Were great as yours, or that the king, or he,

Or both thought so; perhaps he found me worthless;
But till he did so, in these ears of mine

(These credulous ears) he pour'd the sweetest words
That art or love could frame.

Evad. Nay, leave this sad talk, madam.

Asp. Would I could, then should I leave the cause.
Lay a garland on my hearse of the dismal yew.
Evad. That's one of your sad songs, madam.
Asp. Believe me, 'tis a pretty one.

Madam, good-night; may no discontent

Grow 'twixt your love and you; but if there do,
Inquire 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 flattering 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.

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 denied.
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.

[Amintor enters.] [To Amintor.]

[The Maid's Tragedy.]

DISINTERESTEDNESS OF BIANCHA.

Enter Cesario and a Servant.

Cesa. Let my friend have entrance.
Serv. Sir, a' shall.

Cesa. Any; I except none.

Serv. We know your mind, sir.

[Exit.]

Cesa. Pleasures admit no bounds. I'm pitch'd so high
To such a growth of full prosperities,

That to conceal my fortunes were an injury
To gratefulness, and those more liberal favours
By whom my glories prosper. He that flows
In gracious and swoln tides of blest abundance,
Yet will be ignorant of his own fortunes,
Deserves to live contemn'd, and die forgotten:
The harvest of my hopes is now already
Ripen'd and gather'd; I can fatten youth
With choice of plenty, and supplies of comforts;
My fate springs in my own hand, and I'll use it.

[Enter two Servants and Biancha.]

First Serv. 'Tis my place.

Sec. Serv. Yours? Here, fair one; I'll acquaint My lord.

First Serv. He's here; go to him boldly.

Sec. Serv. Please you

To let him understand how readily

I waited on your errand !

First Serv. Saucy fellow ! You must excuse his breeding. Cesa. What's the matter?

Biancha? my Biancha? To your offices!

This visit, sweet, from thee, my pretty dear,

By how much more 't was unexpected, comes

So much the more timely: witness this free welcome,

What'er occasion led thee!

Bian. You may guess, sir;

Yet indeed, 'tis a rare one.
Cesa. Prithee, speak it,

My honest virtuous maid.

Bian. Sir, I have heard

Of your misfortunes; and I can not tell you
Whether I have more cause of joy or sadness,
To know they are a truth.

Cesa. What truth, Biancha?
Misfortunes ?-how ?-wherein ?

Bian. You are disclaim'd

For being the lord Alberto's son, and publicly
Acknowledg'd of as mean a birth as mine is:
It can not choose but grieve you.

Cesa. Grieve me? Ha, ha, ha, ha!

Is this all?

Bian. This all?

Cesa. Thou art sorry for 't,

I warrant thee; alas, good soul, Biancha!

That which thou call'st misfortune is my happiness;

My happiness, Biancha!

Bian. If you love me,

It may prove mine too.

Exeunt Serv.]

Cesa. May it! I will love thee

My good, good maid, if that can make thee happy,
Better and better love thee.

Bian. Without breach then,

Of modesty, I come to claim the interest,
Your protestations, both by vows and letters,
Have made me owner of: from the first hour

I saw you, I confess I wish'd I had been,

Or not so much below your rank and greatness

Or not so much above those humble flames

That should have warm'd my bosom with a temperate Equality of desires in equal fortunes.

Still, as you utter'd language of affection,

I courted time to pass more slowly on,

That I might turn more full to lend attention

To what I durst not credit, nor yet hope for;

Yet still as more I heard, I wish'd to hear more.

Cesa. Didst thou in troth, wench?

Bian. Willingly betray'd

Myself to hopeless bondage.

Cesa. A good girl!

I thought I should not miss, whate'er thy answer was. Bian. But as I am a maid, sir, (and i' faith

You may believe me, for I am a maid)

So dearly I respected both your fame

And quality, that I would first have perish'd

In my sick thoughts, than ere have given consent

To have undone your fortunes, by inviting

A marriage with so mean a one as I am:

I should have died sure, and no creature known

The sickness that had kill'd me.

Cesa. Pretty heart!

Good soul, alas, alas!

Bian. Now since I know

There is no difference 'twixt your birth and mine,
Not much 'twixt our estates (if any be,

The advantage is on my side), I come willingly

To tender you the first-fruits of my heart,

And am content t' accept you for my husband,
Now when you are at lowest.

