ANGELICA

O, how the terror of that dreadful vision Affrights my Soul! I tremble when I think on'c? Me thought the heartstrings of Prince Doriam crack'r At the direnewes, it proved the overthrow Of our whole Family: we differ but in this, The Savage executioners to me Seemed to be Bears, creatures as bloody as wolves. My heart continues sad. ALthough my father hath resolved all doubts My reason could object; yet still I feel A chilling vapor hover in my breast, Which many times breaks forth in sudden sighs, For which I can assign no other cause Than that the world cannot afford a Joy Unmix with real or supposed sorrow; Hence is it that most Brides are found to weep, Yet know not why upon their wedding day. Fie, fie, Nugolla, no laciviousnes Can ere become solemnities, that must Create us Matrons; there is cause to fear Their chastity, that unchafte songs can hear. Yes many things Are lawful, and yet shameful to be done Or spoken publicly. T'is not the glittering canopy of greatness, But th'humble veil of modesty must guard A woman's fame; which being once thrown off Leaves her exposed to every bold assault. A fort cannot be thought Impregnable, that offers frequent parlies. Can it beseem a Virgin or a Wife To play with all the allurements of desire; And think her honour's safe, if she abstain From the bore act, the duller partly of lust. Thou wilt be waggish still, But hark who knocks? This wench that never felt the fire of love Thinks Like a wanton Child, it may be played with, But she will one day find it far more raging Than that which fierce Medaea did convey Into Creusas robe: how now? who is't? Admit him; If it be from my Doriam, I fear Some unexpected accident, wherein His honour is concerned, retards his coming; But I must likewise arm my self for wiles: Such love as ours, cannot want envious plots. I may suppose you, sir, not ignorant Of what you bring; and may believe y'have herd Some thing of young Prince Doriam and me. And are you not Strangely amaz'ed to see me read these lines Without a shower of tears? He's dead, Nugella; the great. General Writes me, that he having the sole command Of and important place, forsook the same, And in his swift retreat, received a shot I'th hinder partly of's head. Canst thou be so ingrateful to my Doriam, To lend it such a serious belief As may deserve a tear? Were it confirmed by the unerring seal Of this wise State, it should not merit faith. But was he not to be acknowledged valiant? That attribute his foes did not deny him: Had these contrived lines contained but this, Brave Doria's slain, a torrent, hence, had gushed, That Like Alpheus, had through earth and sea Wandered unmix, till in the gulf of death, It should have lost it self in seeking him. But when I find impossibilities Basely obtruded, my true love disdains To lend belief to any circumstance. Mars could as soon be frighted from his sphere, As he from any charge he undertook: It's a malicious scandal; and although My nature even abhors to use a stranger With any incivility, yet I'm forced To tax the bearer with this vild imposture. That name is sacred, let me then conjure thee To answer truly but to this one question. Was there before you left the Army. Any report of this sad news you brought? The Palace cracks When such a pillar falls, the General One of those many which my fortune wood, Envious that Doriam gained both that and me: And knowing well, that valour always I The special object of a noble love, Attempted thus to shake my constancy: But if the fates should prove so cruel to me, To make me survive him; this is my vow, To stand for ever Like sad Niobe, A weeping statue to his memory. To lend belief to any ill report Of a known friend, although averred with boldness, In common friendship were unpardonable, Much more in such a love as mine, which finding In a main partly a manifest untruth Was for your honour bound to slight the rest: And though there be a contrariety In the true causes of our joy and grief, Yet both are often times expressed with tears, I might have safely tasted what the Mede, Or the fierce Parthian dips his arrows in, So long as there was such and antidote. You carry mine away. O that heavens power had pleased According to my fervent invocation, To have transformed me to some ugly monster, That horror might have frighted away lust, Or else converted it to sudden rage, Whereby my life had ransomed mine honour! Then there is hope to find compassion In more then Scythian breasts, ther's but that left To expiate your former cruelty.