FRANCES

Thou must make shift with it. Pride feels no pain Girded thee hard, And worst, it seems, which makes hem do't so often. If he had but broke with me, I had not cared, But, with the company, the body politic- And he to fail in all, and disappoint us? The rogue deserves a torture- Let's devise him one. Close to his head, to trundle on his pillow? Ple have the Lease of his house cut out in measures. No, no life I would ha'touch't, but stretched on his own yard He should be alittle, have the strappad ? Burning i'the hand With the pressing iron cannot save him. Thou art not cruel, Although straitlaced, I see, Pru! It's rich enough! But it's not what I meant thee! I would have had thee braver then my self, And brighter far. It'll fit the Players yet, When thou hast done with it, and yield thee somewhat. Tut, all are Players, and but serve the Scene. Pru, Dispatch; I fear thou dost not Like the province, Thou art so long a fitting thy self for it. Here is a Scarf, to make thee a knot finer. Why Pru? Thou doubtest to be overlaid Pru? Fear it not, I le bear my partly, and share with thee, i'theventer. How, now! Pru! Turned fool vpo'the sudden, and talk idly I'thy best clothes! shoot bolts, and sentences Affright babies with? as if I lived To any other scale then what's my own? Or sought my self, without my self, from home? Yes shoot again, good Pru, I'll have thee shoot, And aim, and hit: I know it's love in thee, And so I do interpret it. Be it to licence, It sha'not want and ear, Pru, Say, what is it? Out with it Pru. If it but chime of mirth. I apprehend thee, and the source of mirth That it may br ed, but is he bold enough, The child? and well assured? Which thou wilt, Pr Your Ladyship, and all your train are welcome. I thank my hearty host. It should ha'bin, my host, but Stuff, our Taylor Has broke with us, you shall be o'the counsel. I very feign, I pr'y thee let me see him, host. And I believe your most, my pretty boy, Being so emphased, by you. Prettily answered! Is your name Francis? I love mine own the better. It is the same with yours. You will win upon me in compliment. A modest, and a fair well spoken-child. Our Host (me thinks) is very game some! A miracle! But Pru, what shall we call him, when we ha'drest him? Call him Laetitiam, by my sisters name, And so will mind our mirth too, we have in hand. Good Trundle, you must straight make ready the Coach, And led the horses out but halse a mile, Into the fields, whither you will, and then Driven in again, with the Coach-leaves put down, At the back gate, and so to the back stairs, As if you brought in some body, to my Lady, A Kinswoman, that she sent for, Make that answer If you be asked; and give it out the house, so. And excellent fine boy. It else denies it self. So do all Politics in their commendations. Sure, petard's, To blow us up. Nothing more troublesome, Or importune! Or saucy, good Sir Glorious. Or S condemn you to the bottles. And make you finer Music. Who's here? Sad? he is sollen still, and wears a cloud About his brows; I know not how to approach him. How, Pru? Th'art not wild, wench! Hath too much bravery made thee mad? I have woven a net To snare my self in! Sir I am enjoined To tender you a kiss; but do not know Why, or wherefore, only the pleasure royal Will have it so, and urges—Do not you Triumph on my obedience, seeing it forced thus. There it's. You'll turn a Tyrant. You'll hear me? Yes, cry her up, with acclamations, do, And cry me down, run all with sovereignty. Prince Power will never want her Parasites. You are, no Tyrant? I am content. Tell us what Love is, that we may be sure There's such a thing, and that it is in nature. How am I changed! By what alchemy Of love, or language, am I thus translated! His tongue is tipped with the Philosophers stone, And that hath touched me through every vain! I feel that transmutation o'my blood, As I were quite become another creature, And all he speaks, it is projection! Oh speak, and speak for ever! let min'eare Be feasted still, and filled with this banquet! No sense can ever surfeit on such truth! It is the marrow of all lovers tenants! Who hath read Plato, Heliodore, or Tatius, Sydney, , or all Loves Father's, Like him? He, is there the Master of the Sentences, Their School, their Commentary, Text, and Gloss, And breathes the true divinity of Love! Where have I lived, in heresy, so long Out o'the Congregation of Love, And stood irregular, by all his C nons? What penance shall I do, to be received, And reconciled, to the Church of Love? Go on procession, barefoot, to his Image, And say some hundred penitential verses, There, out of Chaucers Troilus, and Cr idem? Or to his mother's shrine, vow a Waxe-candle