any means.

There's no fear of that: his coming was onely a story feign'd by me to send the Duke away.

Nothing else?

Excellent Wench, then I may be my self again.

Hark, what noise is this! clashing of weapons? louder and louder still? there is some fighting. Althea shut the doors and call up all our servants.

What? hoa, Clinias, Cleobulo.

VVhat shud this be? the noise comes from the Garden door where I commanded my followers to attend me, and let none enter, but make good that passage [Page 21] till my return. I'le out and see what 'tis.

SCENA, 7.

O Clinias! run, run.

VVhat to do?

No matter for that: run, run I say,

But whither?

More interrogations! no matter for that neither; run, run, as you will answer it.

Hurry, hurry, hurry, these fellows think no business can be done without noise and bustle; and I must make a noise and bustle too, They'l think I'm idle else. Whoo, whoo, whoo.

Come come what haste you make now? and all the house is in an uproar.

Therefore I make no more haste, I do not love these uproars and hurly-burlies, I; but what's the matter can you tell?

Nay hang me if I know, or much care either; onely if't be any fighting matter, [Page 22] fight who's list for me, I have no minde unto't.

Faith nor I neither; wherefore and't sayst the word, let's to the cellar, for that's a Sanctuary; & for reverence of god Bacchus I hope they will respect it accordingly.

Content, but let's make haste then, for I hear some coming.

SCENA 8.

That sure was the Duke who first went hence, but who those other were, denyed us passage; or he who last came out disguis'd, and so fiercely assaulted us, I do not know.

But I had known, or searcht his heart for it, had they not rescued him. and is this the so renown'd Ermenia? for solitude, in my absence! she sate like solitary Turtle in absence of its mate: no Anchoress more inclos'd, no Recluse more retir'd! to whom there's more resort, [Page 23] then ever was to Corinth in ancient time, when Thais and Phrine were in their prime, those famous prostitutes; prostituting her Fame and honour, if not her self.—Thanks to my disguize for this discovery, in which I thought to have ta'n her by surprize to our greater joy; but now to my greater grief I'm more surpriz'd my self.

Indeed 'tis passing strange.

But from the witness of these eyes of mine I might not have believ'd it. Why this is right Courtesan like: Bravo's dispos'd at door to let in Customers, keep their pleasure free and undisturb'd; the door's open to all, onely debar'd to me, her Husband.

Nay now you go too far with your suspitions.

I'le go farther yet, none knows of my arrival but onely you; you shall conceal me, and present me to her as a present sent from me in some disguise, may gain me not onely access into the house, but into her bosome too.

Had you not better discover you presently, I do not like this seeking that we shud be loath to finde, and hunting with our own curiosities, but our own disquiets.

Our quiets rather, for so knowing for certain what now I but suspect, my mind will be at rest, [Page 24] imagine else how miserable I shud be, to have the mariage bed poyson'd with jealousie, and all its sweets imbitter'd with the thought that she is false? no, I like not this gentle handling wounds, which till th'are throughly searcht, can never be throughly cur'd: I am resolv'd to try. What e're may chance, of all evils the worst is ignorance.

Pray Heavens you find not jealousie a worser yet, for ignorance though't be a dull disease, yet 'tis not painful; 'tis a Lethargy of minde, benums us so, as though w'are sick, we know not how sick we are: but jealousie like the Wolf, or Vipers brood knaws and tears out their very bowels, who breed it, and give it food.

'Tis not to be jealous, but free from jea­lousie I undertake this tryal, and to take my self off the painful rack of doubt.

They make themselves more miserable then they were, who fall from what they doubt to what they fear

Dispute it no more, I am resolv'd to try her; and as I finde her faith and Loyalty, away she goes, or else my Jealousie.

SCENA, I.

FIe on these men, let never woman trust them more, for my sake, for they all are false, as is this Prince, this most perfidious Prince, and all glory in deceiving them, as he, false as he is, glories in deceiving me. What a lost thing am I? without a name and being; neither what I was, nor what I am, Cyrena nor Aurindo: my very thoughts are lost too ith' Labyrinth of my self with thinking on it.—Here by this fountain side I'le lay me down and try whe'r I can sleep. if wearied slaves whose bodies are opprest with heavy burthens, would be glad to rest; much more wod lovers, whose minds bear about a heavier weight within, then they without.

SCENA, 2.

There there he sleeps, and there do's take [Page 26] his rest, for whom I restlesly do wake; Such was Narcissus, onely this more wise, not to behold himself in mirrour of that liquid Christal Fountain, shuts his eyes. Sleep, sleep fair youth, for so, I do not see those murdering eyes, that kil me with their sight yet wake, wake too, for whilst you sleep you take from me the delight I have in seeing them, and your repose is my tormenting; but that which most of all torments me, is the strife betwixt desire and shame to let him know my love, like struggling twins tearing the womb that bears them: nor do I know yet whether's the greater pain, either to lose my love, or lose my shame,—I must finde out some way to secure both. Aurindo, Aurindo.

Ha! who calls?

'Tis I.

The Dutchess! your pleasure Madam?

Look in that same Fountain, see if thou canst finde the portrait there of one I dearly love.

I see nothing Madam.

Thou canst not be so blinde; or as thou resemblest Cupid the god of Love in all things else, thou art ambitious perhaps to resemble him in blindness too; look look well, I see it hither to.

I see nothing but my self.

And is that nothing Fool? I must come down my self I see, or thou wilt never finde it.

Now I know what portrait, 'tis she means, but 'tis not fit she know it, to save her shame; from which if you but take away restraint of modesty once, all other restraints are vain: is there no end? no mean of thy persecution love? but I must be thus persecuted both actively and passively, thy Quiver and Arrows both?

SCENA, 3.

Now have you found it yet?

No Madam, yet I have sought and sought.

well, you may cease your search, no matter for the portrait, now the original is so nigh.

Where is't? I see't not.

No! run presently to my apartment, fetch my mirrour here, and I'le convince thee to thy face thou dost.

How crafty and cunning she's, to conceal her love, and to declare it too?

Yet you may stay too, I'le be that glass this once, [Page 28] Look in mine eyes, and thou shalt finde it there; look in my face, see if I do not blush.

Madam I see no other blushes there, but such as Aurora, such as the blushing Rose, or Beauty's self wo'd wear.

'Tis very good, I am glad you are so courtly yet.—Ay me! what can be secret in a Lover, when their own blushes, their own loves discover? learn learn Aurindo, if yet thou dost not know, when ever thou hear'st one sighing so, or seest them blush, 'tis onely for Love.

What's that? nothing but affected ignorance can secure me.

Nay, if thou knowst not, thou canst not imagine how delicious a thing it is to love, and be belov'd; nor yet how great a pain it is to love, and not be lov'd again.

I know it alas! but too too well unto my grief. How she goes driving me

farther and farther still into the toyles will inextricably intangle us both, and how to avoid it I do not know.

SCENA, 4.

Ha!

Madam my Lord the Duke.

He here!

Never was poor condemned wretch awaiting every hour his execution, more glad of his reprieve, then I am now of mine.

That he shud come when I'd half past the shame, which now is wholly to begin again?—He looks as he were jealous too, to see us here together.

I like not this privacy, but the liberty of reprehension's lost, when we our selves are guilty once, of that we'd reprehend in others.

My Lord I know not whether I shu'd more wonder or rejoyce, to see you return'd so soon; you said you went a hunting, and what sudden accident has made you leave the Chase so soon?

Nothing, nothing,

onely I cod finde no Game.

'Tis true, and I'm [Page 30] glad you were frustrated as well as I.

I must dissemble O my dearest delight of my delight, joy of my joy, how do I love your sight? how jealous? how fearful I am of every thing? the ground's too hard (me thinks) you tread upon, the air not soft enough you breathe; and as oft as any one looks on you, me thinks they usurp a right and priviledge belongs to me alone,—I mean thee Aurindo.

