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Dula. 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 lie
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 pow'r

To love one above an hour,

But my heart would prompt mine eye
On some other man to fly :
Venus, fix thou mine eyes fast,

You'll come, my lord, and see the virgins weep,
When I am laid in earth, though you yourself
Can know no pity. Thus I wind myself
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.

Dula. Come, ladies, will you go?
Omnes. Good night, my lord.
Amin. Much happiness unto you all!

[Exit.

[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 myself thus? Something whispers me, As my own conscience, too sensible, 'Go not to bed.' My guilt is not so great Would make me think: I only brake a promise, And 'twas the king that forced me. Tim'rous flesh, Why shak'st thou so? Away, my idle fears! Enter EVADNE.

Yonder she is, the lustre of whose eye

Or, if not, give me all that I shall see at last. Can blot away the sad remembrance

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, farewell. 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 flatt'ring ivy clasp my coffin round;
Write on my brow my fortune; let my bier
Be borne by virgins, that shall sing, by course,
The truth of maids, and perjuries of men.

Evad. Alas, I pity thee.
Omnes. Madam, good night.

[Exit EVAD.

1 Lady. Come, we'll let in the bridegroom. Dula. Where's my lord?

Enter AMINTOR.

1 Lady. Here, take this light.
Dula. You'll find her in the dark.

1 Lady. Your lady's scarce abed yet; you must help her.

Asp. Go, and be happy in your lady's love. May all the wrongs, that you have done to me, Be utterly forgotten in my death! I'll trouble you no more; yet I will take A parting kiss, and will not be deny'd.

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.

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But I shall like it.

Evad. What look likes you best?

Amin. Why do you ask?

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Letting them curl themselves about my limbs,

Evad That I may shew you one less pleasing Than sleep one night with thee. This is not

to you.

Amin. How's that?

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Thou weigh'st not any thing compar'd with me:
Life, honour, joys 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'll kiss the sin

Off from thy lips.

Amin, I will not swear, sweet love,

Till I do know the cause.

Evad. I would, thou would'st.

Why, it is thou, that wrong'st me; I hate thee;
Thou should'st have killed thyself.

Amin. If I should know that, I should quickly
kill

The man you hated.

Evad. Know it then, and do't.

Amin. Oh, no; what look soe'er thou shalt put on

To try my faith, I shall not think thee false:

I cannot find one blemish in thy face,

feigned,

Nor sounds it like the coyness of a bride.

Amin. Is flesh so earthly to endure all this?
Are these the joys 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
smoke

In praise of thee; we will adopt us sons;
Then virtue shall inherit, and not blood.
If we do lust, we'll take the next we meet,
Serving ourselves 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. O, pardon me, my love!
So dear the thoughts are that I hold of thee,
That I must break forth. Satisfy 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?

Amin. I know too much. 'Would I had doubt.
ed still!

Where falsehood should abide. Leave, and to Was ever such a marriage night as this!

bed.

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Ye pow'rs above, if you did ever mean
Man should be us'd thus, you have thought a

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Of feeble woman! 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 joys thou hast; I know, thou wilt;
And make me careful, lest the sudden change
O'ercome my spirits.

Ecad. When I call back this oath,
The pains of hell environ me!

Amin. I sleep, and am too temperate! Come
to bed!

Or by those hairs, which, if thou hadst a soul
Like to thy locks, were threads for kings to wear
About their arms-

Evad. Why, so, perhaps, they are.

Amin. 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.

Amin. What a strange thing am I!
Evad. A miserable one; one that myself
Am sorry for.

Amin. 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, cross'd in their desires,
Shall bless thy memory, and call thee good;
Because such mercy in thy heart was found,

Amin. I'll drag thee to my bed, and make thy To rid a ling'ring wretch.

tongue

Undo this wicked oath, or on thy flesh
I'll print a thousand wounds to let out life!
Ecad. I fear thee not. Do what thou dar'st
to me!

Ev'ry ill-sounding word, or threat'ning look,
Thou shew'st to me, will be revenged at full.
Amin. It will not, sure, Evadne?
Evad. Do not you hazard that.
Amin. Have you your champions?

Evad. Alas, Amintor, think'st thou I forbear
To sleep with thee, because I have put on
A maiden's strictness? Look upon these cheeks,
And thou shalt find the hot and rising blood
Unapt for such a vow. No; in this heart
There dwells as much desire, and as much will
To put that wish'd act in practice, as ever yet
Was known to woman; and they have been
shewn

Both. But it was the folly of thy youth
To think this beauty, to what land soever
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.
Amin. No; let me know the man that wrongs

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Evad. I must have one

To fill thy room again, if thou wert dead;
Else, by this night, I would: I pity thee.
Amin. These strange and sudden injuries have
fallen

So thick upon me, that I lose all sense
Of what they are. Methinks, I am not wrong'd;
Nor is it aught, if from the censuring world
I can but hide it. Reputation!
Thou art a word, no more.—But thou hast shewn
An impudence so high, that to the world
I fear thou wilt betray or shame thyself.

