A Select Collection of Old English Plays Volume Xi Part 129

PSEC. He would not please his tailor and his barber; For they got more for your sake by their lord Than they have got this twenty years before.

LEU. Ah, Psectas, Psectas! can my father think That I can love Count Virro? one so old-- That were enough to make a match unfit-- But one so base; a man that never lov'd For anything call'd good, but dross and pelf.

One that would never, had my brother liv'd, Have mov'd this suit: no, I can never love him: But canst thou keep a secret firmly, Psectas?

PSEC. Doubt me not, madam.

LEU. Well, I'll tell thee then.

I love--alas! I dare not say I love him-- But there's a young and n.o.ble gentleman, Lord Euphues' son, my father's enemy, A man whom Nature's prodigality Stretch'd even to envy in the making up.

Once from a window my pleas'd eye beheld This youthful gallant as he rode the street On a curvetting courser who, it seem'd Knew his fair load, and with a proud disdain Check'd the base earth: my father being by, I ask'd his name; he told me Philocles, The son and heir of his great enemy.

Judge, Psectas, then, how my divided breast Suffer'd between two meeting contraries, Hatred and love: but Love's a deity, And must prevail 'gainst mortals, whose command Not Jove himself could ever yet withstand.

CLER. What, is the letter done already? I see these lovers have nimble inventions; but how will you send it?

PHIL. What a question's that! Seest thou this stone?

CLER. Ah! then I see your drift; this stone must guide Your fleeting letter in the air, and carry it To that fair mark you aim.

PHIL. Hard by her.

CLER. I think you would not hit her with such stones as this; lady, look to yourself, now it comes to proof.

PHIL. But prythee, tell me, what dost thou think this letter may do?

CLER. Well, I hope.

'Tis ten to one this lady oft hath seen you, You never liv'd obscure in Syracuse, Nor walk'd the streets unknown, and who can tell What place you bear in her affections, Lov'd or mislik'd? If bad, this letter sent Will make her show her scorn: if otherwise, Fear not a woman's wit: she'll find a time To answer your kind letter, and express What you desire she should; then send it boldly, You have a fair mark there.

PHIL. Cupid, guide my arm!

O, be as just, blind G.o.d, as thou art great!

And with that powerful hand, that golden shaft This eye was[424] wounded, wound yon tender breast!

There is no salve but that, no cure for me. [_Throws._

CLER. See, what a wonder it strikes 'em in, how it should come.

PHIL. She'll wonder more to see what man it comes from.

CLER. I like her well, she is not afraid to open it. She starts; stay, mark her action when she has read the letter.

_She reads._

"Let it not wrong this letter, that it came From one that trembled to subscribe his name, Fearing your hate: O, let not hate descend, Nor make you cruel to so vow'd a friend.

If you'll not promise love, grant but access, And let me know my woes are past redress.

Be just, then, beauteous judge, and, like the laws, Condemn me not till you have heard my cause; Which, when you have, from those fair lips return Either my life in love, or death in scorn.

Yours or not, PHILOCLES."

Am I awake, or dream I? Is it true, Or does my flattering fancy but suggest What I most covet?

PSEC. Madam, the words are there; I'll swear it can be no illusion.

LEU. It is too good for truth.

PHIL. Mock me not, fortune!

She kiss'd it; saw'st thou her? O friend, she kiss'd it!

CLER. And with a look that relish'd love, not scorn.

LEU. This letter may be forg'd, I much desire To know the certainty; Psectas, thy help Must further me.

PSEC. I'll not be wanting.

LEU. Here comes my father; he must not see this.

PSEC. No, nor your t'other sweetheart, he is with him yonder.

_Enter_ POLYMETES, VIRRO, ROSCIO.

POL. Nay, n.o.ble count, you are too old a soldier To take a maid's first no for a denial; They will be nice at first: men must pursue That will obtain: woo her, my lord, and take her; You have my free consent, if you get hers.

Yonder she walks alone: go comfort her.

VIR. I'll do the best I may, but we old men Are but cold comfort: I thank your lordship's love.

POL. I wonder, Roscio, that the peevish girl Comes on so slowly; no persuasions That I can use do move: the setting forth Count Virro's greatness, wealth, and dignity, Seems not to affect her, Roscio.

ROS. I doubt the cause, my lord; For were 't but[425] that, I dare engage my life She would be won to love him; she has plac'd Already her affections on some other.

POL. How should I find it out?

Ros. Why thus, my lord.

There's never man nor woman that e'er lov'd, But chose some bosom friend, whose close converse Sweeten'd their joys, and eas'd their burden'd minds Of such a working secret. Thus, no doubt, Has my young lady done; and but her woman, Who should it be? 'tis she must out with it: Her secrecy, if wit cannot o'erreach, Gold shall corrupt; leave that to me, my lord.

But if her lady's heart do yet stand free And unbequeath'd to any, your command And father's jurisdiction interpos'd Will make her love the count. No kind of means Must want to draw her.

POL. Thou art my oracle, My brain, my soul, my very being, Roscio; Walk on and speed, while I but second thee.

CLER. It is even so; Count Virro is your rival; See how th' old ape smugs up his mouldy chaps To seize the bit?

PHIL. He must not, if I live; But yet her father brings him: he has the means That I shall ever want.

CLER. If he do marry her, Revenge it n.o.bly, make him a cuckold, boy.

PHIL. Thou jest'st, that feel'st it not. Prythee, let's go.

CLER. Stay, I'll but curse him briefly for thy sake.

If thou dost marry her, may'st thou be made A cuckold without profit, and ne'er get An office by it, nor favour at the Court; But may thy large ill-gotten treasury Be spent in her bought l.u.s.t, and thine own gold Bring thee adulterers; so, farewell, good count.

[_Exeunt_ PHILOCLES _and_ CLERIMONT.

_Enter_ SERVANT.

SER. My lord, there's a messenger within Desires access, has business of import, Which to no ear but yours he must impart.

_Enter_ EUGENIO, _disguised_.