Francis Beaumont
The Maids Tragedy

THE
MAIDS TRAGEDY

Francis Beaumont and John Fletcher

Persons Represented in the Play

King.

Lysippus, brother to the King.

Amintor, a Noble Gentleman.

Evadne, Wife to Amintor.

Malantius}

Diphilius} Brothers to Evadne.

Aspatia, troth-plight wife to Amnitor.

Calianax, an old humorous Lord, and

Father to Aspatia.

Cleon}

Strato} Gentlemen.

Diagoras, a Servant.

Antiphila}

Olympias} waiting Gentlewomen to Aspatia.

Dula, a Lady.

Night}

Cynthia}

Neptune}

Eolus} Maskers.

* * * * *

Actus primus. Scena prima

Enter Cleon, Strato, Lysippus, Diphilus.

Cleon. The rest are making ready Sir.

Strat. So let them, there's time enough.

Diph. You are the brother to the King, my Lord, we'll take your word.

Lys. Strato, thou hast some skill in Poetry, What thinkst thou of a Mask? will it be well?

Strat. As well as Mask can be.

Lys. As Mask can be?

Strat. Yes, they must commend their King, and speak in praise of the Assembly, bless the Bride and Bridegroom, in person of some God; th'are tyed to rules of flattery.

Cle. See, good my Lord, who is return'd!

Lys. Noble Melantius!

[Enter Melantius.

The Land by me welcomes thy vertues home to Rhodes, thou that with blood abroad buyest us our peace; the breath of King is like the breath of Gods; My brother wisht thee here, and thou art here; he will be too kind, and weary thee with often welcomes; but the time doth give thee a welcome above this or all the worlds.

Mel. My Lord, my thanks; but these scratcht limbs of mine have spoke my love and truth unto my friends, more than my tongue ere could: my mind's the same it ever was to you; where I find worth, I love the keeper, till he let it go, And then I follow it.

Diph. Hail worthy brother!
                 He that rejoyces not at your return
                 In safety, is mine enemy for ever.

Mel. I thank thee Diphilus: but thou art faulty;
                  I sent for thee to exercise thine armes
                 With me at Patria: thou cam'st not Diphilus: 'Twas
                  ill.

Diph. My noble brother, my excuse
                 Is my King's strict command, which you my Lord
                 Can witness with me.

Lys. 'Tis true Melantius,
                 He might not come till the solemnity
                 Of this great match were past.

Diph. Have you heard of it?

Mel. Yes, I have given cause to those that
                 Envy my deeds abroad, to call me gamesome;
                  I have no other business here at Rhodes.

Lys. We have a Mask to night,
                  And you must tread a Soldiers measure.

Mel. These soft and silken wars are not for me;
                  The Musick must be shrill, and all confus'd,
                  That stirs my blood, and then I dance with armes:
                  But is Amintor Wed?

Diph. This day.

Mel. All joyes upon him, for he is my friend:
                  Wonder not that I call a man so young my friend,
                  His worth is great; valiant he is, and temperate,
                  And one that never thinks his life his own,
                  If his friend need it: when he was a boy,
                  As oft as I return'd (as without boast)
                  I brought home conquest, he would gaze upon me,
                  And view me round, to find in what one limb
                  The vertue lay to do those things he heard:
                  Then would he wish to see my Sword, and feel
                  The quickness of the edge, and in his hand
                  Weigh it; he oft would make me smile at this;
                  His youth did promise much, and his ripe years
                  Will see it all perform'd.

[Enter Aspatia, passing by.

Melan. Hail Maid and Wife!
                 Thou fair Aspatia, may the holy knot
                 That thou hast tyed to day, last till the hand
                 Of age undo't; may'st thou bring a race
                 Unto Amintor that may fill the world
                 Successively with Souldiers.

Asp. My hard fortunes
                 Deserve not scorn; for I was never proud
                 When they were good.

[Exit Aspatia.

Mel. How's this?

Lys. You are mistaken, for she is not married.

Mel. You said Amintor was.

Diph. 'Tis true; but

Mel. Pardon me, I did receive
                  Letters at Patria, from my Amintor,
                  That he should marry her.

Diph. And so it stood,
                  In all opinion long; but your arrival
                  Made me imagine you had heard the change.

Mel. Who hath he taken then?

Lys. A Lady Sir,
                  That bears the light above her, and strikes dead
                  With flashes of her eye; the fair Evadne your
                  vertuous Sister.

Mel. Peace of heart betwixt them: but this is strange.

Lys. The King my brother did it
                  To honour you; and these solemnities
                  Are at his charge.

Mel. 'Tis Royal, like himself;
                  But I am sad, my speech bears so unfortunate a sound
                  To beautiful Aspatia; there is rage
                  Hid in her fathers breast; Calianax
                  Bent long against me, and he should not think,
                  If I could call it back, that I would take
                  So base revenges, as to scorn the state
                  Of his neglected daughter: holds he still his greatness
                  with the King?

