Will keep me deaf for ever. No, Mark-Antonio,
After thy sentence I may hear no more,
Thou hast pronounc'd me dead.
Phi. Appeal to Reason;
She will reprieve you from the power of grief,
Which rules but in her absence; hear me say
A sovereign message from her, which in duty,
And love to your own safety, you ought hear.
Why do you strive so? whither would you fly?
You cannot wrest yourself away from care,
You may from counsel; you may shift your place,
But not your person; and another clime
Makes you no other.
(Which I do serve, honour, and love in you)
If you will sigh, sigh here; if would
you
A sigh to tears, or out-cry, do it here.
No shade, no desert, darkness, nor the grave,
Shall be more equal to your thoughts than I.
Only but hear me speak.
Leo. What would you say?
Phi. That which shall raise your heart, or pull
Quiet your passion, or provoke mine own :
We must have both one balsam, or one wound.
For know, lov'd fair,
I have read you through,
And with a wond'ring pity look'd on you.
I have observ'd the method of your blood,
And waited on it even with sympathy
Of a like red and paleness in mine own.
I knew which blush was anger's, which was love's,
Which was the eye of sorrow, which of truth,
And could distinguish honour from disdain
In every change and you are worth my study.
I saw your voluntary misery
Sustain'd in travel; a disguised maid,
Wearied with seeking, and with finding lost;
Neglected, where you hoped most, or put by;
I saw it, and have laid it to my heart;
And though it were my sister which was righted,
Yet being by your wrong, I put off nature,
Could not be glad, where I most bound to triumph,
My care for you so drown'd respect of her.
Nor did I only apprehend your bonds,
But studied your release: and for that day
Have I made up a ransom, brought you health,
Preservative 'gainst chance or injury,
Please you apply it to the grief; myself.
Phi. Nay, do not think me less than such a cure; Antonio was not, and 'tis possible
Philippo may succeed. My blood and house
Are as deep rooted, and as fairly spread,
As Mark-Antonio's; and in that all seek,
Fortune hath giv'n him no precedency;
As for our thanks to Nature, I may burn
Incense as much as he; I ever durst
Walk with Antonio by the self-same light
At any feast, or triumph, and ne'er cared
Which side my lady or her woman took
In their survey; I durst have told my tale too,
Though his discourse new ended.
Phi. Let not that torture you which makes me happy.
Nor think that conscience, fair, which is no shame ;
'Twas no repulse, it was your dowry rather:
For then methought a thousand graces met
To make you lovely, and ten thousand stories
Of constant virtue, which you then out-reach'd,
In one example did proclaim you rich:
Nor do I think you wretched or disgraced
After this suffering, and do therefore take
Advantage of your need; but rather know,
You are the charge and business of those powers,
Who, like best tutors, do inflict hard tasks
Upon great natures, and of noblest hopes;
Read trivial lessons, and half-lines to slugs:
They that live long, and never feel mischance,
Spend more than half their age in ignorance.
Leo. "Tis well you think so.
Phi. You shall think so too,
You shall, sweet Leocadia, and do so.
Leo. Good sir, no more; you have too fair a
To play so foul a part in as the Tempter.
Say that I could make peace with fortune; who,
Who should absolve me of my vow yet; ha?
My contract made?
Your contract?
Yes, my contract.
Am I not his? his wife?
Phi. Sweet, nothing less.
Leo. I have no name then.
Phi. Truly then you have not.
How can you be his wife, who was before
Another's husband?
Leo. Oh! though he dispense
With his faith given, I cannot with mine.
Phi. You do mistake, clear soul; his precontract Doth annul yours, and you have giv'n no faith
That ties you, in religion, or humanity :
You rather sin against that greater precept,
To covet what's another's; sweet, you do:
Believe me, who dare not urge dishonest things. 20
Remove that scruple therefore, and but take
Your dangers now into your judgment's scale,
And weigh them with your safeties. Think but whither
Now you can go; what you can do to live:
How near you 've barr'd all ports to your own
Except this one that I here open, love.
Should you be left alone, you were a prey
To the wild lust of any, who would look
Upon this shape like a temptation,
And think you want the man you personate;
Would not regard this shift, which love put on,
As virtue forc'd, but covet it like vice:
So should you live the slander of each sex,
And be the child of error and of shame ;
And which is worse, even Mark-Antonio
Would be call'd just, to turn a wanderer off,
And fame report you worthy his contempt:
Where, if you make new choice, and settle here
There is no further tumult in this flood,
Each current keeps his course, and all suspicions 40 Shall return honours. Came you forth a maid?
Go home a waited Leocadia.
Go home, and, by the virtue of that charm,
Transform all mischiefs, as you are transform'd;
Turn your offended father's wrath to wonder,
And all this loud grief to a silent welcome;
Unfold the riddles you have made.-What say you?
Now is the time; delay is but despair;
If you be changed, let a kiss tell me so.
Leo. I am; but how, I rather feel than know. 10
[This is one of the most pleasing if not the most shining scenes in Fletcher. All is sweet, natural, and unforced. It is a copy which we may suppose Massinger to have profited by the studying.]
GREEN'S TU QUOQUE; or, THE CITY
GALLANT: A COMEDY.
Men more niggardly of their love than women.
Thrice happy days they were, and too soon gone,
When as the heart was coupled with the tongue;
And no deceitful flattery, or guile
Hung on the lover's tear-commixed smile.
Could women learn but that imperiousness,
By which men use to stint our happiness
(When they have purchas'd us for to be theirs
By customary sighs and forced tears)
To give us bits of kindness, lest we faint,
But no abundance; that we ever want,
And still are begging: which too well they know
Endears affection, and doth make it grow.
Had we those sleights, how happy were we then
That we might glory over love-sick men !
But arts we know not, nor have any skill
To feign a sour look to a pleasing will;
Nor couch a secret love in show of hate:
But, if we like, must be compassionate.
*This is so like Shakspeare, that one seems almost to remember it as a speech of Desdemona's upon perceiving an alteration in the behaviour of the Moor.
How ruthless men are to adversity!
My acquaintance scarce will know me; when we meet
They cannot stay to talk, they must be gone;
And shake me by the hand as if I burnt them.
Prodigality.
That which gilded over his imperfections
Is wasted and consumed, even like ice,
Which by the vehemence of heat dissolves,
And glides to many rivers; so his wealth,
That felt a prodigal hand, hot in expense,
Melted within his gripe, and from his coffers
Ran like a violent stream to other men's.
A WOMAN'S A WEATHERCOCK: A COMEDY.
SCUDMORE alone; having a letter in his hand from
BELLAFRONT, assuring him of her faith.
Scud. If what I feel I could express in words,
Methinks I could speak joy enough to men
To banish sadness from all love for ever.
O thou that reconcilest the faults of all
Thy frothy sex, and in thy single self
Confines, nay, hast engross'd, virtue enough
To frame a spacious world of virtuous women!
Hadst thou been the beginning of thy sex,
I think the devil in the serpent's skin
Had wanted cunning to o'ercome thy goodness;
And all had lived and died in innocency,
The whole creation
Who's there ?-come in-
Nevill. (entering). What up already, Scudmore? Good morrow, my dear Nevill ?
What's this? a letter ! sure it is not so
Scud. By heav'n, you must excuse me.
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