PARTHENOPHILL

Not any (Lady.) Great Princess, I am well, to see a League Between and humble love, such as my Friends is, And a commanding virtue, such as yours is, Are sure restoratives. You're all composed of fairness, and true bounty. All the powers That centinel joust Thrones, double these guards About your sacred Excellence. I do not, Lady. Where real worth, and constancy first settle A hearty truth, there greatness cannot shake it, Nor shall it mine: yet I am but and Infant In that construction, which must give clear light To Kala's merit: riper hours hereafter Must learn me how to grow rich in deserts. Madame, my duty waits on you. You much honour me. All is not well within me, Sir. Meleander within. Cleophyla? I dare not wrong thou; You are too violent. Then to resolve All further Hope's, you never can be mine, Must not, (and pardon though I say) you shall not. Never, I vow. Lady, to shorten long excuses; time And safe experience have so thoroughly armed My apprehension, with a real taste Of your most Noble nature, that to question The least partly of your bounties, or that freedom Which Heaven hath with a plenty made you rich in, Would argue me uncivil, which is more, Base-bred, and which is most of all, unthankful. Great Lady, 'twere a dulness must exceed The grossest and most sottish kind of ignorance, Not to be sensible of your intents: I clearly understand them. Yet so much The difference between that height and lowness, Which does distinguish our unequal Fortune's, Dissuades me from ambition; that I am Humbler in my desires, then Loves own power Can any way raise up. It were unjust To falsify a faith, and ever after Disrobed of that fair ornament, live naked, A scorn to time and truth. Menaphon, by me, repeats the selfsame words to you: You are too cruel, if you can distrust His truth, or my report. Stay, as you honour Virtue. Lady. I'll ease your grief. Pray give me hearing. I crave but some few minutes. My love speak t'ee; hear then, go on. Cupid has broke His Arrows here; and Like a child unarmed, Comes to make sport between us with no weapon, But feathers stolen from his mother's Doves. Lady, take a secret. I am as you are, in a lower rank Else of the self samesexe, a maid, a virgin. And now to use your own words, if your thoughts Censure me not with mercy, you may soon Conceive, I have laid by that modesty, Which should preserve a virtuous name unstained. When you shall read The story of my sorrows, with the change Of my misfortunes, in a letter printed From my unforged relation; I believe You will not think the shedding of one tear, A prodigality that misbecomes Your pity and my fortune. Would I had Much more of honour (as for life I value't not) To venture on your secrecy. You shall find me ever, your ready faithful servant. Sir, Noble Sir. I do protest— Minutes are numbered by the fallen of Sands; As by and hourglasse, the span of time Does waste us to our graves, and we look on it. And age of pleasures revealed out, comes home At last, and ends in sorrow, but the life Weary of riot, numbers every Sand, Wailing in sighs, until the last drop down, So to conclude calamity in rest. Let the substance As suddenly be hurried from your eyes, As the vain found can pass your ear, If no impression of a troth vowed yours, Kneels. Retain a constant memory. I am so worn away with fears and sorrows, So wintered with the tempests of affliction, That the bright Sun of your life-quickening presence Hath scarce one beam of force, to warm again That spring of cheerful comfort, which youth once Appareled in fresh looks. The Incense of my love-desires, are slammed Upon and Altar of more constant proof. Sir, Oh Sir, turn me back into the world, Command me to forget my name, my birth, My Father's sadness, and my death alive, If all remembrance of my Faith hath found A burial, without pity in your scorn. Cyprus. Meleander. A name of misery, the unfortunate Eroclea. Whilst I was lost to memory, Parthenophill did shroud my shame in change Of sundry rare misfortunes: but since now I am, before I die, returned to claim A Convoy to my graven, I must not blush To let Prince Pallador (if I offend,) Know when he dooms me, that he dooms Eroclea. I am that woeful Maid. Dear Sir, in Athens have I been buried. As I, Prince Palador, in mine: This gift His bounty blessed me with, the only physic My solitary cares have hourly took, To keep me from despair. You are still gracious. Sir, how I have lived, By what means been conveyed, by what preserved, By what returned; Rhetias, my trusty servant, Directed by the wisdom of my Uncle, The good Sophronos, can inform at large. Oh but my Father! 'Tis I must raise her. Forgive me, Sister, I have been too private, In hiding from your knowledge any secret That should have been in common betwixt our souls: But I was ruled by council. Dear Sir, you know me. The best of my well-being consists in yours. I have not words that can express my joys. Heaven ha at last been gracious. I by my Uncle's care ( Sophronos my good Uncle) suddenly was Like a Sailors Boy conveyed a shipboard that every night. The ship was bound for Corinth, whither first Attended only with your servant Rhetias, And all fit necessaries, we arrived: From thence in habit of a youth we journeyed To Athens, where till our return of late, Have we lived safe. So I obeyed my Uncle's wise command. If earthly treasures Are poured in plenty down from Heaven on mortals; They reign amongst those Oracles, that flow In Schools of sacred knowledge; such is Athens: Yet Athens was to me but a fair prison: The thoughts of you, my Sister, Country, Fortune's, And something of the Prince, barred all contents, Which else might ravish sense: for had not, Rhetias, Been always comfortable to me, certainly Things had gone worse. Your pleasure; yet pray be brief. I have neither. Not any truly. I shall thank you, When my unsettled thoughts can make me sensible Of what 'tis to be happy: for the present I am your debtor: and fair Gentlewoman, Pray give me leave as yet to study ignorance, For my weak brains conceive not what concern me. —Another time.— Yes, Madame: Discreetly chaste she can: she hath much wone On my belief, and in few words, but pithy, Much moved my thankfulness. You are her Lady, Your goodness aims (I know) at her preferment: Therefore I may be bold to make confession Of truth, if ever I desire to thrive In woman's favour. Kala is the first Whom my ambition shall bend to. This sighed is full of horror. I am so much a subject To every law of Noble honesty, That to transgress the vows of perfect friendship, I hold a sacrilege as foul, and cursed, As if some holy Temple had been robbed, And I the thief. That remembrance Prompts me to worthy duty, Oh great Lady. If some few days have tempted your free heart, To cast away affection on a stranger: If that affection have so overswayed Your Judgement, that it in a manner hath Declined your sovereignty of birth and spirit: How can ye turn your eyes off from that glass, Wherein you may new Trim, and settle right A memorable name? Days, months and years are passed, since Menam phon Hath loved and served you truly: Menaphon ; A man of no large distance in his blood, From yours; in qualities desertful, graced With Youth, Experience; every happy gift That can by nature, or by Education Improve a Gentleman: for him (great Lady) Let me prevail, that you will yet at last, Unlock the bounty, which your love and care Have wisely treasured up, t'inrich his life. For my friend, I plead with grounds of reason. Let not my unworthiness altar your good opinion. You are not modest Sir. 'Tis the same, the cunning Artsman Faltered not in a line. Cooed he have fashen'd A little hollow space here, and blown breath To have made it move, and whispher, it had been excellent. But faith, 'tis well, 'tis very well as 'tis. Passing, most passing well.