Ben. You have spoke
The very character of Ferdinand:
One is the others mirror. How now, Daughter?
Rand. How fares my Neece?
Viol. A little better, Uncle, then I was,
I thank you.
Rand. Brother, a meer cold.
Angel. It was a cold and heat, I think: but Heaven be thanked
We have broken that away.
Ben. And yet, Violanta,
You'll lie alone still, and you see what's got.
Dor. Sure, Sir, when this was got, she had a bed-fellow.
Rand. What has her chollick left her in her belly?
Dor. 'T has left her, but she has had a sore fit.
Rand. I, that same Collick and Stone's inherent to us
O' th' womans side: our Mothers had them both.
Dor. So has she had, Sir. How these old fornicators talk! she had more
Need of Mace-Ale, and Rhenish-wine Caudles, heaven knows,
Then your aged Discipline.
Ben. Say?
Enter Ferdinand.
Ang. She will have the man; and on recovery
Will wholly be dispos'd by you.
Ben. That's my wench:
How now? what change is this? why Ferdinand,
Are these your Robes of joy should be indu'd?
Doth Hymen wear black? I did send for you
To have my honorable Brother witness
The Contract I will make 'twixt you and her.
Put off all doubt; she loves ye? what d' ye say?
Rand. Speak man, Why look you so distractedly?
Ferd. There are your keys, [Sir:] I'll no Contract[s, I]
Divinest V[i]olanta, I will serve you
Thus on my knees, and pray for you: Juno, Lucina fer opem.
My inequality ascends no higher:
I dare not marry you.
Ben. How's this?
Ferd. Good night,
I have a friend has almost made me mad:
I weep sometimes, and instantly can laugh:
Nay, I do dance, and sing, and suddenly
Roar like a storm. Strange tricks these, are they not?
And wherefore all this? Shall I tell you? no,
Thorow mine ears, my heart a plague hath caught,
And I have vow'd to keep it close, not shew
My grief to any; for it has no cure.
On, wandring steps, to some remote place move:
I'll keep my vow, though I have lost my Love. [Exit.
Ben. 'Fore heaven, distracted for her! fare you well:
I'll watch his steps; for I no joy shall find,
Till I have found his cause, and calm'd his mind. [Exit.
[Rand.] He's overcome with joy.
Ang[e]l. 'Tis very strange.
Rand. Well, Sister, I must leave you; the time's busie.
Violanta, chear you up; and I pray Heaven
Restore each to their love, and health again. [Exit.
Viol. Amen, Great Uncle. Mother, what a chance
Unluckily is added to my woe,
In this young Gentleman!
Ang[e]l. True, Violanta:
It grieves me much. Doll, go you instantly,
And find out Gerrard; tell him his friends hap,
And let him use best means to comfort him;
But as his life preserve this secret still.
Viol. Mother, I'ld not offend you: might not Gerrard
Steal in, and see me in the evening?
Angel. Well,
Bid him do so.
Viol. Heavens blessing o' your heart.
Do ye not call Child-bearing, Travel, Mother?
Angel. Yes.
Viol. It well may be, The bare-foot traveller
That's born a Prince, and walks his pilgrimage,
Whose tender feet kiss the remorseless stones
Only, ne'er felt a travel like to it.
Alas, dear Mother, you groan'd thus for me,
And yet how disobedient have I been!
Angel. Peace, Violanta, thou hast always been
Gentle and good.
Viol. Gerrard is better, Mother:
Oh if you knew the implicite innocency
Dwells in his brest, you'ld love him like your Prayers.
I see no reason but my Father might
Be told the truth, being pleas'd for Ferdinand
To wooe himself: and Gerard ever was
His full comparative: my Uncle loves him,
As he loves Ferdinand.
Angel. No, not for the world,
Since his intent is cross'd: lov'd Ferdinand
Thus ruin'd, and a child got out of wedlock:
His madness would pursue ye both to death.
Viol. As you please (mother:) I am now, methinks,
Even in the land of ease; I'll sleep.
Angel. Draw in
The bed nearer the fire: silken rest,
Tie all thy cares up. [Exeunt.
Enter Ferdinand and Benvoglio privately after him.
Ferd. Oh blessed solitude! here my grief[s] may speak;
And sorrow, I will argue with thee now:
Nothing will keep me company: the flowers
Die at my moan; the gliding silver streams
Hasten to flee my lamentations;
The air rolls from 'em; and the Golden Sun
Is smother'd pale as Phœbe with my sighs:
Only the earth is kind, that stays. Then earth,
To thee will I complain. Why do the Heavens
Impose upon me Love, what I can ne'er enjoy?