Lys. Yes; but this Lady
                  Walks discontented, with her watry eyes
                  Bent on the earth: the unfrequented woods
                  Are her delight; and when she sees a bank
                  Stuck full of flowers, she with a sigh will tell
                  Her servants what a pretty place it were
                  To bury lovers in, and make her maids
                  Pluck'em, and strow her over like a Corse.
                  She carries with her an infectious grief
                  That strikes all her beholders, she will sing
                  The mournful'st things that ever ear hath heard,
                  And sigh, and sing again, and when the rest
                  Of our young Ladies in their wanton blood,
                  Tell mirthful tales in course that fill the room
                  With laughter, she will with so sad a look
                  Bring forth a story of the silent death
                  Of some forsaken Virgin, which her grief
                  Will put in such a phrase, that ere she end,
                  She'l send them weeping one by one away.

Mel. She has a brother under my command
                  Like her, a face as womanish as hers,
                  But with a spirit that hath much out-grown
                  The number of his years.

[Enter Amintor.

Cle. My Lord the Bridegroom!

Mel. I might run fiercely, not more hastily
                  Upon my foe: I love thee well Amintor,
                  My mouth is much too narrow for my heart;
                   I joy to look upon those eyes of thine;
                  Thou art my friend, but my disorder'd speech cuts off
                  my love.

Amin. Thou art Melantius;
                  All love is spoke in that, a sacrifice
                  To thank the gods, Melantius is return'd
                  In safety; victory sits on his sword
                  As she was wont; may she build there and dwell,
                  And may thy Armour be as it hath been,
                  Only thy valour and thy innocence.
                  What endless treasures would our enemies give,
                  That I might hold thee still thus!

Mel. I am but poor in words, but credit me young man,
                  Thy Mother could no more but weep, for joy to see thee
                  After long absence; all the wounds I have,
                  Fetch not so much away, nor all the cryes
                  Of Widowed Mothers: but this is peace;
                  And what was War?

Amin. Pardon thou holy God
                  Of Marriage bed, and frown not, I am forc't
                  In answer of such noble tears as those,
                  To weep upon my Wedding day.

Mel. I fear thou art grown too sick; for I hear
                  A Lady mourns for thee, men say to death,
                  Forsaken of thee, on what terms I know not.

Amin. She had my promise, but the King forbad it,
                  And made me make this worthy change, thy Sister
                  Accompanied with graces above her,
                  With whom I long to lose my lusty youth,
                  And grow old in her arms.

Mel. Be prosperous.

[Enter Messenger.

Messen. My Lord, the Maskers rage for you.

Lys. We are gone. Cleon, Strata, Diphilus.

Amin. Wee'l all attend you, we shall trouble you
                 With our solemnities.

Mel. Not so Amintor.
                 But if you laugh at my rude carriage
                 In peace, I'le do as much for you in War
                When you come thither: yet I have a Mistress
                 To bring to your delights; rough though I am,
                 I have a Mistress, and she has a heart,
                 She saies, but trust me, it is stone, no better,
                 There is no place that I can challenge in't.
                 But you stand still, and here my way lies.

[Exit.

Enter Calianax with Diagoras.

Cal. Diagoras, look to the doors better for shame, you let in all the world, and anon the King will rail at me; why very well said, by Jove the King will have the show i'th' Court.

Diag. Why do you swear so my Lord? You know he'l have it here.

Cal. By this light if he be wise he will not.

Diag. And if he will not be wise, you are forsworn.

Cal. One may wear his heart out with swearing, and get thanks on no side, I'le be gone, look to't who will.

Diag. My Lord, I will never keep them out.
                 Pray stay, your looks will terrifie them.

Cal. My looks terrifie them, you Coxcombly Ass you! I'le be judg'd by all the company whether thou hast not a worse face than I—

Diag. I mean, because they know you and your Office.

Cal. Office! I would I could put it off, I am sure I sweat quite through my Office, I might have made room at my Daughters Wedding, they had near kill'd her among them. And now I must do service for him that hath forsaken her; serve that will. [Exit Calianax.

Diag. He's so humourous since his daughter was forsaken:
                 hark, hark, there, there, so, so, codes, codes.
                 What now?
                                                 [Within. knock within.

Mel. Open the door.

Diag. Who's there?

Mel. Melantius.

Diag. I hope your Lordship brings no troop with you,
                 for if you do, I must return them.

[Enter Melantius.

Mel. None but this Lady Sir. [And a Lady.

Diag. The Ladies are all plac'd above, save those that
                 come in the Kings Troop, the best of Rhodes sit there,
                 and there's room.