This is dissembling, and I must dissemble too;

and I my dearest when th'art absent dye, to think what happiness, what felicity they enjoy, enjoy thy presence; and what delight th'are depriv'd of, are depriv'd of thy sight.

He means Erminia I'm sure.

Hei day! here's brave courtship now; where shall you finde a married couple, and married so long too, so kind and complemental? this in a Gallant to his Mistris, wod shew handsomly now; but in a husband to his wife, looks as ridiculously as to complement with ones self.

I, but there's more in it then so; 'tis all dissembling, [Page 31] rank dissembling, not onely pieces it out with the Fox's tail, but is all Fox, and stinks; you may see it plain, for dissimulation whilst 'tis solicitous to do enough, most commonly over do's; and through its care to conceal its self, but discovers it self the more.

Pray who was this Duchess before he married her?

Why, a Lady he married in second nuptials onely for her beauty, the frailer part of woman. and that which men are soonest cloy'd with, which yet she cunningly seasons so, she keeps him alwayes in fresh appetite; and there's nothing but my dearest, and my dearest with them.

See, see, how the Ladies slock about the Page?

I, this yong and handsom is a bait catches women as fast as nux vomica do's crows, and intoxicates them much alike too. The modester sort of them, use men as they do Lions, play with them when they are young, but grown old once, th'are afeard of them: and if the Page be modest too, let him look to himself, for they'l try what mettle he's made of.

Marry, heaven defend!

for they'l soon finde him a counterfeit

Fye, fye, you must learn more boldness, this modesty's vertue ith' Countrey, but vice ith' Court; come to our Chambers we'l read you a Lecture of it, 'tis here, one of the Liberal Sciences.

A my conscience he's a Maid still, you may see by's blushing.

SCENA, 5.

Amynter! welcom, welcom brave Soldier, 'twas rumour'd Cleander was return'd; and now I see 'twas but half false, since you t'one half, of him are here, and where's your other half?

Great Sir yet he's not come, but will be shortly here; mean time by these he kisses your Highness hands, with full information oth' state of your affairs.

W'are glad to hear from him, and shud be much more glad to see him

I'm sure you would not, nor I neither.

And how does our valiant General

As he do's alwayes Sir in time of war, sowing you battles, and reaping you victories, which now the war's past, and glorious harvest done, [Page 33] he's binding up in sheaves to bring you home.

Let's see what he writes.

Amynter y'ar welcome home.

And take my welcom too.

Tyrannous honour! cruel greatness! as if we were great onely to be miserable, and put on state, but to put off our selves; they may converse freely with Aurindo now, without all fear of this mans talk, and that mans jealousie, no honour lost: whilst I with all my greatness dare to do that the least I wish the most.—Cleora, Olinda, come hither, you were courting Aurindo there, I saw it well enough: go too, I must, have you more modest, d'ye see

She's jealous,

and forbids us Aurindo's company, as severe Mrs. forbid their maids eating those dainties they reserve for their own tooth and pallat.

And how d'ye finde him, ha!

A little bashful Madam, and nothing so bold as Pages are at Court.

You'l soon make him bold enough, if he frequent your company; he has some secret out-let I fear for his affection, makes him no fuller of it, that usually overflows [Page 34] in those of his age; for curiosity Cleora observe his haunts, and let me know, d'ye hear?

I shall Madam.

I as much suspect the Dukes over kindness as his want of it; nor is't so strange in nature, that so different effects shud from the same causes grow.

Cleander like a valiant Souldier here recounting his noble actions, writes modestly of himself, and shuns boast the Cowards valour.

h'as learnt that lesson (sir) i'th school of war, no language better becomes a souldiers mouth, then silence of their own praises, who when they once are their own trumpets, have never that of fames to found them forth; and when from their high and glorious atchievements once they fall so low as boast, the glory of all their actions is lost.

And have you visited Erminia yet?

My duty first perform'd unto yonr High­ness, next is to visit her.

Y'ave Letters and commends from Cleander to her?

I have my Lord, and amongst the rest am to commend unto her more freedom & courtship; Cleander dos not like her sad and sullen retirement and solitude.

He's wife in't, it shews him not jealous, which men would else suspect; besides it more secures him of her: for women commonly most long for that th'are most debar'd of, and take the restrain away, their longing ceases. Go, remember me to her, and tell her we shall shortly visit her.

I shall my Lord,—that's it the train was laid for.

Still eyeing the boy? of such light sparks as those your fires are kindled, unextinguishably inflame the marriage bed with jealousie. Hark you Anthenor, do you observe our Duchess, not that we suspect her, but onely to preserve her from suspect; y'are wise I know▪ and understand.

So I've got an office now; sure his Highness takes me to have more wit or less honestly then I have, that he imployes me in spyery, but I must stretch both a little now, to serve him.

Come my dearest, thus by short intervals we rise from feasts, onely to return with greater appetite, let me glut mine eyes with pleasure once, gen and in full draughts take down the sight of thee▪ whilst I can never accord satiety [Page 36] and fruition together.

SCENA, 6.

Again at his complements?

I and again at his dissembling, mean time th'are either of them as jealous as neighbouring States, and jealousie of all vices in old mens is the greatest; for 'tis not onely jealousie, but envy too.—And what difference ifaith betwixt a Bawd and Spy now?

Why th'are i'th contrary extreams, t'one hinders love matters, t'other furthers them; besides a, Spy is a State Bawd, and a Bawd a womanspy.

Nay, if that be all,

I shall love my employments the better for it, & go about it with more chearfulness & alacrity; but see Cleora, she tarries for somewhat: and as women alwayes imagine there's some ill in all men say, so we to be quit with them alwayes imagine ther's some ill in all they do.—I'le to her, — sweet Cleora if there be any thing wherein I may serve you, know.—

What do I know? [Page 37] that y'are more troublesome and importune, then Flyes and Wasps in summer: and for your service y'd best set up a Bill, or go to the office of Address, to tell what a serviceable man you are, and amongst your other good qualities be sure you put in your short neck like a roasted Pig, your smirking and fleering, as much as to say, Who'l laugh at me? and your stubble beard for kissing costs us more Pomatum.—I'de as lief kiss thorow a hair sive.

I there 'tis now, your smooth fac't boyes carry it clearly away from us bearded men; and 'tis with kissing as 'tis with bowling, they love not rough grounds for fear of rubs, but in a smooth Alley they trundle it away, and so I will too, for I've enough of her.

My Lady sets me to watch Aurindo now, and though this playing the spy in love matters be no hard task, yet 'tis a ticklish one; and I imagine to finde as much pleasure and delight in it as they, who look upon the Game whilst others play.

SCENA, 7.

See where he comes and the Prince with him, I'le stand here and stretch mine ears upon the tenters this once to over-hear them.

It grieves me to see him so sad and pensive, and I'de fain comfort him, and try whether I can do that for him, I have more need another shud do for me.—If't may'nt appear too great a boldness to ask your Highness, I shud desire to know, why y'are so sad and pensive; sure my Lord it can be nothing but love that makes you so, the gentle companion of every gentle breast.

Th'art in the right boy, and since thou hast seen so far into me; I'le make no difficulty to declare unto thee all the rest, and tell thee who 'tis I love too.

God of desire, now grant it may be I.

Thou knowest the fair Erminia I'm sure, she who as far outshines all other beauties, as the Sun all other lights, 'tis she I love.

Disloyal and persidious.

[Page 39] can I hear this, and not hate him for it?—and pray my Lord did you never love before?

Yes a little at Argos once for fashion sake, but that now is quite forgot, and my heart by loves fire temper'd to a delicate softness, has of late receiv'd another impression has quite effaced that.

Learn, learn all ye deceived, Virgins learn what temper false mens hearts are made of, and how y'are deceiv'd by them.—And do's she give ear unto your suit?

Oh no! but is as deaf unto't, Vlysses to the Syrens cod be no more, against whose charms he obstinately stopt his ear, and none hear worse then those who will not hear.

Heaven then is just I see, and punishes him for's falshood unto me.