Before fruition was impossible,
I did not thirst it. Gerrard, she is thine,
Seal'd and deliver'd; but 'twas ill to stain
Her virgin state, e'r ye were married.
Poor Infant, what's become of thee? thou know'st not
The woe thy parents brought thee t[o]. Dear earth,
Bury this close in thy sterility;
Be barren to this seed, let it not grow;
For if it do, 'twill bud no Violet
Nor Gillyflower, but wild Brier, or rank Rue,
Unsavory and hurtful.
Ben. Ferdinand,
Thy steel hath digg'd the Earth, thy words my Heart.
Ferd. Oh! I have violated faith, betraid
My friend and innocency.
Ben. Desperate youth,
Violate not thy soul too: I have showers
For thee, young man; but Gerrard flames for thee.
Was thy base pen made to dash out mine honor,
And prostitute my Daughter? Bastard, whore,
Come, turn thy femal tears into revenge,
Which I will quench my thirst with, e'r I see
Daughter, or Wife, or branded Family.
By —— both dye: and for amends,
Ferd'nando be my heir. I'll to my brother,
First tell him all, then to the Duke for justice:
This morning he's receiv'd. Mountains nor Seas
Shall bar my flight to vengeance: the foul stain
Printed on me, thy bloud shall rinse again. [Exit.
Ferd. I have transgress'd all goodness, witlesly
Rais'd mine own curs[es] from posterity:
I'll follow, to redress in what I may;
If not, your heir can dye as well as they. [Exit.
Dumb Shew.
Enter Duke Rinaldo with Attendants, at one door; States,
Randulpho, and Gerrard, at another: they kneel to the Duke,
he accepts their obedience, and raises them up: they prefer
Gerrard to the Duke, who entertains him: they seat the Duke
in State. Enter Benvoglio and Ferdinand: Benvoglio
kneels for justice; Ferd. seems to restrein him. Benvog. gives
the Duke a paper; Duke reads, frowns on Gerr. shews
the paper to the States, they seem sorry, consult, cause the
Guard to apprehend him; they go off with him. Then
Rand. and Benv. seem to crave justice; Duke vows it,
and exit with his attendants. Rand. Ben. and Ferd.
confer. Enter to them Cornelia with two servants; she
seems to expostulate, Rand. in scorn, causeth her to be
thrust out poorly. Exit Rand. Benv. beckons Ferd. to him
(with much seeming passion) swears him; then stamps
with his foot. Enter Dorothea with a Cup, weeping, she
delivers it to Ferd. who with discontent exit; and exeunt
Benvoglio and Dorothea.
Enter Violanta.
Viol. Gerrard not come? nor Dorothy return'd?
What averse star rul'd my Nativity?
The time to night has been as dilatory
As languishing Consumptions. But till now
I never durst say, my Gerrard was unkind.
Heaven grant all things go well; and nothing does,
If he be ill, which I much fear: my dreams
Have been portentous. I did think I saw
My Love araid for battel with a beast,
A hideous Monster, arm'd with teeth and claws,
Grinning, and venemous, that sought to make
Both us a prey: on's tail wa[s] lash'd in bloud
Law: and his forehead I did plainly see
Held Characters that spell'd Authority.
This rent my slumbers; and my fearful soul
Ran searching up and down my dismaid breast,
To find a Port t'escape. Good faith, I am cold;
But Gerrard's love is colder: here I'll sit,
And think my self away.
Enter Ferdinand with a Cup and a Letter.
Ferd. The peace of Love
Attend the sweet Violanta: Read,
For the sad news I bring, I do not know;
Only I am sworn to give you that, and this.
Viol. Is it from G[e]rrard? gentle Ferdinand,
How glad am I to see you thus well restor'd!
In troth he never wrong'd you in his life,
Nor I, but always held fair thoughts of you,
Knew not my Fathers meaning, till of late;
Could never have known it soon enough: for Sir,
Gerrard's, and my affection began
In infancy: My Uncle brought him oft
In long coats hither; you were such another;
The little boy would kiss me, being a child,
And say, he lov'd me; give me all his toys,
Bracelets, Rings, Sweet-meats, all his Rosie-smiles:
I then would stand, and stare upon his eyes,
Play with his locks, and swear I lov'd him too;
For sure, methought, he was a little Love,
He woo'd so prettily in innocence,
That then he warm'd my fancy; for I felt
A glimmering beam of Love kindle my bloud,
Both which, time since hath made a flame and floud.