Erad. To cover shame, I took thee; never fear
That I would blaze myself.

Amin. Nor let the king

Know I conceive he wrongs me; then mine ho

nour

Will thrust me into action, though my flesh
Could bear with patience. And it is some ease
To me in these extremes, that I knew this,
Before I touch'd thee; else, had all the sins
Of mankind stood betwixt me and the king,
I had gone through 'em to his heart and thine.
I have lost one desire: 'Tis not his crown
Shall buy me to thy bed now, I resolve,
He has dishonour'd thee. Give me thy hand;
Be careful of thy credit, and sin close;
'Tis all I wish. Upon thy chamber floor
I'll rest to-night, that morning visitors
May think we did as married people use.
And, prithee, smile upon me when they come,
And seem to toy, as if thou hadst been pleas'd
With what we did.

Evad. Fear not; I will do this.

Amin. Come, let us practise; and, as wantonly
As ever loving bride and bridegroom met,
Let's laugh and enter here.

Evad. I am content.

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Ant. Yes, madam, to your grief.
Asp. Alas, poor wenches!

Go learn to love first; learn to lose yourselves;
Learn to be flatter d, and believe, and bless
The double tongue that did it. Make a faith
Out of the miracles of ancient lovers,

Such as spake truth, and died in't; and, like me,
Believe all faithful, and be miserable.

Did you ne'er love yet, wenches? Speak, Olympias:

Thou hast an easy temper, fit for stamp.
Olym. Never.

Asp. Nor you, Antiphila?

Ant. Nor I.

Asp. Then, my good girls, be more than wo

men, wise:

At least, be more than I was; and be sure
You credit any thing the light gives light to,
Before a man. Rather believe the sea
Weeps for the ruin'd merchant, when he roars;
Rather, the wind courts but the pregnant sails,
When the strong cordage cracks; rather, the sun
Comes but to kiss the fruit in wealthy autumn,
When all falls blasted. If you needs must love,
(Forc'd by ill fate) take to your maiden bosoms
Two dead-cold aspicks, and of them make lovers:
They cannot flatter, nor forswear; one kiss
Makes a long peace for all. But man,
Oh, that beast man! Come, let's be sad, my girls!
That down-cast of thine eye, Olympias,
Shews a fine sorrow. Mark, Antiphila;
Just such another was the nymph Enone,
When Paris brought home Helen. Now, a tear;
And then thou art a piece expressing fully
The Carthage queen, when, from a cold sea-rock,
Full with her sorrow, she tied fast her eyes
To the fair Trojan ships; and, having lost them,
Just as thine eyes do, down stole a tear.

phila,

Anti

What would this wench do, if she were Aspatia?
Here she would stand, till some more pitying god
Turn'd her to marble! 'Tis enough, my wench!
Shew me the piece of needlework you wrought.
Ant. Of Ariadne, madam?
Asp. Yes, that piece.

This should be Theseus; h'as a cozening face:
You meant him for a man?

Ant. He was so, madam.

Asp. Why, then, 'tis well enough. Never look back;

You have a full wind, and a false heart, Theseus!
Does not the story say, his keel was split,
Or his masts spent, or some kind rock or other
Met with his vessel?

Ant. Not as I remember.

Asp. It should have been so. Could the gods know this,

And not, of all their number, raise a storm?
But they are all as ill! This false smile was
Well express'd; just such another caught me!
You shall not go on so, Antiphila:
In this place work a quicksand,
And over it a shallow smiling water,

And his ship ploughing it; and then a Fear: Do that Fear to the life, wench.

Ant. It will wrong the story.

Asp. 'Twill make the story, wrong'd by wanton poets,

Live long, and be believ'd. But where's the lady? Ant. There, madam.

Asp. Fie! you have miss'd it here, Antiphila; You are much mistaken, wench:

These colours are not dull and pale enough
To shew a soul so full of misery
As this sad lady's was. Do it by me;
Do it again, by me, the lost Aspatia,
And you shall find all true, but the wild island.
Suppose I stand upon the sea-beach now,
Mine arms thus, and mine hair blown with the

wind,

Wild as that desart; and let all about me
Tell that I am forsaken. Do my face
(If thou hadst ever feeling of a sorrow)
Thus, thus, Antiphila: Strive to make me look
Like sorrow's monument! And the trees about
me,

Let them be dry and leafless; let the rocks
Groan with continual surges; and, behind me,
Make all a desolation. Look, look, wenches!
A miserable life of this poor picture!
Olym. Dear madam!