But methinks thou art sad and pensive too, now I consider it better, and by thy own rule, I shud guess thou wert in love too.—

Who I? I can assure your Highness, if I have any love 'tis onely love of you.

Thanks gentle Boy, I've alwayes experienc't thee loving and trusty; and to repay thy trust, I'le not onely make thee confident of my love, but advocate too to plead for it unto Erminia.

Cruel office; and is't not enough to be undone, but I must be made instrument my self of my own undoing? and if this be the reward of my faith and love, how wod he reward my hate and disloyalty?

Thou shalt to Erminia then,

Althea will introduce thee, give her but this jewel from me, and hark thee.—

All I can o're-hear of their discourse, is, Aurindo is going to Erminia, and Althea's to introduce him; 'tis enough of intelligence for once, this goes unto the Dutchess.

Go, and make me ever happy.

And my self ever unhappy by it, what shall I do? but what a question's that? those who deliberate have some will of their own, but I have none; with resolution great as is my love then, I'le go and plead for him against my self; and though my heart disavow all my tongue sayes, yet it shall say it, or I'le disavow it to be mine: no matter for the pain I suffer, who truly love do know.

SCENA I.

Y'Are sure the Duke will visit her.

I'm sure, if he love her he'l rather dye then fail; and if he fails, 'tis sign he loves her not.

'Tis well, make haste to present me to her then, I wod be present at their parley and interview; and what d'ye think? am I sufficiently disguiz'd?

Disguiz'd! y'ar chang'd, and are no more Cleander; Proteus was never so transform'd: I, who know you even doubt whether it be you, & were your thoughts but chang'd as all the rest, your self would doubt whether 'twere your self or no.

Then do you tell her I'm both deaf and dumb, that so having provided for all without, that nothing from within may issue forth to betray me, I'le shut up the port of speech, and my thoughts shall hold no intelligence with my tongue.

Peace, here comes some of the house, you'l see how they'l wonder to see me here.

SCENA, 2.

How Amynter! my Lords inseparable companion & bosom friend! O madam, madam, who's here d'ye think?

Ha, Amynter! was it instinct or prophesie in thee, to say my Lord was come?

I know not, I'm sure I meant it for a lye; and if it shud prove true now, what shud I say, but I've good luck with lying.

Amynter, to me who never joy'd since Cleander went, 'tis twylight of joy to see you; and such a promise of seeing Cleander here, as is Aurora of seeing the day: and where is he, I see him not?

Madam, he sends you all health and happiness, with the assurance he'l shortly be here.

Shortly! how shortly? all time seems too long, an hour a day, a day a year, a week an age, until I see him; and there is no health nor happiness for me without him.

Dissembler.

Mean time by these he kisses your fair hands, and by me presents you with this Ethiope here, Embleme of his affection, whose colour can never change.

And I'le keep him as embleme of mine, what qualities has he?

A more trusty servant no where lives then he, more valiant, nor more intelligent, although both deaf and dumb.

What means he now? you understand his signs.

With all humility he dedi­cates himself and service t'ye, and vows perpetual faith.

And now!

He solemnly protests he'l fight and dye for you.

A goodly personage,—but let me read my Letters,

Hum! deaf and dumb! pretty qualities to sit in the chimney corner: let's see for's dumbness, I like that well enough, he wo'nt tell tales; and for his deafness too, 'tis no great matter, men naturally understand what women wod have them do; were he blinde too, he'd make the better husband, onely I like not his colour: But for that all men are black [Page 44] in the dark, and I may chance to try him one of these nights.

And art not thou glad now my Lord is coming home?

Why shud we be glad fool? we shall be onely Clinias and Cleobulo, a couple of poor slaves still; but what a fellow servant has he sent us here? both deaf & dumb! what shall we do with him?

Why, we'l be sure to put all th' work of the house upon him, let him put it off again as well as he can; best is we may use him as we lift, he can't complain of us.

But is he not too gallant to work do'st think?

We'l make him do it, for all his Gallantry.

D'ye think he'l suffer it? he seems a sturdy piece.

We'l make him suffer it too, for all his sturdiness, I'le warrant you.

Content then

How's this? he writes me here, he'd have me quit my sadness and solitude, and be more free and courtly. If this be his pleasure, he has strangely chang'd his minde; but I am all obedience, and am not to dispute but to obey his will: [Page 45] and how has he his health well?

Passing well. all his malady is onely want of you.

And why is he not his own Physician then? no wounds I hope?

None dangerous, all he had are now converted to honourable scars.

But that I fear to trouble you with my questions, I shud never cease questioning you.

Madam the Duke.

Now, now.

SCENA, 3.

I will observe them.

why now the clouds of sadnes ar overblown y' appear like your self the bright Erminia: So beauty shud appear, chearful and gay, nature's best ornament, onely the wise know how to wear, the foolish mar ith' wearing. And now y'ave elevated again your fair and long dejected eyes, with hope to see Cleander shortly here; whilst you cast them every wayes about to look for him, I hope a glance at least may light on me.

Your Highness is not to be look't upon so slightly.

Now, now it begins.

I look upon you as my Sovereign Lord and Prince.

That's at too great a distance, look on me as one who admires and honours you, and your lover rather.

I, there 'tis.

That my Lord were too great presumption, and no less impudence, in one already married.

She cunningly holds off to draw him on.

Think not of that: marriage of its self is a tye strait enough, we need not straiten it more with superfluous nicety; but let's talk no more of it, —I've somewhat to say in private t'ye, but send that Slave away.

He's both deaf and dumb my Lord, and's presence can be no hinderance to what you have to say,

But he can see though; and 'tis not fit what we do in private shud be seen by every one.

'Tis fit for those have care of their fames and honors; and for me, I will do nothing but what I car'd not, though all the world did see.

I like that answer well, 'tis discreet and modest. —If I shud be deceiv'd in her, never was man more glad to finde his hopes true, then I shud be to finde my fears were false.

You talk of honor, know Princes are the fountains of it; and there's none but what do's flow from them, all's honourable they do, so is my love.

Nothing is honourable, that is not vertuous too; make your love so then; else you might as well call Vice, Vertue; and Hell, Heaven; as Lust, Love; and Dishonor, Honor; as you do. Know my Lord, the acts of marriage are such, as matrimony it self (holy as it is) can scarcely make honourable and lawful; but imagine how dishonourable and unlawful they must needs be without it then.

What a wretch and villain I was ever to suspect her?

Come you think you do a high act of justice now, to be true unto Cleander; but alas you are deceiv'd, justice consists in equality, and equality there's none; you shud be true to him, that's false to you.

Shud any but your Highness tell me so, I'd say he lyed, most basely lyed: Cleander false? the Gods, Truth it self' wod as soon be false as he.

My own dear dear wife.

Ha, ha, ha, I pitty you, to see you so abus'd, and to disabuse you; know Cleander has another Mistris in Attica he warms with's embraces, whilst Erminia in her cold bed freezes here: why shud he tarry so long away else think you, the wars now at an end?

And is that all your argument? how ill you argue Sir, as if gold by th' touchstone shud be rendred false, or men guilty by tiral of their innocence: absence is the onely touchstone and trial of our loves; in it we but repeat by heart that lesson, which in presence we learn't before. And as in presence of those we love we are all eyes, so in absence we are all thought of them; as I am of Cleander, and I'm sure he is of me.

My dearest dearest wife still.

And was it for this you sent him to the wars. [Page 49] to overthrow your enemies abroad, at price thus of my overthrow at home? he's much oblig'd t'ye sure, and now I see 'twas not to honour him, but dishonour me.

This will not do, I must try some other way.—

Come, I wod not force what I might obtain by gentleness.

You wod not? you cannot Sir;—talk to me of force! shud you but offer it, I'd sooner kill my self then suffer it:

unhand me as you love my life my Lord, as you love your own life do; do you not see him look there as he'd kill you presently, lest you desist.