Mel. I thank you Sir: when I have seen you plac'd
                 Madam, I must attend the King; but the Mask done, I'le
                 wait on you again.

Diag. Stand back there, room for my Lord Melantius, pray bear back, this is no place for such youths and their Truls, let the doors shut agen; I, do your heads itch? I'le scratch them for you: so now thrust and hang: again, who is't now? I cannot blame my Lord Calianax for going away; would he were here, he would run raging among them, and break a dozen wiser heads than his own in the twinkling of an eye: what's the news now?

[Within.

I pray can you help me to the speech of the Master Cook?

Diag. If I open the door I'le cook some of your Calvesheads. Peace Rogues.—again,—who is't?

Mel. Melantius within. Enter Calianax to Melantius.

Cal. Let him not in.

Diag. O my Lord I must; make room there for my
                  Lord; is your Lady plac't?

Mel. Yes Sir, I thank you my Lord Calianax: well met,
                  Your causless hate to me I hope is buried.

Cal. Yes, I do service for your Sister here, That brings my own poor Child to timeless death; She loves your friend Amintor, such another false-hearted Lord as you.

Mel. You do me wrong, A most unmanly one, and I am slow In taking vengeance, but be well advis'd.

Cal. It may be so: who placed the Lady there so near the presence of the King?

Mel. I did.

Cal. My Lord she must not sit there.

Mel. Why?

Cal. The place is kept for women of more worth.

Mel. More worth than she? it mis-becomes your Age
                 And place to be thus womanish; forbear;
                 What you have spoke, I am content to think
                 The Palsey shook your tongue to.

Cal. Why 'tis well if I stand here to place mens wenches.

Mel. I shall forget this place, thy Age, my safety, and through all, cut that poor sickly week thou hast to live, away from thee.

Cal. Nay, I know you can fight for your Whore.

Mel. Bate the King, and be he flesh and blood, He lyes that saies it, thy mother at fifteen Was black and sinful to her.

Diag. Good my Lord!

Mel. Some god pluck threescore years from that fond man,
                That I may kill him, and not stain mine honour;
                It is the curse of Souldiers, that in peace
                They shall be brain'd by such ignoble men,
                As (if the Land were troubled) would with tears
                And knees beg succour from 'em: would that blood
                (That sea of blood) that I have lost in fight,
                Were running in thy veins, that it might make thee
                Apt to say less, or able to maintain,
                Shouldst thou say more,—This Rhodes I see is nought
                But a place priviledg'd to do men wrong.

Cal. I, you may say your pleasure.

[Enter Amintor.

Amint. What vilde injury
                  Has stirr'd my worthy friend, who is as slow
                  To fight with words, as he is quick of hand?

Mel. That heap of age which I should reverence
                  If it were temperate: but testy years
                  Are most contemptible.

Amint. Good Sir forbear.

Cal. There is just such another as your self.

Amint. He will wrong you, or me, or any man,
                 And talk as if he had no life to lose
                 Since this our match: the King is coming in,
                 I would not for more wealth than I enjoy,
                 He should perceive you raging, he did hear
                 You were at difference now, which hastned him.

Cal. Make room there.

Hoboyes play within.

Enter King, Evadne, Aspatia, Lords and Ladies.

King. Melantius, thou art welcome, and my love Is with thee still; but this is not a place To brabble in; Calianax, joyn hands.

Cal. He shall not have my hand.

King. This is no time
                 To force you to't, I do love you both:
                  Calianax, you look well to your Office;
                 And you Melantius are welcome home; begin the Mask.

Mel. Sister, I joy to see you, and your choice,
                 You lookt with my eyes when you took that man;
                 Be happy in him.

[Recorders.

Evad. O my dearest brother! Your presence is more joyful than this day can be unto me.

The Mask.

Night rises in mists.

Nigh. Our raign is come; for in the raging Sea
                 The Sun is drown'd, and with him fell the day:
                 Bright Cinthia hear my voice, I am the Night
                 For whom thou bear'st about thy borrowed light;
                 Appear, no longer thy pale visage shrowd,
                 But strike thy silver horn through a cloud,
                 And send a beam upon my swarthy face,
                 By which I may discover all the place
                 And persons, and how many longing eyes
                 Are come to wait on our solemnities.

[Enter Cinthia.

                 How dull and black am I! I could not find
                 This beauty without thee, I am so blind;
                 Methinks they shew like to those Eastern streaks
                 That warn us hence before the morning breaks;
                 Back my pale servant, for these eyes know how
                 To shoot far more and quicker rayes than thou.

