PENTHEA

Alas my Lord, this language to your Handmaid Sounds as would music to the deaf: I needs No braveries nor cost of Art, to draw The whiteness of my name into offence; Let such (if any such there are) who covet A curiosity of admiration, By laying out their plenty to full view, Appear in gawdy outsides; my attires Shall suit the inward fashion of my mind; From which, if your opinion nobly placed, Change not the Livery your words bestow, My Fortune's with my Hope's are at the highest. I am no Mistress; Whither you please, I must attend; all ways Are alike pleasant to me. Thou prayest madly. He is will Sir. You best know brother, From whom my health and comfort are derived. Brother! Sir, I'm not inquisitive Of secrecies without and invitation. Your School terms are too troublesome. Set thy wits In a less wild proportion. Be not frantic. Away, some fury hath bewitched thy tongue: The breath of ignorance that flies from thence, Ripens a knowledge in me of afflictions, Above all sufferance. — Thing of talk be gone, Be gone without reply. Rash man, thou layest A blemish on mine honour with the hazard Of thy too desperate life: yet I profess, By all the Laws of ceremonious wedlock, I have not given admittance to one thought Of female change, since cruelty enforced Divorce betwixt my body and my heart: Why would you fallen from goodness thus? We may stand up: Have you ought else to urge Of new demand? as for the old forget it, It's buried in and everlasting silence, And shall be, shall be ever; what more would you? Is that all? Remo e Your steps some distance from me; at this space A few words I dare change; but first put on Your borrowed shape. How (Orgilus) by promise I was thine, The heavens do witness; they can witness too A rape done on my truth: how I do love the Yet Orgilus, and yet, must best appear In tendering thy freedom; for I find The constant preservation of thy merit, By thy not daring to attempt my fame With injury of any lose conceit, Which might give deeper wounds to discontents: Continue this fair raze, then though I cannot Add to thy comfort, yet I shall more often Remember from what fortune I am fallen, And pity mine own ruin. — Live, li e happy. Happy in thy next choice, that thou mayest people This barren age with virtues in thy issue: And o, when thou art married, think on me With mercy, not contempt: I hope thy wife, Hearing my story, will not scorn my fallen: Now let us partly. Never shall nor will. Hear me, in a word I'll tell thee why The Virgin dowry which my birth bestowed, Is ravished by another: my true love Abhors to think, that Orgilus deserved No better favours then a second bed. To confirm it, Should I outlive my bondage, let me meet Another worse then this, and less desired, If of all the men alive thou shouldst but touch My lip, or hand again. Uncivil Sir, forbear, Or I can turn affection into vengeance; Your reputation (if you valve any) Lies bleeding at my feet. Unworthy man, If ever henceforth thou appear in language, Message, or letter to betray my frailty, I'll call thy former protestations lust, And curse my Stars for forfeit of my judgement. Go thou, fit only for disguise and walks, To hide thy shame: this once I spare thy life; I laugh at mine own confidence; my sorrows By thee are made inferior to my Fortune's. If ever thou didst harbour worthy love, Dare not to answer. My good Genius guide me, That I may never see thee more. — Go from me. Thou sighed my name sure as he parted from me, I fear I was too rough: Alas poor Gentleman, Thou looked not Like the ruins of his youth, But Like the ruins of those ruins: Honour, How much we fight with weakness to preserve thee. Not well, my Lord? Your news is none o'th best. In vain we labour in this course of life To piece our journey out at length, or crave Respite of breath, our home is in the graven. You had been happy: Then had you never known that sin of life Which blots all following glories with a vengeance, For forfeiting the last will of the dead, From whom you had your being. Not yet, heaven I do beseech thee: first let some wild fires Scorch, not consume it; may the heat be cherished With desires infinite, but Hope's impossible. Here lo I breathe A miserable creature led to ruin By and unnatural brother. The handmaid to the wages, The untroubled of Country toil, drinks streams With leaping kids, and with the bleating lambs; And so alleys her thirst secure, while I Quench my hight sighs with fleerings of my tears. Pray kill me, Rid me from living with a jealous husband, Then we will join in friendship, be again Brother and sister. — Kill me pray: nay, will thou? Such and one As only you have made me; a faith-breaker, A spotted whore, forgive me; I am one In art, not in desires, the gods must witness. I do not Ithocles For she that's wife to Orgilus, and lives In known Adultery with Bassanes, Is at the best a whore. Wilt kill me now? The ashes of our parents will assume Some dreadful figure, and appear to charge Thy bloody gilded, that hast betrayed their name To infamy, in this reproachful match. Oh no more. Who is the Saint you sir e? Let me, By your new protestations I conjure thou, Partake her name. All your respects are forged. We are reconciled: Alas, Sir, being children, but two branches Of one stock, it's not fit we should divide: Have comfort, you may find it. If sorrows Have not too much dul ed my infected brain, I'll cheer invention for and active strain. Oh my grieved Lord. Dear brother. By our bloods, Will you quite both undo us, Brother? With favour let me speak.