Fer. Oh gentle innocent! methinks it talks
Like a child still, whose white simplicity
Never arriv'd at sin. Forgive me, Lady,
I have destroy'd Gerrard, and thee; rebell'd
Against Heavens Ordinance; dis-pair'd two Doves,
Made 'em sit mourning; slaughter'd Love, and cleft
The heart of all integrity. This breast
Was trusted with the secret of your vow
By Gerrard, and reveal'd it to your Father.
Viol. Hah!
Ferd. Read, and curse me.
Viol. Neither: I will never
Nor Write, nor Read again.
Ferd. My pennance be it.
Reads. Your Labyrinth is found, your Lust proclaim'd.
Viol. Lust? Humh:
My Mother sure felt none, when I was got.
Fer. I and the Law implacably offend[e]d.
Gerrard's imprison'd, and to dye.
Viol. Oh Heaven!
Ferd. And you to suffe[r] with reproach and scoffs
A publick execution; I have sent you
An Antidote 'gainst shame, poison; by him
You have most wrong'd: give him your penitent tears.
Viol. Humh: 'tis not truth.
Ferd. Drink, and farewel for ever:
And though thy whoredom blemish thy whol[e] line,
Prevent the Hangmans stroke, and die like mine.
Viol. Oh woe is me for Gerrard: I have brought
Confusion on the noblest Gentleman
That ever truly lov'd. But we shall meet
Where our condemners shall not, and enjoy
A more refin'd affection than here;
No Law, nor Father hinders marriage there
'Twixt souls Divinely affi'd, as (sure) ours were:
There we will multiply, and generate joyes
Like fruitful Parents. Luckless Ferdinand,
Where's the good old Gentlewoman, my Husbands Aunt?
Ferd. Thrust from you Uncle [t]o all poverty.
Viol. Alas the pi[t]y: reach me, Sir, the cup;
I'll say my prayers, and take my Fathers Physick.
Ferd. Oh villain that I was, I had forgot
To spill the rest, and am unable now
To stir to hinder her.
Viol. What ail you, Sir?
Ferd. Your Father is a monster, I a villain,
This tongue has kill'd you, pardon, Violant[a],
Oh pardon, Gerrard; and for sacrifice,
Accept my life, to expiate my fault.
I have drunk up the poison.
Viol. Thou art not so
Uncharitable: a better fellow far,
Thou'st left me halfe. Sure death is now a-dry,
And calls for more bloud still to quench his thirst.
I pledge thee Ferdinand, to Gerrards health:
Dear Gerrard, poor Aunt, and unfortunate friend,
Ay me, that Love should breed true Lovers end.
Fer. Stay Madam, stay; help hoa, for Heavens sake help;
Improvident man, that good I did intend
For satisfaction, saving of her life,
My equal cruel Stars made me forget.
Enter Angelina with two Servants.
Ang. What spectacle of death assaults me? oh!
Viol. M[y] dearest Mother, I am dead, I leave
Father, and friends, and life, to follow Love.
Good Mother, love my Child, that did no ill.
Fie, how men lie, that say, death is a pain:
Or has he chang'd his nature? like soft sleep
He seizes me. Your blessing. Last, I crave,
That I may rest by Gerrard in his grave.
Ferd. There lay me too: oh! noble Mistriss, I
Have caus'd all this; and therefore justly dye.
That key will open all.
Ang. Oh viperous Father!
For Heavens sake, bear 'em in: run for Physitians,
And Medicines quickly: Heaven, thou shalt not have her
Yet; 'tis too soon: Alas, I have no more,
And taking her away, thou rob'st the poor. [Exeunt.
Flourish.
Enter Duke, States, Randulpho, Benvoglio,
Gerrard, Executioner, Guard.
Duke. The Law, as greedy as your red desire
Benvoglio, hath cast this man: 'Tis pity
So many excellent parts are swallow'd up
In one foul wave. Is Violanta sent for?
Our Justice must not lop a branch, and let
The body grow still.
Ben. Sir, she will be here
Alive or dead, I am sure.
[G]er. How chearfully my countenance comments death!
That which makes men seem horrid, I will wear
Like to an Ornament. Oh Violanta!
Might my life only satisfie the Law,
How jocundly my soul would enter Heaven!
Why shouldst thou dye? thou wither'st in thy bud,
As I have seen a Rose, e'er it was blown.