Ha! the villain looks terribly indeed, and I'm afeard of him: Gods and fiends I think conspire to defend her from me, and hinder my pursuit, I'm resolv'd yet to go on, spight of them.—Farewell, your Bravo ha's sav'd you this once, make much of him, but I shall finde a time.—

Althea, where's this woman?

Here Madam.

And why not here? you must be alwayes leaving me alone; [Page 50] either wait closer, or I shall provide me of those who will.

Pardon me Madam, when a Lord and Lady are together, 'tis good manners in the waiting-woman, and part of their breeding (I take it) to leave them alone.

Is't so? go too, y'are grown so impudent of late, (whatsoere's the matter) y'are quite mar'd agen; or mend it, or you and I must part,—look to't.

I, say you so? then 'tis time to look to't indeed.

SCENA, 4.

O friend was ever man more happy in a wife then I am in Erminia? didst observe (for thou heardst all I know) how she answer'd the Duke? how she confounded him? and made even impudence it self to blush, whilst chastity like a Phenix burnt in her eyes with anger and indignation at his unchast purposes, & darted lightning at him. Oh ye Gods! Erminia is as white I see as is her name or innocence it self, [Page 51] and I'm o'rejoy'd with it.

I joy y'ave found her so.

You wod not have had me jealous now, and see what's come on't, without my jealousie I'd never known thus much.

I am most glad y'ave so good issue of it, and that jealousie its parent's dead that gave it life; and what will ye do now?

What! but instantly cast off my disguize, and discover me unto her—but stay! who's this? more visitants!

SCENA 5.

Althea, happily incountred, I was just seeking you.

And I'm glad of it, for I was just thinking on you; and see how ones thoughts will come to pass! well what's your business? whatsoe're it be, y'are like to speed, I can tell you that.

Take heed Althea. that whatsoever has a large extent, and she who promises that denies nothing, not so much as her self.

Well concluded I promise you, [Page 52] y'ave study'd Grammer and Logick too I see, and want not Rhetorick neither for a need I'le warrant you.

Indeed and I have need to use my Rhetorick; please you to help me but to speech of your Lady.

Marry come up here, no wonder indeed y'are grown so dainty! will no body but my Lady serve your turn? am not I good enough for you I pray? she's for your Master, wod you shud well know.

And 'tis from him I desire to speak with her who recommends him to you by this jewel.

A noble Prince he is, I'le say that for him, and bounteous and liberal withall, y'ave few such Princes now adayes: he was in a great fright (so were we all) when he was last with my Lady.— Well, did my Lord but know how I labour for him.—

He knows it, and thou shalt know he does too.

Well hark then!

Hell and confusion! d'ye hear how she'as been visited? I'm just like a marriner newly escap't one storm, and even arriv'd unto the port, when by another, he's driven to sea again, in greater danger then ever he was before: the Prince visit her, and handsome boyes? to be rid of my jealousie, [Page 53] O th'Duke is nothing; for what avails it one h'as many thorns prick him, for easing of his pain to have one pluckt out, and all the rest remain.—I'm as jealous as e're I was before.

Well, though my Lady be in ill humor now, and very stanch of her visits (as they say) for the Princes sake yet, I'le try what I can do; and for your self, though I've partly made a vow never to marry, I know not yet how I shud be tempted, shud you offer to marry me.

But I'le never tempt you I'le promise you. yet for my Lords sake I must humor her;

and dear Althea, for my part I promise you, if ever I marry any woman it shall be you.

That's some comfort yet, I'de fain have somewhat in hand though, to be doing with; but come I'le bring you to my Lady.

SCENA, 6.

And are you sure he went to Erminia's?

Sure Madam 'twas so appointed, and Althea was to have the introducing him.

Did I not tell you he had some secret haunt? [Page 54]I knew it I, there's no deceiving me.—See this dissembling boy, you shall sooner finde Spring without flowers, and Autumn without fruit, then without loving thoughts, a youthful minde, 'tis the proper fruit, and flowers of the season.

So I have brought him to my Lady, who was nothing nigh so much offended and surpriz'd with it as I imagined.—Who's here the Duchess?

And Althea too must be their Bawd! that old Hag, that Witch, go seek her out, and bring her hither strait; if she conceal their secret meetings, tortures shall inforce it from her.

Ha! she has heard it seems of the Dukes visiting my Lady, I'd best confess it e're she put me to the torture; I'm melancholly enough to lye in bed alone, and apprehend this lying on the rack a far more melancholly business; besides I know not how my bones will hold out, beshrew me.

She's here Madam.

Indeed I must confess,

and't like your Highness he visits my Lady some­times.

Oh do's he so!

But I can't help it, [Page 55] there's no keeping him out.

Is he so hot upon it?

But this I can assure your Highness, 'tis much against my will and against my Ladies too.

Worser and worser, I cod pardon him to prefer her love to mine; but to prefer even her neglect unto my love, is such an indignity, such a neglect of me I never shall forgive.

SCENA, 7.

Gone after him d'ye say?

I can assure your Highness,

Why this is fine, very fine,—but see she's here.

I'm glad I've found his haunts yet, now I see he goes to Erminia's still, when he makes such haste from me.

How comes she to know that? I'de best make no secret then of what she knows already, lest she suspect some farther secret in't, more then she knows.—Well, what if I visit Erminia sometimes? 'tis but to comfort her in her solitude and sadness in her husbands absence.

Ha! this is a discovery I lookt not for;—

'tis well my Lord y'are very charitable to other mens wives in their absence, & give me example what to do when you are absent with other womens husbands too; and is this your going a hunting? I'm glad I faith I know what Game it is you chase.

What have I done? betray'd my self? this is this foolish conscience makes us do such poor ignoble things, a noble spirit wod be asham'd of; she's gone inrag'd, and rage that in petty bosoms, as winds in narrow brooks, makes small commotion; in mighty ones raises as fearful storms, as boisterous winds in the vaste Ocean: no matter, let her go, if Erminia's name can raise a tempest, I have an exorcisme of Aurindo's can allay it again; nor will I desist— the bold and resolute, when checkt and reprehended for their faults, grow more licentious, and devoid of shame, onely the weak and timerous refrain.

I'm glad she's gone, and I safe here, I was in a terrible fright;—for her calling me Bawd it never angred me, it's no disgrace to a waiting woman; but [Page 57] to call me old Hag!—

SCENA, 8.

Prithy good boy no more, pitty so much handsomeness, shud be so unhandsomely imploy'd; and so much good language and eloquence cast away upon so bad a cause; find out somewhat wherein I may do thee good, and I shall gladly do it; but I shud do thee harm, to make thee complice of anothers ill.

She instructs me excellently, & her kindness invites me to discover my self unto her; & somewhat here bids me accept the invitation: who knows? she may be so nobly generous to help me in my love, hinder me I'm sure she cannot. I'le try, 'tis but my blushes lost, and in a better cause I cannot lose my shame.—Noblest of Ladies, whilst I discover t'ye a secret you'l sooner wonder at, then believe, to take from your wonder, and adde to your belief, be pleased to behold this Portrait here.

What's this?

How! taking presents? nay then sh'as sold her self, and is no longer mine; and whispering! womens shames go always with their whispers: how close they ar, as he were pouring out himself into her ear, as she inclines her ear, as she were careful nothing shud be lost:—now h'as told her somewhat that tickles her;—now she looks on's present, now on him agen, as she were begetting babies in his eyes, Preludiums, and images in little of procreation. 'Tis good, 'tis very good, I see you, but you see not the revenge I'le take for it.

Is't possible! comparing what I hear, with what I see, I can no wayes doubt the truth of what you say; I've seen your Portrait formerly, and wonder, comparing it with you now, I knew you not before.

You see Madam how your sweet goodness has imboldned me to the discovery of a secret to you I shud have conceal'd even from mine own bosom, if it had been possible.

And I shall keep it as safe [Page 59] as your own bosome, sweet Cyrena assure your self.

See, she even embraces him by heaven!