Cesa. For a husband?

Speak sadly; dost thou mean so?

Bian. In good deed, sir,

'Tis pure love makes this proffer.

Cesa. I believe thee.

What counsel urg'd thee on! tell me; thy father?
My worshipful smug host? Was 't not he, wench?
Or mother hostess? ha?

Bian. D' you mock my parentage?

I did not scorn yours: mean folks are as worthy

To be well spoken of, if they deserve well,

As some whose only fame lies in their blood.

Oh, you 're a proud poor man! all your oaths, falsehood, Your vows, deceit, your letters, forged and wicked!

Cesa. Thoud'st be my wife, I dare swear.
Bian. Had your heart,

Your hand, and tongue, been twins, you had reputed

This courtesy a benefit.

Cesa. Simplicity,

How prettily thou mov'st me! Why, Biancha,

Report has cozen'd thee; I am not fallen

From my expected honours or possessions,
Though from the hope of birthright.

Bian. Are you not?

Then I am lost again! I have a suit too;

You'll grant it, if you be a good man.

Cesa. Any thing.

Bian. Pray do not talk of aught what I have said t' ye.

Cesa. As I wish health, I will not!

Bian. Pity me;

But never love me more!

Cesa. Nay, now you're cruel :

Why all these tears?-Thou shalt not go.

Bian. I'll pray for you,

That you may have a virtuous wife, a fair one;

And when I 'm dead

Cesa. Fie, fie!

Bian. Think on me sometimes,

With mercy for this trespass!

Cesa. Let us kiss

At parting, as at coming!

Bian. This I have

As a free dower to a virgin's grave;

All goodness dwell with you!

Cesa. Harmless Biancha!

[Exit.]

[Fair Maid of the Inn.]

Unskill'd! what handsome toys are maids to play with.

PASTORAL LOVE.

[To Clorinda. A Satyr enters.]

Satyr. Through yon same bending plain,
That flings his arms down to the main,
And through these thick woods have I run,
Whose bottom never kiss'd the sun.

Since the lusty spring began,
All to please my master Pan,
Have I trotted without rest
To get him fruit; for at a feast
He entertains, this coming night,
His paramour the Syrinx bright:
But behold a fairer sight!
By that heavenly form of thine,
Brightest fair, thou art divine,
Sprung from great immortal race
Of the gods, for in thy face
Shines more awful majesty
Than dull weak mortality.

Dare with misty eyes behold,

And live therefore on this mould
Lowly do I bend my knee
In worship of thy deity.
Deign it, goddess, from my hand
To receive whate'er this land
From her fertile womb doth send
Of her choice fruits; and but lend
Belief to that the Satyr tells,
Fairer by the famous wells

To this present day ne'er grew,

Never better, nor more true.

Here be grapes whose lusty blood
Is the learned poet's good,

Sweeter yet did never crown

The head of Bacchus; nuts more brown

Than the squirrel whose teeth crack them;
Deign, O fairest fair, to take them:

For these, black-eyed Driope

Hath oftentimes commanded me

With my clasped knee to climb.

See how well the lusty time

Hath deck'd their rising cheeks in red,

Such as on your lips is spread.

Here be berries for a queen,
Some be red, some be green;

These are of that luscious meat

The great god Pan himself doth eat:

All these, and what the woods can yield,

The hanging mountain or the field,

I freely offer, and ere long

Will bring you more, more sweet and strong;

Till then, humbly leave I take,

Lest the great Pan do awake,

That sleeping lies in a deep glade,

Under a broad beech's shade.

I must go, I must run,

Swifter than the fiery sun.

Clor. And all my fears go with thee.

What greatness, or what private hidden power,

Is there in me to draw submission

From this rude man and beast?-Sure I am a mortal;

The daughter of a shepherd; he was mortal,

And she that bore me, mortal; prick my hand

And it will bleed; a fever shakes me, and

The self-same mind that makes the young lambs shrink,

Makes me a-cold: my fear says I am mortal:

Yet I have heard (my mother told it me),

And now I do believe it, if I keep

My virgin flower uncropt, pure, chaste, and fair,

No goblin, wood-god, fairy, elf, or fiend,

Satyr, or other power that haunts the groves,

Shall hurt my body, or by vain illusion

Y

[Exit.]