I do beseech your Grace, the Statute may
(In this case made) be read: not that I hope
T'extenuate my offence or penalty,
But to see whether it lay hold on her.
And since my death is more exemplary
Than just, this publick Reading will advise
Caution to others.
Duke. Read it.
Ran. Brother, does not
Your soul groan under this severity?
Statute read.
A Statute provided in case of unequal Matches, Marriages
against Parents consent, stealing of Heirs, Rapes, Prostitutions,
and such like: That if any person meanly descended,
or ignorant of his own Parentage, which implies as much,
shall with a foul intent, unlawfully sollicite the Daughter
of any Peer of the Dukedom, he shall for the same offence
forfeit his right hand: but if he further prostitute her to
his Lust, he shall first have his right hand cut off, and
then suffer death by the common Executioner. After whom,
the Lady so offending, shall likewise the next day, in the same
manner, dye for the Fact.
Ger. This Statute has more cruelty than sense:
I see no ray of Mercy. Must the Lady
Suffer death too? suppose she were inforc'd,
By some confederates born away, and ravish'd;
Is she not guiltless?
Duke. Yes, if it be prov'd.
Ger. This case is so: I ravish'd Violanta.
State. Who ever knew a Rape produce a child?
Ben. Pish, these are idle. Will your grace command
The Executioner proceed?
Duke. Your Office.
Ger. Farewell to thy inticing vanity,
Thou round gilt box, that dost deceive man's eye:
The wise man knows, when open thou art broke,
The treasure thou includ'st, is dust and smoke,
Even thus, I cast thee by. My Lords, the Law
Is but the great mans mule, he rides on it,
And tramples poorer men under his feet;
Yet when they come to knock at yon bright Gate,
Ones Rags shall enter, 'fore the others State.
Peace to ye all: here, sirrah, strike: this hand
Hath Violanta kiss'd a thousand times;
It smells sweet ever since: this was the hand
Plighted my faith to her: do not think thou canst
Cut that in sunder with my hand. My Lord,
As free from speck as this arm is, my heart
Is of foul Lust, and every vein glides here
As full of truth. Why does thy hand shake so?
'Tis mine must be cut off, and that is firm;
For it was ever constant.
Enter Cornelia.
Cor. Hold; your Sentence
Unjustly is pronounced, my Lord: this blow
Cuts your hand off; for his is none of yours:
But Violanta's given in Holy marriage
Before she was delivered, consummated
With the free Will of her Mother, by her Confessor,
In Lord Benvoglio's house.
Ger. Alas good Aunt,
That helps us nothing; else I had reveal'd it.
Duke. What woman's this?
Ben. A base confederate
In this proceeding, kept of alms long time
By him; who now expos'd to misery,
Talks thus distractedly. Attach her, Guard.
Ran. Your cruelty (brother) will have end.
Cor. You'd best
Let them attach my tongue.
Duke. Good woman, peace:
For were this truth, it doth not help thy Nephew;
The Law's infring'd by their disparity,
That forfeits both their lives.
Cor. Sir, with your pardon,
Had your Grace ever children?
Duke. Thou hast put
A question, whose sharp point toucheth my heart:
I had two little Sons, twins, who were both
(With my good Dutchess) slain, as I did hear;
At that time when my Dukedom was surpriz'd.
Cor. I have heard many say (my gracious Lord)
That I was wondrous like her.
All. Ha?
Duke. By all mans joy, it is Cornelia,
My dearest wife.
Cor. To ratifie me her,
Come down, Alphonso, one of those two twins,
And take thy Fathers blessing: thou hast broke
No Law, thy birth being above thy wives:
Ascanio is the other, nam'd Fernando,
Who by remote means, to my Lord Benvoglio
I got preferr'd; and in poor habits clad,
(You fled, and th' innovation laid again)
I wrought my self into Randulpho's service,
With my eldest boy; yet never durst reveal
What they and I were, no, not to themselves,
Until the Tyrants death.
Duke. My joy has fill'd me
Like a full-winded sail: I cannot speak.
Ger. Fetch Violanta and my brother.
Ben. Run,
Run like a spout, you rogue: a —— o' poison,
That little whore I trusted, will betray me.
Stay, hangman, I have work for you; there's Gold;
Cut off my head, or hang me presently.
Soft Musick.
Enter Angelina with the bodies of Ferdinand and Violanta
on a bier; Dorothea carrying the Cup and Letter, which
she gives to the Duke: he reads, seems sorrowful; shews
it to Cornelia and Gerrard: they lament over the bier.