Beseech you Madam call me Aurindo still, and shew some kindness to the Prince, when next he visits you; lest he suspect I have neglected his commands, and had more care of mine own concern, then his.

For your sake I'le do any thing, I may in honour do; and I hope sweet friend e're long to let you see you not deceiv'd your self, in trusting me.

Dearest Madam, my ravishment is so great, my joy must needs burst forth in some expression, or I shall burst my self: here then before I go I make a solemn league of friendship with ye, and seal it with my breast.

SCENA, 9.

By heaven Ile kill them both.

Fie fie, be more advis'd and temperate.

Unparallel'd impudence! [Page 60] embrace in publique! the very action of coupling! no strumpet lost to shame and abandoned to infamy, wod e're have don't: I burn no less with rage and jealousie, then they with lust; and the fire of my love is quite extinguisht by't, as greater fires extinguish lesser ones. I'le be reveng'd on both, for her I now do loath her worse then a Toad or Snake; and for him, ungrateful as he is, I'le let him see since he wod not have me for a friend, what 'tis to have me for an enemy.

SCENA, 1.

AUrindo welcome, I have awaited thee just as the trembling prisoner at the bar suspended 'twixt hope and fear, awaits his doom, and what is't ha? dost bring me life or death?

Life, life, assure your self my Lord, or else I shud not live to tell it you; had rather dye my self a hundred times [Page 61] then bring you death.

Thanks gentle Aurindo. I know thou lovest me.

You know nothing yet compar'd to what I hope you'l know e're long.

Well hast' been there?

I have my Lord.

And how didst finde her, ha?

Beyond expectation kinde, she hearkened to me, and that is half consent, and th'other half y'are to expect e're long: well I say nothing but there are those in Missena here, who love you, dearly love you; I can tell you that my Lord, though I am sworn yet not to tell their names.

Come prithy tell me.

Let it suffice 'tis one you'd least imagine, one you'l shortly know, and I hope be happy in her knowledge too.

Enough, enough, I know then it is she, for there's none else in nature can make me happy, but Erminia. O my dear Aurindo how thou obligest me, with thy joyful news!

Happy conjuncture!

blest moment! that it wod alwayes last, or that the heart did but go now with th' hands that thus embrace me.

Never was Prince more happy in a Page, then I in thee.

I hope your Highness e're long will finde it so indeed.

More, more I prithy, more of Erminia.

See here comes company.

Lets withdraw then to my apartment, and there I'le take th' Ambrosrek food into mine ear.

SCENA, 2.

Tell me Olinda, wert thou ever in love.

Yes faith a little once for fashion sake, as much as came to jeast, and methought 'twas pretty sport; but never in earnest I, to make me whine and cry, leave my meat, break my sleep, and be melancholly and mad as my Lady is.

Thou wert the wiser; for love indeed is but a sort of madness: and as you have several sorts of mad folks, so you have of Lovers; some sad, some merry, some milde and gentle, some raving and furious agen; and for these, the Pazzarello was well invented, whither shortly my Lady must be sent I think; [Page 63] for she's mad, outragious mad against Aurindo, and has accus'd him to the Duke, for offering to ravish us.

I wod he had faith.

And see she comes, and the Duke with her.

SCENA, 3.

Beseech you my Lord, banish him the Court.

Well we shall think upon't.

It is a shame to suffer him here, is not content to deboish himself, but seeks to deboish the Prince too.

Well, well.

Nay what's more, h'as not onely attempted the honour of my women here, but even attempts the honour of Erminia too.

Ha! do's he so? nay then we will not onely banish him the Court, but City and Country too; let it be strait proclaim'd.

D'ye mark how that heats him, he was cold before?

I do.

I will not tell you how insolent he was to tempt even me my self, not to expose his life to danger, and my honour too; [Page 64] that he shud dare to do it, and hope to live.

His life thirsted after too, nay then I see nothing's more insatiate then women in their love, or in their hate.

Though for's insolency I confess he deserves to dy, yet in regard of's tender years so thou my dearest beest content, I am content to spare his life.

Our sex is soft and gentle, as it becomes us to be merciful; but think my Lord whe'r't becomes you or no, and't may'nt appear in you, too great neglect both of my honour and your own.

Then I see no Tigress, nor Lioness, nor Aspick trod on, is more fell and cruel, then cruel women.

Content thy self dearest with his banishment, we would not kill, where we might safely spare.

Mistaken clemency! misplaced goodness! who spare the guilty are cruel to th' innocent; best tarry till h'ave left nothing in the Court inviolate, even to the Royal bed; nay till his lust like a violent spreading torrent overflows and involves Erminia' honour too, gaining her the dishonourable repute of a foul Strumpet, and base Prostitute.

That's a killing blow put home, [Page 65] guard thee well Aurindo, or th'art but dead.

Oh, how I love this zeal of justice in you, and you, for it? you have prevail'd it is resolv'd he dye: let him be apprehended strait.

This must be prevented.

Now my dearest art thou satisfied? If thou beest, appease thy anger, serenate thy minde, and in thy cabinet expect thine own desires and wishes alwayes to attend thee. —

Now to the rest of our affairs, where's that shipwrackt souldier lately return'd from Attica, call him to us strait, we'l take the scruple of marriage out of Erminia's breast, that w'are resolv'd come what will of the rest.

SCENA, 4.

Fly, sly Madam, all the Court is up in search of you, and busie danger threatens and surrounds you on every side, just like the hunted Dear when th' hounds are uncoupled, & the hunt is up: [Page 66] for heavens Love haste, I've told you what you stand accused of.

And if I wod compound with danger, I easily cod clear my innocence, but I'le keep that now for my last reserve; mean time I'le to Erminia's, and shelter there, to whom can I better owe my life then her; to whom I hope shortly to owe all my joy of living?

Quickly, quickly then, and as secretly as you can.

SCENA, 5.

Well Clinias, and how d'ye like the Moor our fellow servant?

Why, as thou wodst a rusty jade, wod not stir a foot for thee; and when thou spur'st him, and puts him to't, capers, rears an end, throws thee, and breaks thy neck. Uds so, we were deceiv'd in him; we thought to put all the work of the house on him, and we may do't our selves for ought I see, and thank you too. You may command a poast as well as him, and he's so sturdy too, a poast will stir assoon as he.

He does not understand you perhaps.

I know not, but I'm sure I understand him but too well: I gave him a broom to day, and pointed him where he should sweep, (this now was plain enough one would imagin) and what did he, but 'stead of sweeping, lay me over the pate with it, and so he serv'd me with a fire shovel another time; he'l carry no coals I can tell you.

Will he not? But I'le make him, and h'ad as good eat them too as refuse to do what I command him; such as he like Nettles, handle them gently, and they sting you; but you shall see how I'le handle him, like a good Water Spaniel I'le make him obey my beck, & fetch & carry when I'd have him, & make him do tricks like an Ape e're I have done with him: & see here he comes, like your baboons & drills, he wo'nt speak, because he will not work: but 't shall not serve his turn.—mark.

SCENA. 6.

D'ye mark? ther's all I can get of him;

you may command, [Page 68] and do it your self for him.

But I'le make him do it, if he will not.—How now Sirra?—O Clinias Clinias,

help me: plague on him he gript me worse then a Hawk do's his Quarry, and I'd as lief fall into a Lions claws as his.

What think you now? like a good Water Spaniel he obeys your beck, and do's tricks like an Ape for you, 'tis only you know how to handle him now.—

The Devil shall

handle him for me if he be such an one.

How now, what's here to do?

Nothing, nothing my Lord.

You have been vexing the Moor I see by him.

No indeed forsooth, h'as rather been vexing us.

Go too, leave him, & about your business, or your Lady knows of it.

Now friend, how goes affairs?

Oh worse and worse!

I hope you have discover'd no other haunts?

