Puslapio vaizdai

Luc. I would it were,

That you might kill your Stomach on your Meat,
And not upon your Maid.
Jul. What is't that
Took up fo gingerly?
Luc. Nothing.


Jul. Why didft thou stoop then?
Luc. To take a Paper up that I let fall.
Jul. And is that Paper nothing?
Luc. Nothing concerning me.

Jul. Then let it lye for those that it concerns.
Luc. Madam, it will not lye where it concerns,
Unless it have a falfe Interpreter.

Jul. Some Love of yours hath writ to you in Rime.
Luc. That I might fing it, Madam, to a Tune;
Give a Note; your Ladyship can fet,

Jul. As little by fuch Toys as may be poffible;
Beft fing it to the Tune of Light O Love.

Luc. It is too heavy for fo light a Tune.
Jul. Heavy? belike it hath fome Burthen then.
Luc. Ay; and melodious were it, would you fing it.
Jul. And why not you?

Luc. I cannot reach fo high.

Jul. Let's fee your Song:

How now Minion?

Luc. Keep Tune there ftill, fo you will fing it out; And yet methinks I do not like the Tune.

Jul You do not?

Luc. No, Madam, 'tis too sharp.
Jul. You, Minion, are too fawcy.
Luc. Nay, now you are too flat,

And mar the Concord with too harsh a Defcant:
There wanteth but a Mean to fill your Song.

Jul, The Mean is drown'd with your unruly Bafe.
Luc. Indeed I bid the bafe for Protheus.

Jul. This Babble shall not henceforth trouble me. Here is a Coil with Proteftation!

Go, get you gone; and let the Papers lye:

You would be fingring them to anger me.

Luc. She makes it ftrange, but he would be beft pleas'd
To be fo anger'd with another Letter,


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Jul. Nay, would I were fo anger'd with the fame!
Oh hateful Hands to tear fuch loving Words;
Injurious Wafps, to feed on fuch fweet Honey,.
And kill the Bees that yield it with your Stings!
I'll kiss each several Paper for amends:
Look, here is writ, kind Julia; unkind Julia!
As in revenge of thy Ingratitude,

I throw thy Name against the bruifing Stones,
Trampling contemptuously on thy Disdain.
Look here is writ, Love-wounded Protheus.
Poor wounded Name; my Bofom, as a Bed,
Shall lodge thee 'till thy Wound be throughly heal'd;
Aud thus I fearch it with a foveraign Kifs.
But twice or thrice was Protheus written down:
Be calm, good Wind, blow not a Word away,
'Till I have found each Letter in the Letter,
Except mine own Name: That fome Whirl-wind bear
Unto a ragged, fearful, hanging Rock,
And throw it thence into the raging Sea.
Lo, here in one Line is his Name twice writ:
Poor forlorn Protheus, paffionate Protheus:
To the Sweet Julia: That I'll tear away;
And yet I will not, fith fo prettily
He couples it to his complaining Names:
Thus will I fold them one upon another;
Now kifs, embrace, contend, do what you will.

Enter Lucetta.

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Luc. Madam, Dinner is ready, and your Father ftays.
Jul. Well, let us go.

Luc. What, fhall thefe Papers lye, like tell-tales here?
Jul. If thou refpe&t them, beft to take them up.
Luc. Nay, I was taken up for laying them down!
Yet here they fhall not lie for catching cold.

Jul. I fee you have a Month's mind to them.
Luc. Ay, Madam, you may say what Sights you
I fee things too, although you judge I wink.
Jul. Come, come, wilt please you go?




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Enter Anthonio and Panthion.

Ant. Tell me, Panthion, what fad Talk was that
Wherewith my Brother held you in the Cloyster?
Pant. 'Twas of his Nephew Protheus, your Son.
Ant. Why, what of him?

Pant. He wonder'd that your Lordship
Would fuffer him fpend his Youth at home,
While other Men of flender Reputation
Put forth their Sons to feek Preferment out:
Some to the Wars, to try their Fortune there;
Some to difcover Islands far away;
Some to the ftudious Universities.

For any, or for all thefe Exercifes,

He faid, that Protheus, your Son, was meet;
And did requeft me to importune you
To let him spend his time no more at home;
Which would be great Impeachment to his Age,
In having known no Travel in his Youth.