Randulpho and Benvoglio seem fearful, and seem to report
to Angelina and Dorothea, what hath passed before.
Ran. This is your rashness, brother.
Duke. Oh joy, thou wert too great to last;
This was a cruel turning to our hopes,
Unnatural Father: poor Ascanio.
Ger. Oh mother! let me be Gerrard again,
And follow Violanta.
Cor. Oh my Son—
Duke. Your lives yet, bloudy men shall answer this.
Dor. I must not see 'em longer grieve. My Lord,
Be comforted; let sadness generally
Forsake each eye and bosom; they both live:
For poison, I infus'd meer Opium;
Holding compulsive perjury less sin
Than such a loathed murther would have bin.
All. Oh blessed Ma[iden].
Dor. Musick, gently creep
Into their ears, and fright hence lazy sleep.
Morpheus, command thy servant sleep
In leaden chains no longer keep
This Prince and Lady: Rise, wake, rise,
And round about convey your eyes:
Rise Prince, go greet thy Father and thy Mother;
Rise thou, t'imbrace thy Husband and thy Brother.
Duke Cor. Son, Daughter.
Ferd. Father, Mother, Brother.
Ger. Wife.
Viol. Are we not all in Heaven?
Ger. Faith, very near it.
Ferd. How can this be?
Duke. Hear it.
Dor. If I had serv'd you right, I should have seen
Your old pate off, e'r I had reveald.
Ben. Oh wench!
Oh honest wench! if my wife die, I'll marry thee:
There's my reward.
Ferd. 'Tis true.
Duke. 'Tis very strange.
Ger. Why kneel you honest Master?
Ferd. My good Lord.
Ger. Dear Mother.
Duke. Rise, rise, all are friends: I owe ye
for all their boards: And wench, take thou the man
Whose life thou sav'dst; less cannot pay the merit.
How shall I part my kiss? I cannot: Let
One generally therefore joyn our cheeks.
A pen of Iron, and a leaf of Brass,
To keep this Story to Eternity:
And a Promethean Wit. Oh sacred Love,
Nor chance, nor death can thy firm truth remove. [Exeunt.
King. Now Isabella. [Flourish.
Isab. This can true Love do.
I joy they all so happily are pleas'd:
The Ladies and the Brothers must triumph.
King. They do:
For Cupid scorns but t' have his triumph too. [Flourish.
The TRIUMPH.
Enter divers Musicians, then certain Singers bearing Bannerets
inscribed, Truth, Loyalty, Patience, Concord: Next Gerrard
and Ferdinand with Garlands of Roses: Then Violanta, Last,
a Chariot drawn by two Cupids, and a Cupid sitting in it. [Flourish.
Enter PROLOGUE.
Love, and the strength of fair affection
(Most royal Sir) what long seem'd lost, have won
Their perfect ends, and crown'd those constant hearts
With lasting Triumph, whose most virtuous parts,
Worthy desires, and love, shall never end.
Now turn we round the Scæne, and (Great Sir) lend
A sad and serious eye to this of Death,
This black and dismal Triumph; where man's breath,
Desert, and guilty bloud ascend the Stage,
And view the Tyrant, ruind in his rage. [Exit.
[Flourish.
Enter L'avall, Gabriella and Maria.
Gab. No, good my Lord, I am not now to find
Your long neglect of me; All those affections
You came first clad in to my love, like Summer,
Lusty and full of life: all those desires
That like the painted Spring bloom'd round about ye,
Giving the happy promise of an Harvest,
How have I seen drop off, and fall forgotten!
With the least lustre of anothers beauty,
How oft (forgetful Lord) have I been blast[e]d!
Was I so eas'ly won? or did this body
Yield to your false embraces with less labour
Then if you had carried some strong Town?
Lav. Good Gabriella.
Gab. Could all your subtilties and sighs betray me.
The vows ye shook me with, the tears ye drown'd me,
Till I came fairly off with honor'd Marriage?
Oh fie, my Lord.
Lav. Prethee good Gabriella.
Gab. Would I had never known ye, nor your honors,
They are stuck too full of griefs: oh happy women,
That plant your Love in equal honest bosoms,
Whose sweet desires like Roses set together,
Make one another happy in their blushes,
Growing and dying without sense of greatness,
To which I am a slave! [and] that blest Sacrament
That daily makes millions of happy mothers, link'd me
To this man's Lust alone, there left me.
I dare not say I am his wife, 'tis dangerous:
His Love, I cannot say: alas, how many?