No no, and of the Dukes I am secured too; but the Prince's, the Prince's still depends, and that boy, that villain boy!—Oh friend! [Page 69] the chafed sea baited by all the winds, till it be all a tempest and a foam, was never in more trouble and agitation, then is my breast; and that may return to its former calm again, but never I unto my former rest.

What will you do then?

Nay if I knew that, my minde wod be at ease, but this is your fault now, put me off the resolution of killing them, who now am just like one has so long differ'd cure of a desperate ill, till the danger grows greater, and cure more desperate.

SCENA, 7.

Fear not Aurindo, here you are more safe, then in your innocence, for that I see may be violated, but my cabinet shall never be I hope; there you may securely rest your self, till the danger's o're; and whilst you rest you there, all my business shall be to think, how to remedy your Love as well as fear.

Blessings, such as Saints, in their extasies do wish, and pray for, (Madam) reward you for your excellent goodness.

"Good deeds besides themselves [Page 70] need no reward." I will not trust my woman, but for your more security will lock you up my self.

You are my Angel-guardian, & as I fear no danger so long as I am here, so I hope all good from your protection.

So there's provision of lust now stor'd up for night; but I may chance mar their banquet.—

SCENA, 8.

There, there she is, do as I've commanded you, and expect our favour and reward: I must not be seen in it.

Who's this, do's any know?

Pardon Madam my bold intrusion, I'm a souldier lately return'd from Attica; have had the honour long to serve ith' wars under Cleander, our noble General.

Do you know him Amynter?

I have often seen him ith' Army Madam.

Then y'are welcome Sir, you can tell me news of my Lord perhaps.

Alas Madam 'twill be but unwelcome news that I can tell you.—

O my divining soul! what is't?

I cod wish I had a tongue in thousand infoldments of sugred speech cod wrap up my bitter news;—or whilst I wounded you with grief of it, with oily words cod cure the wounds I made; or rather indeed I had no tongue at all to tell you Cleander's dead.

Dead!

Drown'd in his return from Attica.

How's this? this is pretty!

Cleander drown'd! my Lord and husband drown'd! tell me, Oh tell me quickly how! and let thy fatal tongue finish the deadly work it has begun, and kill me quite.

The treacherous windes with flattering gales intic't him first from shore into the midst of the vaste Egean Sea, e're they declar'd their treacherous intents of drowning him; when first in soft whispers, then loud murmurs, they conspir'd to raise a furious storm: the abyss, the seas and skies, all mixt in one dismal Chaos, and horrid confusion, surrounded with all these horrours, the fear of death, far worse then death it self; onely Cleander fearlesly did stand, beholding death with the same countenance at sea, he was wont to behold it on the land; [Page 72] till long struggling against the storm in vain, at last loudly invoking Erminia's name, he and the Bark perisht together: wod I had done so too, rather then to have been preserv'd alone, whilst all else perisht, to bring this news I do.

Ay me! then I have liv'd too long.

Help, help.

Ha, ha, ha, leave her, and she'l soon leave her swooning, no woman e're swounded when she was alone.

Why Madam, Madam, what mean you? to dye for a false report: Cleander lives, upon my life he do's.

I, in the other world, whither I'le soon follow him.

Nay in this; and if I shew you him not here alive before next sun, let my life and honour or whatsoever else I hold most dear pay for my abusing you.

Wod I had had no tongue rather then t'have bin author of this false report

Do'nt you delude my grief now, and flatter me into hope?

As I hope for life my self, I tell you true. and this souldier shall confess as much.— [Page 73] I had some glimmering of the Duke, and suspect his hand in this.— Hark ye Dimagoras, (for so as I remember you are call'd) I know this news is false, and straitwayes cod disprove it if I wod; I know too you were hir'd to't by the Duke, confess the truth, do like those better witches, who undo the harms th'ave done; you see her life's in danger, which you by timely discovery may save, and gain far more reward for't, then you have.

But shud the Duke know it.—

Which he shall never do.

Besides mine honour.—

The very thought of that should prompt you to it.

Then with your pardon Madam, I confess Cleander lives, & I was hir'd by the Duke to report him dead, I know not for what intent.

Neither becomes it you to examine it, onely know it becomes a Souldier to do nothing dishonourably, and nothing can be more, then basely lye; but you have well repented, and there's for your confession of the truth, so honour ever guide you.

As it shall to speak all honour of you.

Oh me! my Lord, my Lord,

what shall I do? what shall I do?

Why, prithy hold thy peace, and leave thy howling and caterwawling, thou cryest only for fashion sake now I know, & wod thou hadst but a glass to see how ill it becomes thee.

Wod you shud well know, I can cry as well as e're a woman in Missena, so I can.

Thou must hold thy water well beforehand then, but prithy do'nt change thy crying into scolding now.

Scold, who scolds? I scorn it so I do.

Wilt thou hold thy peace then?

Why may'nt one speak I pray?

Again? twenty Pies and Jayes taken in lime-twigs, keep not such a noise and chattering, as one woman when she sets upon it once.

The Duke put such tricks on me! I'm glad I know it yet.

And see he's here Madam.

I am prepar'd for him.

SCENA, 9.

So now this punctillio of marriage ta'ne away, [Page 75] I hope to finde her no more so scrupulous.—

Understanding of your misfortune Madam, and the general misfortne of us all, I'm come to comfort you for Cleanders loss, and to assure you, you shall finde in me all you have lost in him; I'le be in place of husband to you.—

I believe you would.

Cease mourning then, and reckon your loss among those remediless misfortunes can never be remedy'd with mourning.

Your Highness highly honours me; but comfort (my Lord) 's a work of time: first we must grieve, e're we be comforted; there are certain decencies of widdow-hood, which for widdows to neglect, is to neglect their fame: many a showre of tears must fall first, and many a gust of sighs blow over, e're it clear up again. In fine, comfort's the physick of grief and sorrow, and no feaverish body in Crisis of their Feaver takes physick: that once over, all the comfort becomes or me to take, or you to give, I willingly shall admit; mean time I leave you, and humbly beseech your Highness to leave me to my grief.

Peace to your thoughts Erminia, nor shall I ever take that peace away by any act of mine; so recommending to you a moderation of your grief and sorrow, I take my leave,—this is some comfort yet.

He's gone, and I but dally with my grief, fancying Cleander not dead, whilst no other difference is 'twixt death and absence, but onely this; t'one's a short death, t'other a long absence; so he whilst absent for the time is dead to me; and absence for the time zanies death, and imitates it so, t'one can do nothing that t'other does not do.

SCENA, 10.

The Prince here too? deluded by this news, he comes I know, onely to bring me fresh molestation; and to serve Cyrena's end, I'le let him go on in the delusion.

Here comes Cleander too, he knows not she knows he is alive, and I'le leave him in his ignorance, & so perplex him, & strew his way with thorns; [Page 77] I'le make him weary of it, and glad at last, when he can't go forwards to return back agen.

Dearest Madam, if at such a time, when other widdows griefs are at the heighth, I come to perswade you, let yours fall, and take comfort i'th' place on't: I hope you'l pardon me, when you shall see, I bring you a full comfort, not an empty one of words onely, whilst in lieu of your dead husband, I come to offer you a living one; and such an one, 'tmay be no boast to say, (adde but your esteem to't) does every way equal Cleander. I mean my self.

This falls out happily to my desire;—

my Lord, although you might justly wonder I shud so soon be comforted, and so far forget my first Lord, to accept a second; whilst other widdow; strictness is so great, first days of their widowhood, they scarce admit so much as the light it self to comfort them, (the general comforter of all the world) yet coming in so honourable a way as marriage, I know not what to say; but were I assur'd your Highness intents were but as honourable and real.—

The words and actions of dying men are not more real I swear.

There are those who love you, dearly love you (I can tell you that) though their shames wo'nt suffer them to declare so much.

And why so?

To hide their shames then, come but i'th' dark to night unto my chamber.—

Enough.

And there after the holy vows of marriage.—

I understand.

You shall enjoy her for your wife.—

Oh me most happy! you overjoy me Madam.

Go then, and do not fail.