Cinth. Great Queen, they be a Troop for whom alone
                 One of my clearest moons I have put on;
                 A Troop that looks as if thy self and I
                 Had pluckt our rains in, and our whips laid by
                 To gaze upon these Mortals, that appear
                 Brighter than we.
  Night. Then let us keep 'em here,
                 And never more our Chariots drive away,
                 But hold our places, and out-shine the day.
  Cinth. Great Queen of shadows, you are
                 pleas'd to speak
                 Of more than may be done; we may not break
                 The gods decrees, but when our time is come,
                 Must drive away and give the day our room.
                 Yet whil'st our raign lasts, let us stretch our power
                 To give our servants one contented hour,
                 With such unwonted solemn grace and state,
                 As may for ever after force them hate
                 Our brothers glorious beams, and wish the night
                 Crown'd with a thousand stars, and our cold light:
                 For almost all the world their service bend
                 To Phoebus and in vain my light I lend,
                 Gaz'd on unto my setting from my rise
                 Almost of none, but of unquiet eyes.

Nigh. Then shine at full, fair Queen, and by thy power
                 Produce a birth to crown this happy hour;
                 Of Nymphs and Shepherds let their songs discover,
                 Easie and sweet, who is a happy Lover;
                 Or if thou woot, then call thine own Endymion
                 From the sweet flowry bed he lies upon,
                 On Latmus top, thy pale beams drawn away,
                 And of this long night let him make a day.

Cinth. Thou dream'st dark Queen, that fair boy was not mine,
                 Nor went I down to kiss him; ease and wine
                 Have bred these bold tales; Poets when they rage,
                 Turn gods to men, and make an hour an age;
                 But I will give a greater state and glory,
                 And raise to time a noble memory
                 Of what these Lovers are; rise, rise, I say,
                 Thou power of deeps, thy surges laid away,
                 Neptune great King of waters, and by me
                 Be proud to be commanded.

[Neptune rises.

Nep. Cinthia, see, Thy word hath fetcht me hither, let me know why I ascend.

Cinth. Doth this majestick show
                   Give thee no knowledge yet?

Nep. Yes, now I see.
                   Something intended (Cinthia) worthy thee;
                   Go on, I'le be a helper.

Cinth. Hie thee then,
                   And charge the wind flie from his Rockie Den.
                   Let loose thy subjects, only Boreas
                   Too foul for our intention as he was;
                   Still keep him fast chain'd; we must have none here
                   But vernal blasts, and gentle winds appear,
                   Such as blow flowers, and through the glad Boughs sing
                   Many soft welcomes to the lusty spring.
                   These are our musick: next, thy watry race
                   Bring on in couples; we are pleas'd to grace
                   This noble night, each in their richest things
                   Your own deeps or the broken vessel brings;
                   Be prodigal, and I shall be as kind,
                   And shine at full upon you.

Nep. Ho the wind
                   Commanding Eolus!

[Enter Eolus out of a Rock.

Eol. Great Neptune!

Nep. He.

Eol. What is thy will?

Nep. We do command thee free Favonius and thy milder winds to wait Upon our Cinthia, but tye Boreas straight; He's too rebellious.

Eol. I shall do it.

Nep. Do, great master of the flood, and all below,
                   Thy full command has taken.

Eol. Ho! the main;
                   Neptune.

Nep. Here.

Eol. Boreas has broke his chain,
                  And struggling with the rest, has got away.

Nep. Let him alone, I'le take him up at sea;
                  He will not long be thence; go once again
                  And call out of the bottoms of the Main,
                  Blew Proteus, and the rest; charge them put on
                  Their greatest pearls, and the most sparkling stone
                  The bearing Rock breeds, till this night is done
                  By me a solemn honour to the Moon;
                  Flie like a full sail.

Eol. I am gone.

Cin. Dark night,
                  Strike a full silence, do a thorow right
                  To this great Chorus, that our Musick may
                  Touch high as heaven, and make the East break day
                  At mid-[n]ight.

[Musick.

SONG

                  Cinthia to thy power, and them we obey.
                  Joy to this great company, and no day
                  Come to steal this night away,
                  Till the rites of love are ended,
                  And the lusty Bridegroom say,
                  Welcome light of all befriended.
                  Pace out you watry powers below, let your feet
                  Like the Gallies when they row, even beat.
                  Let your unknown measures set
                  To the still winds, tell to all
                  That Gods are come immortal great,
                  To honour this great Nuptial.

The Measure. Second Song.

                  Hold back thy hours dark night, till we have done,
                             The day will come too soon;
                  Young Maids will curse thee if thou steal'st away,
                             And leav'st their blushes open to the day.
                             Stay, stay, and hide the blushes of the Bride.
                  Stay gentle night, and with thy darkness cover
                             The kisses of her Lover.
                  Stay, and confound her tears, and her shrill cryings,
                             Her weak denials, vows, and often dyings;
                             Stay and hide all, but help not though she
                             call.

Nep. Great Queen of us and Heaven,
                  Hear what I bring to make this hour a full one,
                  If not her measure.

