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I hear some coming, and hope 'tis he-- _Pietro_, are the Horses ready? [Exit _Pietro_.
Enter _Frederick_.
_Cur._ Sir, you are welcome from _Cloris's_ Arms.
_Fred._ With much ado, I am got loose from those fair Fetters, but not from those of her Beauty; By these she still inflames me, In spite of all my humours of Inconstancy; So soft and young, so fair and innocent, So full of Air, and yet of Languishment; So much of Nature in her Heart and Eyes, So timorous and so kind without disguise: Such untaught Sweets in every part do move, As 'gainst my Reason does compel my Love; Such artless smiles, look so unorder'd too, Gains more than all the charms of Courts can do; From Head to Foot, a spotless Statue seems, As Art, not Nature, had compos'd her Limbs; So white, and so unblemish'd, oh _Curtius_!
I'm ravisht beyond Sense when I but think on't; How much more must my Surprize be, When I behold these Wonders.
_Cur._ And have you seen her, Sir, in all this Beauty?
Oh h.e.l.l! [Aside.
_Fred._ _Curtius_, I will not hide my Soul from thee; I have seen all the marvels of that Maid.
_Cur._ My Soul, learn now the Art of being disguis'd; [Aside.
--'Tis much, my Lord, that one Bred in such simple Innocence, Should learn so soon so much of Confidence: Pray, Sir, what Arts and Cunning do you use?
_Fred._ Faith, time and importunity refuse no body.
_Cur._ Is that the way? had you no other Aids?
Made you no promise to her, Sir, of Marriage?
_Fred._ Oh, yes, in abundance, that's your only bait, And though they cannot hope we will perform it, Yet it secures their Honour and my Pleasure.
_Cur._ Then, Sir, you have enjoy'd her?
_Fred._ Oh, yes, and gather'd Sweets Would make an Anch.o.r.et neglect his Vow, And think he had mistook his way to future bliss, Which only can be found in such Embraces; 'Twas hard to gain, but, _Curtius_, when once Victor, Oh, how the joys of Conquest did enslave me!
_Cur._ But, Sir, methinks 'tis much that she should yield, With only a bare promise that you'd marry her.
_Fred._ Yes, there was something more--but--
_Cur._ But, what, Sir, you are not married.
_Fred._ Faith, yes, I've made a Vow, And that you know would go as far with any other Man.
_Cur._ But she it seems forgot you were the Prince?
_Fred._ No, she urg'd that too, And left no Arguments unus'd Might make me sensible of what I did; But I was fixt, and overcame them all, Repeating still my Vows and Pa.s.sions for her, Till in the presence of her Maid and Heaven We solemnly contracted.
_Cur._ But, Sir, by your permission, was it well?
_Fred._ What wouldst thou have him do That's all on fire, and dies for an Enjoyment?
_Cur._ But having gain'd it, do you love her still?
_Fred._ Yes, yes, extremely, And would be constant to the Vows I've made, Were I a Man, as thou art of thy self; But with the aid of Counsels I must chuse, And what my Soul adores I must refuse.
_Cur._ This Pa.s.sion, Sir, Possession will destroy, And you'l love less, the more you do enjoy.
_Fred._ That's all my hope of cure; I'll ply that game, And slacken by degrees th' unworthy flame.
_Cur._ Methinks, my Lord, it had more generous been To've check'd that flame when first it did begin, E'er you the slighted Victory had won, And a poor harmless Virgin quite undone: And what is worse, you've made her love you too.
_Fred._ Faith, that's the greater mischief of the two; I know to such nice virtuous Souls as thine, My juster Inclination is a Crime: But I love Pleasures which thou canst not prize, Beyond dull gazing on thy Mistress Eyes, The lovely Object which enslaves my Heart, Must yet more certain Cures than Smiles impart: --And you on _Laura_ have the same design.
_Cur._ Yes, Sir, when justify'd by Laws Divine.
_Fred._ Divine! a pleasant Warrant for your Sin, Which being not made, we ne'er had guilty been.
But now we speak of _Laura_, Prithee, when is't that I shall see that Beauty?
_Cur._ Never, I hope. [Aside.] I know not, Sir, Her Father still is cruel, and denies me, What she and I have long made suit in vain for: But, Sir, your Interest might prevail with him, When he shall know I'm one whom you esteem; He will allow my flame, and my address, He whom you favour cannot doubt Success.
_Fred._ This day I will begin to serve thee in it.
_Cur._ Sir, 'twill be difficult to get access to her, Her Father is an humorous old Man, And has his fits of Pride and Kindness too.
_Fred._ Well, after Dinner I will try my Power, And will not quit his Lodgings till I've won him.
_Cur._ I humbly thank you, Sir.
_Fred._ Come let us haste, the Day comes on apace. [Ex. _Fred._
_Cur._ I'll wait upon you, Sir.
Oh _Cloris_, thou'rt undone, false amorous Girl; Was it for this I bred thee in obscurity, Without permitting thee to know what Courts meant, Lest their too powerful Temptation Might have betray'd thy Soul?
Not suffering thee to know thy Name or Parents, Thinking an humble Life might have secur'd thy Virtue: And yet I should not hate thee for this Sin, Since thou art bred in so much Innocence, Thou couldst not dream of Falsity in Men: Oh, that it were permitted me to kill this Prince, This false perfidious Prince; And yet he knows not that he has abus'd me.
When did I know a Man of so much Virtue, That would refuse so sweet and soft a Maid?
--No, he is just and good, only too much misled By Youth and Flattery; And one to whom my Soul is ty'd by Friendship; --Yet what's a Friend, a name above a Sister?
Is not her Honour mine?
And shall not I revenge the loss of it?
It is but common Justice.
But first I'll try all gentle means I may, And let him know that _Cloris_ is my Sister; And if he then persevere in his Crime, I'll lay my Interest and my Duty by, And punish him, or with my Honour die. [Exit.
SCENE III. The Apartment of _Antonio_.
Enter _Lorenzo_ pulling in of _Isabella_.
_Lor._ Nay, nay, _Isabella_, there's no avoiding me now, You and I must come to a parley.
Pray what's the reason You took no notice of me, When I came with so civil an address too?
_Isab._ Can you ever think to thrive in an Amour, When you take notice of your Mistress, Or any that belongs to her, in publick, And when she's a married Woman too?
_Lor._ Good _Isabella_, the loser may have leave to speak, I am sure it has been a plaguy dear Amour to me.
_Isab._ Let me hear you name that again, And you shall miss of my a.s.sistance.
_Lor._ Nay, do but hear me a little; I vow 'tis the strangest thing in the World, A Man must part from so much Money as I have done, And be confin'd to Signs and Grimaces only, To declare his Mind in: If a Man has a Tongue, let him exercise it, I say, As long as he pays for speaking.
_Isab._ Again with your paying for't? I see you are not To be reclaim'd; farewel--