Which if I do, may I fail to live.

Now for Cyrena, she shall change habits, and vail'd appear like me: pardon me sacred truth, if in so good a cause I transgress a little, 'tis not to violate thy laws, but preserve them from greater violation.

Why, she's married already.

Can you blame her? believing you dead, and you letting her go on in the belief.

No matter, let her go on her way, I'le go mine.—

And lose your self.

And trace her through all her wayes.

And erre in all, do'nt you see; you are just like one, who entring a Labyrinth, [Page 79] farther he goes, the farther still he strayes; or one puzzled with tying a Gordian knot, which he can ne're untie.

How y'are deceiv'd! I do but as Hunters now, who following the Chase, minde not so much their way, nor pains they take, as taking of the prey; and for the Gordian knot you speak of, I know how to cut that which I can't unty.

Had you not better discover your self now, and do that with ease, you can't do else, without much toyl and pain,

Have patience a little. there are farther mysteries yet I must reveal, e're I reveal my self, especially that of the boyes concealment.

Of that I'le say nothing, 'cause I know not what to say; but for the rest I dare engage my life, and shud dye martyr in so good a cause; she is all honorable, and honor & she are twins, and so alike 'twere no mistake to say, Erminia is honour, and honour Erminia.

Well, to night we shall know all, mean time leaving you in your belief, leave me in mine.

SCENA, I.

WHy, this Moor's a devil, and now I know the reason why they paint the devil black of his colour; he makes no more of beating us, then Squirrils do of cracking nuts; 'tis his ordinary exercise before meals to get him an appetite, and afterwards to help digestion: we are never quiet for him, but when we sleep, and shortly I fear he'l fall upon us like a night mare in our sleeps too.

I'de compound with him for a limb with all my heart, and let him chuse any he pleas'd except my neck.

Wod I were certain to escape with that, but you are well enough serv'd now, why wod you offer to beat him?

Why, because I thought he wod not beat me again, else I'de have seen him hang'd e're I'de have meddled with him: well, we must hold together, there is no remedy, he's too hard for either of us alone; but Hercules himself (they say) is not strong enough for two.

I, but if he shud prove stronger then Hercules, [Page 81] what then? that old saying wod do us but little 'light here he coms, I'm as feard of him (good:—as of a bear broke loose, and running after me, and look every moment when he'l catch me by the breech.

SCENA, 2.

See see, he becons us away.

But let's not stir for him;—yes I'le warrant you, when can you tell?

Look again.

No matter, let us but hold together.

He comes upon us fearfully, look h'as got a staff too; now for a dry beating, I'm as sure of it.—

I'le warrant you, oh oh!

Oh, oh, a my conscience h'as broke my neck.

I think mine's broke too, and pray heaven it be no worse.

A vengeance on him, are these his tricks? he'l make more work for Surgeons if he hold on, then Brandee wine with Dutchmen in their Kirmesses; or Stum in Taverns with quarrelsome English-men, he made me spin like a top.

And I imagin'd my self a hand-mill grinding mustard seed.

If he cod speak yet, and give us but a reason [Page 82] for his misusing us, 'twod never anger me.

For my part I'm glad he's dumb, for if he cod speak, I'm sure 'twould be but a word and a blow with him.

Away, here comes my Lady.

SCENA, 3.

The time draws nigh, and night approaches, I'le go unto the Princess, and see if she be drest yet, I joy to think how happy I shud be to advance her happiness;

She's gone unto the boy, and I unknown to Amynter will follow her, and kill them both together; he's of too milde and too relenting nature for me and my stern purposes; and what w'ar once resolv'd to do, wise politicks count it but little wit, to confer with those may hinderth' doing it.

So, this 'tis to be out of favour, I'm excluded now; and if I prove unfaithful, she has absolv'd my faith: nor can she complain seeing she trusts me not, that I betray her trust: all rivals jealousies help to revenge me on her, [Page 83] and adde to those mine own revenge to boot, for threatning to turn me out of service, I'le serve her for't as she deserves, & tell the Duchess of Aurindo's concealment here, & of the Princes marriage with her too, whilst he researcht her onely by my means, and by gifts and presents sought my mediation, I lov'd him for it, but hate him now he seeks to marry her; my profit's lost by't: & women of my quality, if they be wise, shud count those onely friends, who bring them gain, and when the gain ceases, count them enemies.

SCENA, 4.

So now y'appear like your self the bright Cyrena unclouded in all your glories, so appears the sun so glorious and so bright after a long Eclipse.

Nay now you flatter me.

I wod to heaven men wod believe so, 'twod acquit our sex of envy, and I shud easily be acquit of flattery, for none can doubt but they must be rather envious who praise you not, then flatterers who do.

Nay if you hold on, you'l give me a beauty I had not, and make me blush.

I ought rather to blush, [Page 84] you have so little help, but 'twas your desire for greater secrecy, and secrets lose their vertue, just like precious perfumes when once disclos'd, & more th'are hid the more they conserve their pretiousness. Pray let me help you, this curse's a little too long.

Pardon me Madam.

Beseech you 'tis but my duty, you are not us'd to these petty things, and 'tis so long since you saw your self drest, you and your mirrour

well may be to seek.

How much am oblig'd unto you dear Erminia?

Dearest Madam, think I was onely born to serve you; where was the Prince's judgement (I wonder) where were his eyes? having seen this beauty once, he cod ever look on any other?

He might be well excus'd, having seen yours once, to have quite forgotten mine.

Mine! alas 'tis never to be seen on the same day with yours, nor ever so much as to be mentioned with it; nor do I say this out of complement now, but meerly out of consciousness of mine own defects. Stay a little more, and I have done.

Sweet Erminia, you make me even bankrupt with your curtesies.

Sweetest Madam, I shall think you tax me with want of it, if you speak any more of it.

SCENA, 6.

What rudeness is this?

Now for my revenge,—ha! what's here? the boy vanisht! and a woman in the place! what strange apparitions are these? what wondrous delusions of the sight? ther's witchcraft in it sure!

I can't believe mine eyes.

what means this Moor, he's grown strangely jealous of me of late, (whatsoere's the matter) and I begin to fear him.

I was afeard h'ad come to apprehend me.

Pardon me Madam, I'm asham'd you shud finde such rudeness here, but trust to't, you shall be put no more to these affrights.—Come pray be merry, if the Prince shud chance to sleep in your arms to night instead of mine, I hope your Highness wod not be offended at the mistake.

Imagine sweet Erminia by your self, whether you'd be offended Cleander shud do the like by you.

I fear my happiness is not yet so nigh, though I wish yours may, so now all here's pre­par'd, [Page 86] I'le go and put all in prepare without for the Prince's reception, & leave you the while to the entertainment of your better thoughts.

As those who walk over fearful precipices avert their eyes not to behold their danger, so I avert my thoughts from thinking on mine, only this I find too clear. "love's a solicitous thing, and full of fear.

SCENA, 6.

Thanks Althea for thy intelligence, and the Duke shall thank thee too, go thou before, and wait to give us entrance, I'le but go advertise the Duke, and instantly follow thee.

I shall Madam.

They shal not steal a mariage in the dark, I'le light their nuptial Tapers up, and for Aurindo I'm glad I've found him; I [...] feard h'ad fled my anger, and escaped my revenge, which now he shall finde after this little stop, like violent torrents stopt, which grow but more violent after, then e're they were before.

She's gone inrag'd, and nothing's more impetuous then womans rage, no battering Ram demolishingston wals to dust, nor violent thunder riving whole forests, and shivering mighty oaks like slender reeds; woe to poor Aurindo must stand the shock of it,—wod I'd some body [Page 87] to tell this news to now; no cholick, no strangury, nor pangs of child-birth were e're half so painful, as the retention of news, to a woman that longs to be deliver'd of it; and here comes some body.

SCENA, 7.

O Olindo! hast' heard the news of Aurindo?

No, what is't?

He's at Erminia's, and just now there's order given to apprehend him.