Cinth. Speak Seas King.

Nep. Thy tunes my Amphitrite joyes to have,
                   When they will dance upon the rising wave,
                   And court me as the sails, my Trytons play
                   Musick to lead a storm, I'le lead the way.

Song. Measure.

                 _To bed, to bed; come Hymen, lead the Bride,
                      And lay her by her Husbands side:
                      Bring in the Virgins every one
                      That grieve to lie alone:
                 That they may kiss while they may say, a maid,
                      To morrow 'twill be other, kist and said:
                      Hesperus be long a shining,
                      Whilst these Lovers are a twining_.

Eol. Ho! Neptune!

Nept. Eolus!

Eol. The Seas go hie,
                 Boreas hath rais'd a storm; go and applie
                 Thy trident, else I prophesie, ere day
                 Many a tall ship will be cast away:
                 Descend with all the Gods, and all their power to
                 strike a cal[m].

Cin. A thanks to every one, and to gratulate
                 So great a service done at my desire,
                 Ye shall have many floods fuller and higher
                 Than you have wisht for; no Ebb shall dare
                 To let the day see where your dwellings are:
                 Now back unto your Government in haste,
                 Lest your proud charge should swell above the waste,
                 And win upon the Island.

Nep. We obey.

[Neptune descends, and the Sea-gods.

Cinth. Hold up thy head dead night; seest thou not day?
                 The East begins to lighten, I must down
                 And give my brother place.

Nigh. Oh! I could frown
                  To see the day, the day that flings his light
                  Upon my Kingdoms, and contemns old Night;
                  Let him go on and flame, I hope to see
                  Another wild-fire in his Axletree;
                  And all false drencht; but I forgot, speak Queen.
                  The day grows on I must no more be seen.

Cin. Heave up thy drowsie head agen, and see
                   A greater light, a greater Majestie,
                   Between our sect and us; whip up thy team;
                   The day breaks here, and you some flashing stream
                   Shot from the South; say, which way wilt thou go?

Nigh. I'le vanish into mists. [Exeunt.

Cin. I into day. [Finis Mask.

King. Take lights there Ladies, get the Bride to bed;
                  We will not see you laid, good night Amintor,
                  We'l ease you of that tedious ceremony;
                  Were it [my] case, I should think time run slow.
                  If thou beest noble, youth, get me a boy,
                  That may defend my Kingdom from my foes.

Amin. All happiness to you.

King. Good night Melantius. [Exeunt.

Actus Secundus

Enter Evadne, Aspatia, Dula, and other Ladies.

Dul. Madam, shall we undress you for this fight?
                  The Wars are nak'd that you must make to night.

Evad. You are very merry Dula.

Dul. I should be far merrier Madam, if it were with me as it is with you.

Eva. Why how now wench?

Dul. Come Ladies will you help?

Eva. I am soon undone.

Dul. And as soon done: Good store of Cloaths will trouble you at both.

Evad. Art thou drunk Dula?

Dul. Why here's none but we.

Evad. Thou think'st belike, there is no modesty When we are alone.

Dul. I by my troth you hit my thoughts aright.

Evad. You prick me Lady.

Dul. 'Tis against my will,
                   Anon you must endure more, and lie still.
                   You're best to practise.

Evad. Sure this wench is mad.

Dul. No faith, this is a trick that I have had Since I was fourteen.

Evad. 'Tis high time to leave it.

Dul. Nay, now I'le keep it till the trick leave me;
                   A dozen wanton words put in your head,
                   Will make you lively in your Husbands bed.

Evad. Nay faith, then take it.

Dul. Take it Madam, where? We all I hope will take it that are here.

Evad. Nay then I'le give you o're.

Dul. So will I make
                  The ablest man in Rhodes, or his heart to ake.

Evad. Wilt take my place to night?

Dul. I'le hold your Cards against any two I know.

Evad. What wilt thou do?

Dul. Madam, we'l do't, and make'm leave play too.

Evad. Aspatia, take her part.

Dul. I will refuse it.
                 She will pluck down a side, she does not use it.

Evad. Why, do.

Dul. You will find the play
                 Quickly, because your head lies well that way.

Evad. I thank thee Dula, would thou could'st instill
                 Some of thy mirth into Aspatia:
                 Nothing but sad thoughts in her breast do dwell,
                 Methinks a mean betwixt you would do well.

Dul. She is in love, hang me if I were so,
                 But I could run my Country, I love too
                 To do those things that people in love do.

