DORIA

I Shall not be discovered by my voice, Italian Virgins are at distance wooed, And more by fame, then verbal courtship wone: This speaks my errand, leaves no circumstance To be related by the messenger; See how her blood retires, to aid her heart, So looks bright Phoebe, when Thessalian charms Strike her with fear, or early Rose, whose beauty Nipped by a later frost, appears Like snow: Now it returns, and settles in her cheeks, As if the news took no impression: Such orient beams when youthful day returns, By the bedewed Shepherd are beheld. Lady, I have; fame with her silver trumpet Hath blazed your constant loves. If they relate Any disaster, you then imitate Those ancient Worthies, that had bravely learned To conquer passion at the first assault. By great Saint George, the Patron of this State, Doriam himself is not more innocent. I shall. Never did such a virtuous courage reft In the calm harbour of a Virgins breast. Not, as the Roman when they had betrayed The Sabine Virgins, do my glad friends make These acclamations of Thalassius, But rather as a more auspicious name Then that of drowsy and lascivious Hymen; Behold the late Ambassador himself Thus contradicts his own seyn'd embassy. Which works more On my affections, then a golden tongue; But tell me my divine Angelica, How couldst thou at the tidings of my death, Put on a valiant incredulity? And when thou findest me safe burst out in tears. I could not entertain nor then nor now, The least suspicion of thy constancy, But truest love delights to please it self With such disguises, and to find by trials Our own assurance many ways confirmed: Nor had I ventured to disturb thy thoughts, Which thy discerning judgement did prevent, But that I had a present remedy. Were I left helpless by Machaons art, Thy presence hath a virtue would restore me, Pandora on whom each Deity bestowed A several gift, was not endowed Like thee. He whose ambition made him weep and sweat Within the narrow limits of one world, Did never thirst so much for fame and glory, As I for that encounter, in which combat, Whither I vanquish, or am vanquished, I shall not envy Pompey or Caesars triumphs: In the mean time I'll crave and hour or two For preparation of some necessaries, Whereof my absence makes me destitute. I'll soon return, my heart with thee shall stay As a sure pawn. WHose fortune should I envy? that am going To take possession of a happiness, Great, and (what crowns felicity) secure? Such constant joy proceeds from virtuous love: But soft, what unexpected change is here? Either mine eyes mistake, or my Imperial Is quite deprived of his; alas, it's so: I am amazed at this sad spectacle. What strange Eclipse? or dire Stymphalides With their prodigious wings obscure the sun? What cruel hand hath made us all thus wretched? Where's my Angelica? Where am I now, in fruitful Italy, Or in Hircaniam, where there's nothing seen But horrid monsters, and perpetual snow? Oh wickedness! that no age will believe! And all Posterity deny! malicious fate, That to my boundless misery addest this; To make me suffer barbarous wrongs from such As are not capable of my revenge. Were the sole Monarch of the world, the actor, Or had he but connived at the deed done By his lustful son or minion; I might hope, Armed with the justice of my cause, to wrest The ill-sway'd sceptre from him, and reduce Him and his raze to unparrallel'd examples Of woeful pride, and miserable greatness. Then if abstracted spirits knowledge have Of humane vows, look down deflowered Maid, But yet no less a Virgin then a Vestal: Since honour cannot stoop to punish slaves, Whose vile condition sinks beneath that vengeance, Above which no tyrants power could hope to climb. And since thy cruel sufferings (blessed soul) Require strict satisfaction, lo, I turn My fury on my self, and punish thus Mine own malignant fortune: who holds me? Forbear, I may not be disarmed. Noble Justinian, thou Wertenberg wont to be Full of compassion, show it now, and end A loathed life. Restore me then my sword, it is not worse To kill him that unwilling is to die, Than to hinder him that's willing. The guilty seldom inflict punishment Upon themselves; what wretch can keep a life So full of misery? Thy counsel comes too late, sentence is given By me upon my self, nor canst thou save Or yet reprieve me, he that resolves to die, Finds weapons every where, my mind could arm These hands without a sword, but it disdains All borrowed aid; my weapons are within: If sudden joy can speedy death command, Why should not grief? and mine above all others? Then summon all thy forces mighty sorrow, Contract this stubborn heart and stifle it, Deny it the bold privilege, to be The last that feels the stroke of death: so, so, It shoots a vapour that will poison it, And choke each passage of the vital spirits, And now I feel it Beatrice against my breast, As if it gave alarum unto all The organs of my life; Oh how it struggles, Disdaining to submit! proud rebel down, Thy ligaments are shrunk, and I approach The place, where Lovers after death reside, Where I a ghost will yet enjoy my Bride: Wilt thou not yield? dost thou expect relief? Time, that releaseth sorrow, shall not join With refreshed nature to repair thy ruin: I to a broken heart will add this doom, No substance within these lips shall come. I dare not say there was.