Ant. Nor need'ft thou much importune me to that
Whereon this Month I have been hammering.
I have confider'd well his lofs of Time;
And how he cannot be a perfect Man,
Not being try'd, nor tutor'd in the World:
Experience is by Industry atchiev'd
And perfected by the swift Course of time;
Then tell me, whither were I beft to fend him?

Pant. I think your Lordship is not ignorant, How his Companion, youthful Valentine, Attends the Emperor in his Royal Court.

Ant. I know it well.

Pant. 'Twere good, I think, your Lordshipfent him thither; There hall he practife Tilts and Turnaments,

Hear fweet Difcourfe, converfe with Noblemen,

And be in Eye of every Exercise
Worthy his Youth, and Nobleness of Birth.

Ant. I like thy Counsel; well haft thou advis'd; And that thou may'ft perceive how well I like it, The Execution of it fhall make known;

Even with the speedieft Expedition

I will dispatch him to the Emperor's Court.
Pant. To Morrow, may it please you, Don Alphonso,
With other Gentlemen of good Efteem,
Are journeying to falute the Emperor,
And to commend their Service to his Will.

Ant. Good Company: With them fhall Protheus go. And in good time, now will we break with him. Enter Protheus.

Pro. Sweet Love, fweet Lines, fweet Life;
Here is her Hand, the Agent of her Heart;
Here is her Oath for Love, her Honour's Pawn.
O that our Fathers would applaud our Loves,
To feal our Happiness with their Confents.
Oh heav'nly Julia!

Ant. How now? What Letter are you reading there ?
Pro. May't please your Lordship, tis a Word or two
Of Commendation fent from Valentine;
Deliver'd by a Friend that came from him.

Ant. Lend me the Letter; let me fee what News.

Pro. There is no News, my Lord, but that he writes
How happily he lives, how well belov'd,
And daily graced by the Emperor ;
Wishing me with him, Partner of his Fortune.

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Ant. And how stand you affected to his Wish?
Pro. As one relying on your Lordship's Will,
And not depending on his friendly With.

Ant. My Will is fomething forted with his Wifh:
Mufe not that I thus fuddenly proceed;
For what I will, I will; and there's an End.

I am refolv'd that thou shalt spend some time
With Valentino in the Emp'ror's Court:
What Maintenance he from his Friends receives,
Like Exhibition thou fhalt have from me:
To Morrow be in readiness to go.
Excufe it not, for I am peremptory.

Pro. My Lord, I cannot be fo foon provided;
Please you deliberate a Day or two.

Ant. Look what thou want'ft fhall be fent after thee:

No more of Stay; to Morrow thou must go.
Come on, Panthien; you fhall be imploy'd

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To haften on his Expedition. [Exe. Ant. and Pant.
Pro. Thus have I fhunn'd the Fire for fear of burning,
And drench'd me in the Sea, where I am drown'd:
I fear'd to fhew my Father Julia's Letter,
Left he should take Exceptions to my Love;
And with the vantage of mine own Excuse,
Hath he excepted most against my Love.
Oh, how this Spring of Love resembleth
The uncertain Glory of an April Day,
Which now fhews all the Beauty of the Sur,
And by and by a Cloud takes all away.
Enter Panthion.

Pant. Sir Protheus, your Father calls for you ; He is in hafte, therefore I pray you go.

Pro. Why this it is: My Heart accords thereto, And yet a thousand times it anfwers no.



Enter Valentine and Speed.


Speed. SIR, your Glove.

Val. Not mine; my Gloves are on. Speed. Why then this may be yours, for this is but one. Val. Ha? let me fee: Ay, give it me, it's mine:

Sweet Ornament that decks a Thing divine.

Ah Silvia, Silvia!

Speed. Madam Silvia! Madam Silvia!
Val. How now Sirrah?

Speed. She is not within hearing, Sir.

Val. Why Sir, who bad you call her?
Speed. Your Worship, Sir, or elfe I miftook.
Val. Well, you'll ftill be too forward.

Speed. And yet I was laft chidden for being too flow.
Val Go to Sir, tell me, do you know Madam Silvia?
Speed. She that your Worship loves?

Val. Why, how know you that I am in Love? Speed. Marry, by thefe fpecial Marks; Firft, you have learn'd, like Sir Prothens, to wreath your Arms like a Malecontent, to relish a Love-Song like a Robin-red breast, to


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