Asp. It were a timeless smile should prove my cheek,
                 It were a fitter hour for me to laugh,
                 When at the Altar the Religious Priest
                 Were pacifying the offended powers
                 With sacrifice, than now, this should have been
                 My night, and all your hands have been imployed
                 In giving me a spotless offering
                 To young Amintors bed, as we are now
                 For you: pardon Evadne, would my worth
                 Were great as yours, or that the King, or he,
                 Or both thought so, perhaps he found me worthless,
                 But till he did so, in these ears of mine,
                 (These credulous ears) he pour'd the sweetest words
                 That Art or Love could frame; if he were false,
                 Pardon it heaven, and if I did want
                 Vertue, you safely may forgive that too,
                 For I have left none that I had from you.

Evad. Nay, leave this sad talk Madam.

Asp. Would I could, then should I leave the cause.

Evad. See if you have not spoil'd all Dulas mirth.

Asp. Thou think'st thy heart hard, but if thou beest caught, remember me; thou shalt perceive a fire shot suddenly into thee.

Dul. That's not so good, let'm shoot any thing but fire, I fear'm not.

Asp. Well wench, thou mayst be taken.

Evad. Ladies good night, I'le do the rest my self.

Dul. Nay, let your Lord do some.

Asp. Lay a Garland on my Hearse of the dismal Yew.

Evad. That's one of your sad songs Madam.

Asp. Believe me, 'tis a very pretty one.

Evad. How is it Madam?

SONG

Asp_. Lay a Garland on my Hearse of the dismal yew;
                 Maidens, Willow branches bear; say I died true:
                 My Love was false, but I was firm from my hour of birth;
                 Upon my buried body lay lightly gentle earth_.

Evad. Fie on't Madam, the words are so strange, they are able to make one Dream of Hobgoblins; I could never have the power, Sing that Dula.

Dula_. I could never have the power
                  To love one above an hour,
                  But my heart would prompt mine eye
                  On some other man to flie;_
                  Venus, fix mine eyes fast,

                  Or if not, give me all that I shall see at last.

Evad. So, leave me now.

Dula. Nay, we must see you laid.

Asp. Madam good night, may all the marriage joys
                 That longing Maids imagine in their beds,
                 Prove so unto you; may no discontent
                 Grow 'twixt your Love and you; but if there do,
                 Enquire of me, and I will guide your moan,
                 Teach you an artificial way to grieve,
                 To keep your sorrow waking; love your Lord
                 No worse than I; but if you love so well,
                 Alas, you may displease him, so did I.
                 This is the last time you shall look on me:
                 Ladies farewel; as soon as I am dead,
                 Come all and watch one night about my Hearse;
                 Bring each a mournful story and a tear
                 To offer at it when I go to earth:
                 With flattering Ivie clasp my Coffin round,
                 Write on my brow my fortune, let my Bier
                 Be born by Virgins that shall sing by course
                 The truth of maids and perjuries of men.

Evad. Alas, I pity thee. [Exit Evadne.

Omnes. Madam, goodnight.

1 Lady. Come, we'l let in the Bridegroom.

Dul. Where's my Lord?

1 Lady. Here take this light.

[Enter Amintor.

Dul. You'l find her in the dark.

1 Lady. Your Lady's scarce a bed yet, you must help her.

Asp. Go and be happy in your Ladies love;
                 May all the wrongs that you have done to me,
                 Be utterly forgotten in my death.
                  I'le trouble you no more, yet I will take
                 A parting kiss, and will not be denied.
                 You'l come my Lord, and see the Virgins weep
                 When I am laid in earth, though you your self
                 Can know no pity: thus I wind my self
                  Into this willow Garland, and am prouder
                  That I was once your Love (though now refus'd)
                  Than to have had another true to me.
                  So with my prayers I leave you, and must try
                  Some yet unpractis'd way to grieve and die.

Dul. Come Ladies, will you go? [Exit Aspatia.

Om. Goodnight my Lord.

Amin. Much happiness unto you all.

[Exeunt Ladies.

                   I did that Lady wrong; methinks I feel
                   Her grief shoot suddenly through all my veins;
                   Mine eyes run; this is strange at such a time.
                   It was the King first mov'd me to't, but he
                   Has not my will in keeping—why do I
                   Perplex my self thus? something whispers me,
                   Go not to bed; my guilt is not so great
                   As mine own conscience (too sensible)
                   Would make me think; I only brake a promise,
                   And 'twas the King that forc't me: timorous flesh,
                   Why shak'st thou so? away my idle fears.

[Enter Evadne.

                  Yonder she is, the lustre of whose eye
                  Can blot away the sad remembrance
                  Of all these things: Oh my Evadne, spare
                  That tender body, let it not take cold,
                  The vapours of the night will not fall here.
                  To bed my Love; Hymen will punish us
                  For being slack performers of his rites.
                  Cam'st thou to call me?

Evad. No.

Amin. Come, come my Love, And let us lose our selves to one another. Why art thou up so long?

Evad. I am not well.

Amint. To bed then let me wind thee in these arms, Till I have banisht sickness.