Alas!

But you must say nothing now.

Pho, no avaritious body holds money faster then I do secrets you know. O Anthenor have you heard the news of Aurindo?

No, pray what?

Why he's apprehended at Erm [...]'s, and presently to dye; the Scaffold's already set up for him, but you must say nothing.

That's understood, now am I bound to tell it the next I meet.

You keep secrets sweetly, I'le tell you news another time; and you make it more then it is too.

How wod you have newsmongers live else?

O Leontius! have you heard the news of Aurindo?

For heavens love, what?

I'le tell it.

No let me.

Will you over run me? why he's apprehended at Erminia's, and instantly to dye; he's on the scaffold by this.

See if he have not added more unto it yet?

Nay then, 'tis time to discover him, be th' danger what it will, I'm sure there can be no more, then there is in the concealing him.

Stay, stay, and take the news of the Prince along with you.

I thank you, I have no leasure to hear it now.

I'le tell it you then.

Pardon me, I must be gone too.

And I'le to the Presence with my news.

She gone too! now am I in no less pain then I was before for some body to tell the rest of my news to; thus do's she serve me still when I trust her with any, all women are leaking vessels, and can hold nothing, God help them. But of all commend me to her.

SCENA 8.

Althea stay you here, and when the Prince comes, direct him into my Cabinet, but without light be sure; I'le in and see all the lights extinguisht there.

I, hide you, do, cast clouds of night upon your faults, and you fast as you hide them, I'le bring them unto light; and what you seek to keep secret I'le proclaim, till to all the world I've published your shame.—

Oh my Lord, y'ar welcom, my Lady expects you there within, you need no light, love can finde the way best in the dark.

With thy good directions Althea, there's somewhat for thy pains.

And there's her Cabinet.

Now to reap the long expected fruit of all my happiness.

Send you a good harvest of it, I'le send you sickles enow presently to help you, and those will help too, to fetch it in for you.—Aurindo! and the Prince too! she might have left me one of them at least, but I'le fit her for it.

SCENA, 9.

Wod I'd never imbarkt my self upon this perillous sea, where 'tis dishonour to go back, and assured ruine to go on; to discover me now, every one wod laugh at me; and to conceal me longer, I shud run such desperat hazard, 'tis horror to think upon—To marry so soon a second husband, e're [Page 90] the funeral rites and obsequies of the first are celebrate, no blacks, no mourning, my memory like a shadow gone with my self; her grief for me not half so durable as other widdows watry colour'd ones, which onely a tear or two can wash away; is this her love of me? then farewel all my love of her; 'tis sign the Prince and she have liv'd before in close adultery, and will do so agen unless she dye; nor less h'ad known it formerly, cod he finde the way now so readily to her bed; since I am dead to her then, she shall be so to me; and the hour of her marriage shall be her hour of death; these hands shall kill her, these eyes shall see her dead, though this heart of mine burst at the sight of it, mine honor's ingag'd, & I'm resolv'd.

Now friend,

whither away so fast?

Pardon me, I have no leasure to tell you now.

There is some mystery in this haste of his, and's great thoughts labour with some mighty birth.—On what a turbulent sea has his jealousie embarkt him? and so embroil'd him as without miracle he can never disimbroil himself agen; and if this be the fate of marriage to be in hell, [Page 91] of loathing, if their wives be foul; and if fair, in purgatory of jealousie; marry who's list for me.

SCENA, 10.

Where's this great Commandress of all hearts? commands as absolutely as fate it self; this tyrant beauty, that needs onely say, render your hearts, and all hearts must obey, I long to see her, let some seek out the boy, I'le seek out her my self.

Where's this curious Lady? in whose nice bosom no flowers must be worn, but fresh and blooming buds; others as overblown and canker-eaten, she rejects and scorns.

Where is her chamber?

There.

What, hoa within there? open the door, or else we'l break it op'.

Where is this newly married pair? let them appear, we come to wish them joy.

SCENA, 11.

Who's that that knocks so rudely? ha! the Duke and Duchess; no matter, fear not, fear not my Erminia, for now th'art mine.

Shame of thy honour, a Prince, and own a base ignoble strumpet for thy wife!

Now now,—how's this?

I am nor base, nor strumpet,

but as great a Princess as your self, Princess of Argos.

Ha! Cyrena!

And Aurindo she! how was I deceiv'd?

The Princess already discover'd!

Now all of the boy is clear, but that the news of my death shud strike her no more.—

Thunder cod not have more struck her you saw, till I assured her 'twas false, and onely invented to deceive her, when she to assist the Princess in her love turn'd the deceit on them.

Enough, enough, 'now all have cast off their vizards, 'tis time to cast off mine, I'le instantly go and discover my self unto her.

Whither goes the Moor in such haste I wonder? I'le after him and see.

Wonder and amazement seizes me!

Wonder not Prince, nor admire your Page shud turn your handmaid now, this is the least miracle that love can do; I am that Cyrena you promis'd marriage to at Argos, who have hither to Misseua follow'd you to claim your promise which now y'ave anew confirm'd.

Miracle of constancy! [Page 93] compar'd with your goodness, my ill appears so great, methinks no penance can be great enough for expiating it.

This shall be all your penance, and this.

And this is the onely one that I desire.

Now Madam I hope you'l pardon me, for putting you to the proof and declaration of your sex, which I suspected through your dis­guise,

There needs no pardon Madam; where the offence was to Aurindo, not to me.

But where's Erminia all this while, the great Architectress of all this plot?

For her you shall finde her there within, in the Moors arms straitly embrac't, (my Lord) and by this time perhaps in bed together too.

Was ever a more lascivious strumpet?

Where are our Guards? go fetch her hither strait with her fair Paramour; so foul an act as this deserves a publick shame and punishment, however in private done.

Erminia thus dishonour her self! or honour with justice is fled to heaven, and there is none on earth, or else all this is false.

SCENA, 12.

Bring them away, is this the honourable Lady, nothing cod dishonour her above temptation, above suspect?—no body to serve her lust but a Moor, a slave! & one fittest she thought to conceal her shame, 'cause mute and dumb! but here are enow beside to publish it; away with her, & to the gallows with that slave.

Cleo. I, hang him, hang him.

Stay, rather then her fame shall suffer, the mute shal speak, & more to evince the miracle and declare her innocence, the Ethiope shall turn white.

Cleander!

My Lord, there's none rejoyces more then my fellow &I, for this your metamorphose, we had as lief see the devil, as see your black face.

We had rather a great deal have you our master then our fellow servant, you don't beat us half so much.

Noble Cleander I must demand your pardon for trying Erminia's constancy in your absence, assure your self 'twas done with good intent.

I shall believe it, and considering the prosperous estate I've left your affairs in, I hope your Highness will easily pardon my return from Attica without your licence.

I do, and with you all happiness with your fair and vertuous wife.

And I the like.

I humbly thank your Highness, and desire to be no longer happy then my friend Amynter may be so with me.

For you Althea (another time whent't may'nt appear revenge as it wod now) I shall intreat you seek another service.

With all my heart, & I hope your Highness then will entertain me.

Not I; you who wod be false to her, will never be true to me.

Well, my comfort is, though there are no services, yet there are trades enow.

Oh my dear Erminia! here let me ever rest.

And as I gladly receive you here as the long parcht up earth do's long'd for showres of rain.

Think not Cleander so wholly to possess your Erminia, I shall alwayes claim a friends part in her.

She is all yours Madam.

as I also, in being wholly hers.

Here then ends our jealousie, since Erminia's vertue renders me (I'm sure) as free from suspect as Aurindo's sex do's you; but why differ we longer to celebrate these happy Nuptials that unite our States, [Page 96] by th' Accession of Argos to Missena, and of all Greece now makes it the happiest Land.

Mean time my dear Erminia thy name shall be so celebrous in the mouth of Fame, that as often as 'twod praise any one; for Beauty and Vertue it shall onely say, th' are like the fair and vertuous Erminia.