Lav. You grow too warm; pray [ye be] content, you best know,
The times necessity, and how our marriage
Being so much unequal to mine honor,
While the Duke lives, I standing high in favour;
And whilst I keep that safe, next to the Dukedom,
Must not be known, without my utter ruine.
Have patience for a while, and do but dream wench,
The glory of a Dutchess. How she tires me!
How dull and leaden is my appetite
To that stale beauty now! oh, I could curse
And crucifie my self for childish doating
Upon a face that feeds not with fresh Figures
Every fresh hour: she is now a surfet to me.
Enter Gentille.
Who's that? Gentille? I charge ye, no acquaintance
You nor your Maid with him, nor no discourse
Till times are riper.
Gent. Fie, my Noble Lord,
Can you be now a stranger to the Court,
When your most virtuous Bride, the beauteous Hellena
Stands ready like a Star to gild your happiness,
When Hymens lusty fires are now a lighting,
And all the Flower of Anjou?
Lav. Some few trifles,
For matter of adornment, have a little
Made me so slow, Gentille, which now in readiness,
I am for Court immediately.
Gent. Take heed, Sir,
This is no time for trifling, nor she no Lady
To be now entertain'd with toys: 'twill cost ye—
Lav. Y'are an old Cock, Gentille.
Gent. By your Lordships favour.
Lav. Prethee away; 'twill lose time.
Gent. Oh my Lord,
Pardon me that by all means.
Lav. We have business
A-foot man, of more moment.
Gent. Then my manners?
I know none, nor I seek none.
Lav. Take to morrow.
Gent. Even now, by your Lordships leave. Excellent Beauty.
My service here I ever dedicate,
In honor of my best friend, your dead Father,
To you his living virtue, and wish heartily,
That firm affection that made us two happy,
May take as deep undying root, and flourish
Betwixt my Daughter Casta, and your goodness,
Who shall be still your servant.
Gab. I much thank ye.
Lav. —— [o'] this dreaming puppy. Will ye go, Sir?
Gent. A little more, Good Lord.
Lav. Not now, by——
Come, I must use ye.
Gent. Goodness dwell still with you. [Exeunt Gentill and Laval.
Gab. The sight of this old Gentleman, Maria,
Pulls to my mine eyes again the living Picture
Of Perolot his virtuous Son, my first Love,
That dy'd at Orleance.
Mar. You have felt both fortunes,
And in extreams, poor Lady; for young Perolot,
Being every way unable to maintain you,
Durst not make known his love to Friend or Father:
My Lord Lavall, being powerful, and you poor,
Will not acknowledge you.
Gab. No more: Let's in wench:
There let my Lute speak my Laments, they have t[ir]ed me. [Exeunt.
Enter two Courtiers.
1 Court. I grant, the Duke is wondrous provident
In his now planting for succession,
I know his care as honourable in the choice too.
Marines fair virtuous daughter; but what's all this?
To what end excellent arrives this travel,
When he that bears the main roof is so rotten?
2 Court. You have hit it now indeed: For if Fame lye not
He is untemperate.
1 Court. You express him poorly,
Too gentle Sir: the most deboist and barbarous;
Believe it, the most void of all humanity,
Howe'r his cunning, cloak it to his Uncle,
And those his pride depends upon.
[2] Court. I have heard too,
Given excessively to drink.
1 Court. Most certain,
And in that drink most dangerous: I speak these things
To one I know loves truth, and dares not wrong her.
2 Court. You may speak on.
1 Court. Uncertain as the Sea, Sir,
Proud and deceitful as his sins Great Master;
His appetite to Women (for there he carries
His main Sail spread) so boundles, and abominably,
That but to have her name by that tongue spoken,
Poisons the virtue of the purest Virgin.
2 Cour. I am sorry for young Gabriella then,
A Maid reputed, ever of fair carriage,
For he has been noted visiting.
1 Court. She is gone then,
Or any else, that promises, or power,
Gifts, or his guilful vows can work upon,
But these are but poor parcels.
2 Court. 'Tis great pity.
1 Court. Nor want these sins a chief Saint to befriend 'em,
The Devil follows him; and for a truth, Sir,
Appears in visible figure often to him,
At which time he's possest with sudden trances,
Cold deadly sweats, and griping of the conscience,
Tormented strangely, as they say.
2 Court. Heaven turn him:
This marriage-day mayst thou well curse, fair Hellen.
But let's go view the ceremony.
1 Court. I'll walk with you. [Exeunt.
[Musick.