Evad. Good my Lord, I cannot sleep.

Amin. Evadne, we'l watch, I mean no sleeping.

Evad. I'le not go to bed.

Amin. I prethee do.

Evad. I will not for the world.

Amin. Why my dear Love?

Evad. Why? I have sworn I will not.

Amin. Sworn!

Evad. I.

Amint. How? Sworn Evadne?

Evad. Yes, Sworn Amintor, and will swear again If you will wish to hear me. 0 Amin. To whom have you Sworn this?

Evad. If I should name him, the matter were not great.

Amin. Come, this is but the coyness of a Bride.

Evad. The coyness of a Bride?

Amin. How prettily that frown becomes thee!

Evad. Do you like it so?

Amin. Thou canst not dress thy face in such a look But I shall like it.

Evad. What look likes you best?

Amin. Why do you ask?

Evad. That I may shew you one less pleasing to you.

Amin. How's that?

Evad. That I may shew you one less pleasing to you.

Amint. I prethee put thy jests in milder looks. It shews as thou wert angry.

Evad. So perhaps I am indeed.

Amint. Why, who has done thee wrong?
                 Name me the man, and by thy self I swear,
                 Thy yet unconquer'd self, I will revenge thee.

Evad. Now I shall try thy truth; if thou dost love me,
                 Thou weigh'st not any thing compar'd with me;
                 Life, Honour, joyes Eternal, all Delights
                 This world can yield, or hopeful people feign,
                 Or in the life to come, are light as Air
                 To a true Lover when his Lady frowns,
                 And bids him do this: wilt thou kill this man?
                 Swear my Amintor, and I'le kiss the sin off from
                 thy lips.

Amin. I will not swear sweet Love,
                 Till I do know the cause.

Evad. I would thou wouldst;
                 Why, it is thou that wrongest me, I hate thee,
                 Thou shouldst have kill'd thy self.

Amint. If I should know that, I should quickly kill
                 The man you hated.

Evad. Know it then, and do't.

Amint. Oh no, what look soe're thou shalt put on,
                 To try my faith, I shall not think thee false;
                 I cannot find one blemish in thy face,
                 Where falsehood should abide: leave and to bed;
                 If you have sworn to any of the Virgins
                 That were your old companions, to preserve
                 Your Maidenhead a night, it may be done without this
                 means.

Evad. A Maidenhead Amintor at my years?

Amint. Sure she raves, this cannot be
                 Thy natural temper; shall I call thy maids?
                 Either thy healthful sleep hath left thee long,
                 Or else some Fever rages in thy blood.

Evad. Neither Amintor; think you I am mad,
                 Because I speak the truth?

Amint. Will you not lie with me to night?

Evad. To night? you talk as if I would hereafter.

Amint. Hereafter? yes, I do.

Evad. You are deceiv'd, put off amazement, and with patience mark
                  What I shall utter, for the Oracle
                  Knows nothing truer, 'tis not for a night
                  Or two that I forbear thy bed, but for ever.

Amint. I dream,—awake Amintor!

Evad. You hear right,
                  I sooner will find out the beds of Snakes,
                  And with my youthful blood warm their cold flesh,
                  Letting them curle themselves about my Limbs,
                  Than sleep one night with thee; this is not feign'd,
                  Nor sounds it like the coyness of a Bride.

Amin. Is flesh so earthly to endure all this?
                 Are these the joyes of Marriage? Hymen keep
                 This story (that will make succeeding youth
                 Neglect thy Ceremonies) from all ears.
                 Let it not rise up for thy shame and mine
                 To after ages; we will scorn thy Laws,
                 If thou no better bless them; touch the heart
                 Of her that thou hast sent me, or the world
                 Shall know there's not an Altar that will smoak
                 In praise of thee; we will adopt us Sons;
                 Then vertue shall inherit, and not blood:
                 If we do lust, we'l take the next we meet,
                 Serving our selves as other Creatures do,
                 And never take note of the Female more,
                 Nor of her issue. I do rage in vain,
                 She can but jest; Oh! pardon me my Love;
                 So dear the thoughts are that I hold of thee,
                 That I must break forth; satisfie my fear:
                 It is a pain beyond the hand of death,
                 To be in doubt; confirm it with an Oath, if this be true.

Evad. Do you invent the form:
                  Let there be in it all the binding words
                  Devils and Conjurers can put together,
                  And I will take it; I have sworn before,
                  And here by all things holy do again,
                  Never to be acquainted with thy bed.
                  Is your doubt over now?

Amint. I know too much, would I had doubted still;
                  Was ever such a marriage night as this!
                  You powers above, if you did ever mean
                  Man should be us'd thus, you have thought a way
                  How he may bear himself, and save his honour:
                  Instruct me in it; for to my dull eyes
                  There is no mean, no moderate course to run,
                   I must live scorn'd, or be a murderer:
                  Is there a third? why is this night so calm?
                  Why does not Heaven speak in Thunder to us,
                  And drown her voice?