— My Lord? what slackness In my obedience hath deserved this rage? Except humility and sin lent duty Have drawn on your unquiet, my simplicity Never studied your vexation. Sir, may every evil Locked in Pandora's box; shower (in your presence) On my unhappy head, if since you made me A partner in your bed, I have been faulty In one unseemly thought against your honour. Nor, by Juno's forehead, Was I ever guilty of a wanton error. She needs no tongue To plead excuse, who never purposed wrong. It's a benefit Which I shall owe your goodness even in death for My glass of life (sweet Princess hath few minutes Remaining to run down; the sands are spent; For by and inward messenger I feel The summons of departure short and certain. Glory Of humane greatness are but pleasing dreams, And shadows soon decaying: on the stage Of my mortality, my youth hath acted Some scenes of vanity, drawn out at length By varied pleasures, sweetened in the mixture, But Tragical in issue; Beauty, pomp, With every sensuality our giddiness Does frame and Idol, are unconstant friends When any troubled passion make assault On the unguarded Castle of the mind. To place before thou A perfect mirror, wherein you may see How weary I am of a lingering life, Who count the best a misery. That remedy Must be a winding sheet, a sold of led, And some vntrod-on corner in the earth. Not to detain your expectation, Princess, I have and humble suit. Her fair eyes Melt into passion; Then I have assurance Encouraging my boldness. — In this paper My Will was Charactered; which you, with pardon, Shall now know from mine own mouth. I have left me But three poor Jewels to bequeathe; The first is My youth; for though I am much old in griefs, In years I am a child. To Virgin wives, such as abuse not wedlock By freedom of desires, but covet chiefly The pledges of chased beds, for ties of love, Rather than ranging of their blood And next To married maids, such as prefer the number Of honourable issue in their virtues, Before the flattery of delights by marriage, May those be ever young. It's my Fame, I trust, By scandal yet un ouch'd; this I bequeathe To memory, and Times old worser ughter Truth If ever my unhappy name find mention When I am fallen to dust, may it deserve Be seeming charity without dishonour. This Jewel, Madam, Is dearly precious to me; you must use The best of your discretion to employ This gift as I intend it. It's long agon since first I lost my heart, Long I have lived without it, else for certain I should have Of it, to great Calantha, By service bound, and by affection vowed, I do bequeathe in holiefe rites of love Mine only brother Ithocles. Impute not, heaven-blest Lady, to ambition, A faith as humbly perfect as the prayers Of a devoted suppliant endow it? Look on him, Princess, with and eye of pity; How Like the ghost of what he appe red Of moves before you. First, his hear Shall fallen in Cinders, scorched by your disdain, Ever e will dare, poor man; to pe and eye On these divine looks, but with low-be to thoughts Accusing such presumption; as for word , Of dares not utter any but Yet this lost creature lo es' . — Be a In sweetness as in blood; give him his do e, Or raise him up to comfort. I the world To revel Elizium, and it's To wish my brother some advantage her Yet by my best Hope's, Ithocles is ignorant Of this pursuit. But if you please to kill him, Lend him one angry look, or one sh w rd, And you shall soon conclude how rung a power Your absolute authority h ld His life and end. My reckonings are made even, Death or Fate Can now nor strike too soon, nor force too late. Exeunt. Sure if we were all Sirens, we should sing pitifully; And 'twere a comely music, when in parts One sung another's knell: the Turtle sighs When he hath lost his mate; and yet some say Of must be dead first: it's a fine deceit To pass away in a dream: indeed I've slept With mine eyes open a great while. No falsehood Equals a broken faith; there's not a hair Sticks on my head but Like a leaden Plummer It Sinks me to the graven: I must creep thither. The journey is not long. Since I was first a wife, I might have been Mother to many pretty prattling Babes: They would have smiled when I smiled; and, for certain I should have cried when they cried; — truly brother, My father would have picked me out a husband, And then my little one had been no bastards: But it's too late for me to marry now, I am passed childbearing; it's not my fault. I loved you once. Spare your hand, Believe me, I'll not hurt it. Kiss it. Alack, alack, his lips be wondrous cold; Dear soul, has lost his colour: have thou seen A straying heart? all crannies, every drop Of blood is turned to and Amethyst, Which married Bachelors hang in their ears. Take comfort, You may live well, and die a good old man: By yea and nay, and oath not to be broken, If you had joined our hands once in the Temple, 'Twas since my father died, for had he lived He would have don't: I must have called you father: O my wracked honour ruined by those Tyrants, A cruel brother, and a desperate dotage! There is no peace left for a ravished wife Widowed by lawless marriage; to all memory, Penthea's, poor Penthea's name is strumpeted: But since her blood was seasoned by the forfeit Of noble shame, with mixtures of pollution, Her blood (it's joust) he henceforth never heightened With taste of sustenance. Star e, l that fullness Whose pleurisy hath euer'd faith and modesty, Forgive me: o I faint. Led me gently; heavens reward you Griefs are sure friends; they leave (without control) Nor cure nor comforts for a leprous soul. Suppose you were contracted to her, would it not Split even your very soul to see her father Snatch her out of your arms against her will, And force her on the Prince of Argos? But remember I am a sister, though to me this there Hath been you know vnki e most unkind! Lend your hand: With both of mine I clasp it thus, thus kiss it, Thus kneel before you. Prethe leave me, I have some private thoughts I would account with: Use thou thine own.