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قراءة كتاب Beaumont and Fletcher's Works, Vol. 5
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اللغة: English
الصفحة رقم: 4
class="i0">Que. 'Tis strange to find thy modesty in this place,
Does the King offer fair? does thy face take him?
Ne'r blush Evanthe, 'tis a very sweet one,
Does he rain gold, and precious promises
Into thy lap? will he advance thy fortunes?
Shalt thou be mighty, Wench?
Evan. Never mock, Madam;
'Tis rather on your part to be lamented,
At least reveng'd, I can be mighty Lady,
And glorious too, glorious and great, as you are.
'Tis rather on your part to be lamented,
At least reveng'd, I can be mighty Lady,
And glorious too, glorious and great, as you are.
Que. He will Marry thee?
Evan. Who would not be a Queen, Madam?
Que. 'Tis true Evanthe, 'tis a brave ambition,
A golden dream, that may delude a good mind,
What shall become of me?
A golden dream, that may delude a good mind,
What shall become of me?
Evan. You must learn to pray,
Your age and honour will become a Nunnery.
Your age and honour will become a Nunnery.
Que. Wilt thou remember me? [Weeps.
Evan. She weeps. Sweet Lady
Upon my knees I ask your sacred pardon,
For my rude boldness: and know, my sweet Mistris,
If e're there were ambition in Evanthe,
It was and is to do you faithful duties;
'Tis true I have been tempted by the King,
And with no few and potent charms, to wrong ye,
To violate the chaste joyes of your bed;
And those not taking hold, to usurp your state;
But she that has been bred up under ye,
And daily fed upon your vertuous precepts,
Still growing strong by example of your goodness,
Having no errant motion from obedience,
Flyes from these vanities, as meer illusions;
And arm'd with honesty, defies all promises.
In token of this truth, I lay my life down
Under your sacred foot, to do you service.
Upon my knees I ask your sacred pardon,
For my rude boldness: and know, my sweet Mistris,
If e're there were ambition in Evanthe,
It was and is to do you faithful duties;
'Tis true I have been tempted by the King,
And with no few and potent charms, to wrong ye,
To violate the chaste joyes of your bed;
And those not taking hold, to usurp your state;
But she that has been bred up under ye,
And daily fed upon your vertuous precepts,
Still growing strong by example of your goodness,
Having no errant motion from obedience,
Flyes from these vanities, as meer illusions;
And arm'd with honesty, defies all promises.
In token of this truth, I lay my life down
Under your sacred foot, to do you service.
Que. Rise my true friend, thou vertuous bud of beauty,
Thou Virgins honour, sweetly blow and flourish,
And that rude nipping wind, that seeks to blast thee,
Or taint thy root, be curst to all posterity;
To my protection from this hour I take ye,
Yes, and the King shall know—
Thou Virgins honour, sweetly blow and flourish,
And that rude nipping wind, that seeks to blast thee,
Or taint thy root, be curst to all posterity;
To my protection from this hour I take ye,
Yes, and the King shall know—
Evan. Give his heat way, Madam,
And 'twill go out again, he may forget all. [Exeunt.
And 'twill go out again, he may forget all. [Exeunt.
Enter Camillo, Cleanthes, and Menallo.
Cam. What have we to do with the times? we cannot cure 'em.
Let 'em go on, when they are swoln with Surfeits
They'l burst and stink, then all the world shall smell 'em.
Let 'em go on, when they are swoln with Surfeits
They'l burst and stink, then all the world shall smell 'em.
Cle. A man may live a bawd, and be an honest man.
Men. Yes, and a wise man too, 'tis a vertuous calling.
Cam. To his own Wife especially, or to his Sister,
The nearer to his own bloud, still the honester;
There want such honest men, would we had more of 'em.
The nearer to his own bloud, still the honester;
There want such honest men, would we had more of 'em.
Men. To be a villain is no such rude matter.
Cam. No, if he be a neat one, and a perfect,
Art makes all excellent: what is it, Gentlemen,
In a good cause to kill a dozen Coxcombs,
That blunt rude fellows call good Patriots?
Nothing, nor ne'r look'd after.
Art makes all excellent: what is it, Gentlemen,
In a good cause to kill a dozen Coxcombs,
That blunt rude fellows call good Patriots?
Nothing, nor ne'r look'd after.
Men. 'Tis e'en as much, as easie too, as honest, and as clear,
To ravish Matrons, and, deflower coy Wenches,
But here they are so willing, 'tis a complement.
To ravish Matrons, and, deflower coy Wenches,
But here they are so willing, 'tis a complement.
Cle. To pull down Churches with pretension
To build 'em fairer, may be done with honour,
And all this time believe no gods.
To build 'em fairer, may be done with honour,
And all this time believe no gods.
Cam. I think so, 'tis faith enough if they name 'em in their angers,
Or on their rotten Tombs ingrave an Angel;
Well, brave Alphonso, how happy had we been,
If thou had'st raign'd!
Or on their rotten Tombs ingrave an Angel;
Well, brave Alphonso, how happy had we been,
If thou had'st raign'd!
Men. Would I had his Disease,
Tyed like a Leprosie to my posterity,
So he were right again.
Tyed like a Leprosie to my posterity,
So he were right again.
Cle. What is his Malady?
Cam. Nothing but sad and silent melancholy,
Laden with griefs and thoughts, no man knows why neither;
The good Brandino Father to the Princess
Used all the art and industry that might be,
To free Alphonso from this dull calamity,
And seat him in his rule, he was his eldest
And noblest too, had not fair nature stopt in him,
For which cause this was chosen to inherit,
Frederick the younger.
Laden with griefs and thoughts, no man knows why neither;
The good Brandino Father to the Princess
Used all the art and industry that might be,
To free Alphonso from this dull calamity,
And seat him in his rule, he was his eldest
And noblest too, had not fair nature stopt in him,
For which cause this was chosen to inherit,
Frederick the younger.
Cle. Does he use his Brother
With that respect and honour that befits him?
With that respect and honour that befits him?
Cam. He is kept privately, as they pretend,
To give more ease and comfort to his sickness;
But he has honest servants, the grave Rugio,
And Fryar Marco, that wait upon his Person.
And in a Monastery he lives.
To give more ease and comfort to his sickness;
But he has honest servants, the grave Rugio,
And Fryar Marco, that wait upon his Person.
And in a Monastery he lives.
Men. 'Tis full of sadness,
To see him when he comes to his Fathers Tomb,
As once a day that is his Pilgrimage,
Whilst in Devotion, the Quire sings an Anthem:
How piously he kneels, and like a Virgin
That some cross Fate had cozen'd of her Love,
Weeps till the stubborn Marble sweats with pity,
And to his groans the whole Quire bears a Chorus.
To see him when he comes to his Fathers Tomb,
As once a day that is his Pilgrimage,
Whilst in Devotion, the Quire sings an Anthem:
How piously he kneels, and like a Virgin
That some cross Fate had cozen'd of her Love,
Weeps till the stubborn Marble sweats with pity,
And to his groans the whole Quire bears a Chorus.
Enter Frederick, Sorano, with the Cabinet, and Podramo.
Cam. So do I