Evad. This rage will do no good.

Amint. Evadne, hear me, thou hast ta'ne an Oath,
                 But such a rash one, that to keep it, were
                 Worse than to swear it; call it back to thee;
                 Such vows as those never ascend the Heaven;
                 A tear or two will wash it quite away:
                 Have mercy on my youth, my hopeful youth,
                  If thou be pitiful, for (without boast)
                 This Land was proud of me: what Lady was there
                 That men call'd fair and vertuous in this Isle,
                 That would have shun'd my love? It is in thee
                 To make me hold this worth—Oh! we vain men
                 That trust out all our reputation,
                 To rest upon the weak and yielding hand
                 Of feeble Women! but thou art not stone;
                 Thy flesh is soft, and in thine eyes doth dwell
                 The spirit of Love, thy heart cannot be hard.
                 Come lead me from the bottom of despair,
                 To all the joyes thou hast; I know thou wilt;
                 And make me careful, lest the sudden change
                 O're-come my spirits.

Evad. When I call back this Oath, the pains of hell inviron me.

Amin. I sleep, and am too temperate; come to bed, or by Those hairs, which if thou hast a soul like to thy locks, Were threads for Kings to wear about their arms.

Evad. Why so perhaps they are.

Amint. I'le drag thee to my bed, and make thy tongue
                  Undo this wicked Oath, or on thy flesh
                  I'le print a thousand wounds to let out life.

Evad. I fear thee not, do what thou dar'st to me;
                   Every ill-sounding word, or threatning look
                   Thou shew'st to me, will be reveng'd at full.

Amint. It will not sure Evadne.

Evad. Do not you hazard that.

Amint. Ha'ye your Champions?

Evad. Alas Amintor, thinkst thou I forbear
                  To sleep with thee, because I have put on
                  A maidens strictness? look upon these cheeks,
                  And thou shalt find the hot and rising blood
                  Unapt for such a vow; no, in this heart
                  There dwels as much desire, and as much will
                  To put that wisht act in practice, as ever yet
                  Was known to woman, and they have been shown
                  Both; but it was the folly of thy youth,
                  To think this beauty (to what Land soe're
                  It shall be call'd) shall stoop to any second.
                  I do enjoy the best, and in that height
                  Have sworn to stand or die: you guess the man.

Amint. No, let me know the man that wrongs me so,
                  That I may cut his body into motes,
                  And scatter it before the Northern wind.

Evad. You dare not strike him.

Amint. Do not wrong me so;
                  Yes, if his body were a poysonous plant,
                  That it were death to touch, I have a soul
                  Will throw me on him.

Evad. Why 'tis the King.

Amint. The King!

Evad. What will you do now?

Amint. 'Tis not the King.

Evad. What, did he make this match for dull Amintor?

Amint. Oh! thou hast nam'd a word that wipes away
                  All thoughts revengeful: in that sacred name,
                  The King, there lies a terror: what frail man
                  Dares lift his hand against it? let the Gods
                  Speak to him when they please;
                  Till then let us suffer and wait.

Evad. Why should you fill your self so full of heat,
                  And haste so to my bed? I am no Virgin.

Amint. What Devil put it in thy fancy then
                  To marry me?

Evad. Alas, I must have one
                  To Father Children, and to bear the name
                  Of Husband to me, that my sin may be more honourable.

Amint. What a strange thing am I!

Evad. A miserable one; one that my self am sorry for.

Amint. Why shew it then in this,
                   If thou hast pity, though thy love be none,
                   Kill me, and all true Lovers that shall live
                   In after ages crost in their desires,
                   Shall bless thy memory, and call thee good,
                   Because such mercy in thy heart was found,
                   To rid a lingring Wretch.

Evad. I must have one
                   To fill thy room again, if thou wert dead,
                   Else by this night I would: I pity thee.

Amint. These strange and sudden injuries have faln
                  So thick upon me, that I lose all sense
                  Of what they are: methinks I am not wrong'd,
                  Nor is it ought, if from the censuring World
                   I can but hide it—Reputation,
                  Thou art a word, no more; but thou hast shown
                  An impudence so high, that to the World
                   I fear thou wilt betray or shame thy self.

Evad. To cover shame I took thee, never fear
                  That I would blaze my self.

Amint. Nor let the King
                  Know I conceive he wrongs me, then mine honour
                  Will thrust me into action, that my flesh
                  Could bear with patience; and it is some ease
                  To me in these extreams, that I knew this
                  Before I toucht thee; else had all the sins
                  Of mankind stood betwixt me and the King,
                   I had gone through 'em to his heart and thine.

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