Asp. I have done. Sit down; and let us Upon that point fix all our eyes; that point there. Make a dull silence, till you feel a sudden sadness Give us new souls.

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What, are you grown so resty you want heats? We shall have some of the court-boys heat you shortly.

Ant. My lord, we do no more than we are charg'd.

It is the lady's pleasure we be thus in grief:
She is forsaken.

Cal. There's a rogue too;

A young dissembling slave! Well, get you in!
I'll have a bout with that boy. 'Tis high time
Now to be valiant: I confess my youth
Was never prone that way. What, made an ass?
A court-stale? Well, I will be valiant,

And beat some dozen of these whelps; I will!
And there's another of them, a trim cheating sol-

dier;

I'll maul that rascal; h’as out-braved me twice;
But now, I thank the gods, I am valiant.
Go, get you in! I'll take a course with all.

Excunt.

ACT III.

Enter CLEON, STRATO, and DIPHILUS. Cleo. Your sister is not up yet.

Diph. Oh, brides must take their morning's rest; the night is troublesome.

Stra. But not tedious.

Diph. What odds, he has not my sister's maidenhead to-night?

Stra. No; it's odds against any bridegroom living, he ne'er gets it while he lives.

Diph. You're merry with my sister; you'll please to allow me the same freedom with your mother.

Stra. She's at your service.

Diph. Then, she's merry enough of herself; she needs no tickling. Knock at the door. Stra. We shall interrupt them.

Diph. No matter; they have the year before them. Good morrow, sister! spare yourself today; the night will come again.

Enter AMINTOR.

Amin. Who's there? my brother! I'm no readier yet.

Your sister is but now up.

Diph. You look as you had lost your eyes to.night:

I think you have not slept.

Amin. I'faith I have not.

Diph. You have done better, then.

Amin. We ventur'd for a boy: When he is twelve,

He shall command against the foes of Rhodes. Shall we be merry?

Stra. You cannot; you want sleep.

Amin. "Tis true.-But she,

As if she had drank Lethe, or had made

Even with Heav'n, did fetch so still a sleep,
So sweet and sound-

Diph. What's that?

Amin. Your sister frets

[Aside.

This morning; and does turn her eyes upon me, As people on their headsman. She does chafe, And kiss, and chafe again, and clap my cheeks: She's in another world.

Diph. Then I had lost: I was about to lay You had not got her maidenhead to-night. Amin. Ha! he does not mock me?-you had lost indeed.

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Amin. Dear Melantius!
Let me behold thee. Is it possible?
Mel, What sudden gaze is this?
Amin. 'Tis wond'rous strange!

Mel. Why does thine eye desire so strict

view

Of that it knows so well? There's nothing here, That is not thine.

Amin. I wonder much, Melantius,

To see those noble looks, that make me think
How virtuous thou art: And, on the sudden,
'Tis strange to me thou shouldst have worth and
honour;

Or not be base, and false, and treacherous,
And every ill. But--

Mel. Stay, stay, my friend;

I fear this sound will not become our loves.
No more; embrace me.

Amin. Oh, mistake me not:

I know thee to be full of all those deeds,
That we frail men call good; but, by the course
Of nature, thou shouldst be as quickly chang'd
As are the winds; dissembling as the sea,
That now wears brows as smooth as virgins' be,
Tempting the merchant to invade his face,
And in an hour calls his billows up,
And shoots them at the sun, destroying all
He carries on him.-Oh, how near am I
To utter my sick thoughts!

[Aside. Mel. But why, my friend, should I be so by

nature?

Amin. I've wed thy sister, who hath virtuous thoughts

Enough for one whole family; and it is strange That you should feel no want.

Mel. Believe me, this compliment's too cunning for me.

Diph. What should I be then, by the course of nature,

They having both robb'd me of so much virtue? Stra. Oh, call the bride, my lord Amintor, That we may see her blush, and turn her eyes down:

"Tis the prettiest sport!

Amin. Evadne!

Evad. [Within.] My lord!
Amin. Come forth, my love!

Your brothers do attend to wish you joy
Evad. I am not ready yet.

Amin. Enough, enough.

Evad. They'll mock me.

Amin. Faith, thou shalt come in.

Enter EVADNE.

Mel. Good-morrow, sister! He that under

stands

Whom you have wed, need not to wish you joy;
You have enough. Take heed you be not proud.
Diph. Oh sister, what have you done?
Evad. I done! why, what have I done?
Stra. My lord Amintor swears you are no
maid now.

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