As large as the Town Maypole is, and pay it! Enjoin me any thing this Court thinks fit, For I have trespassed, and blasphemed Love. I have, indeed, despised his Deity, Whom (till this miracle wrought on me) I knew not. Now I adore Love, and would kiss the rushes That bear this reverend Gentleman, his Priest, If that would expiate—but, I fear it will not. For, though he be somewhat struck in years, and old Enough to be my father, he is wise, And only wise men love, the other covet. I could begin to be in love with him, But will not tell him yet, because I hope Enjoy the other hour, with more delight, And prove him farther. How swift is time, and S lie steals away From them would hug it, valve it, embrace it? I should have thought it scarce had run ten minutes, When the whole hour is fled. Here, take your kiss, Sir, Which I most willing tender you, in Court. And I could wish, It had be twenty—so the Sovereigns Poor narrow nature had decreed it so— But that is passed, irrevocable, now: She did her kind, according to her latitude— I dare you, do your worst, Show me but such and injustice: I would thank you To altar your award. Pru, Adjourn the Court. There is no taming o'the Monster drink. I never saw A lightning shoot so, as my servant did, His rapier was a Meteor, and he waved it Over them, Like a Comet! as they fled him! I marked his manhood! every stoop he made Was Like and Eagles, at a flight of Cranes! (As I have read somewhere.) Of his valour, I am! He seemed a body, rarified, to air! Or that his sword, and arm were of a piece, They went together so! Here, comes the Lady. I, and the Silk! Feel, sure it is the same! I'll swear it. How came it hither? make a bill of inquiry. And of a curious making! pray you, your Fashioners name. How Stuff? He the Protection! What show is this, that you present us with? Who? Which she? How? Mistress Stuff? Your wife! Is that the riddle? And why thus mas'qd? You Like a footman, would! And she your Countess! Peace thou immodest woman: She glori S in the bravery o'the vice. And a main offence, Committed against the sovereignty: being not brought Home i'the time. Beside, the profanation, Which may call on the censure of the Court. Let his wife be stripped. Pluck the polluted robes over her ears; Or cut them all to pieces, make a fire o'them: Pray you let us hear it. They are gentle words, and would deserve a note, Set to them, as gentle. Yes, gentle servant. In what calm he speaks, After this noise, and tumult, so unmoved, With that serenity of c untenance, As I his thoughts did acquies e in that Which is the object of the second hour, And nothing else. I have a suit to the Sovereign of love, If it may stand with the honour of the Court, To change the Queen scion but from love, to valour, To hear, it said, but, what true valour is, Which oft begets true love. Most manly uttered all! As if Achilles had the chair in valour, And Hercules were but a Lecturer! Who would not hang upon those lips for ever! That strike such music? I could run on them; But modesty is such a school mistress, To keep our sex in awe. Been more believed! It cannot be! Oh clip the wings of time, Good Pru, or make him stand still with a charm. Distil the gout into it, cramps, all diseases Arrest him in the foot, and fix him here: Oh, for and engine, to k epe back all clocks! Or make the Sun forget his motion! If I but knew what drink the Time now loved, To set my Trundle at him, mine own Barnabe! My servants song, first. Well Sir, you must be paid, and legally. Why would you let him go thus? Why, in her Ladies? Are not you the Sovereign? Not but apply the cure, Now it is vexed. But had not you the authority, absolute? I was somewhat froward, I must confess, but frowardness sometime Becomes a beauty, being but a visor Put on. You'll let a Lady wear her masque, Pru. You might have known that by my looks, and language, Had you been or regardant, or observant. One woman, reads another's character, Without the tedious trouble of deciphering: If she but give her mind to't, you knew well, It could not sort with any reputation Of mine, to come in st, having stood out So long, without conditions, f r mine honour. Who, I, with scorn? I did express my love, to idolatry rather, And so am justly plagued, not understood. Dull, stupid, wench! Stay i'thy state of ignorance still, be damned, And idiot Chambermaid! Hath all my care, My breeding thee in fashion, thy rich clothes, Honours, and titles wrought no brighter effects On thy dark soul, then thus? Well! go thy way , Were not the Tailors wife, to be demolished, Ruined, uncased, thou shouldst be she, I vow. Pru, Pru, what dost thou mean? Take it not to heart so. It was a word fell from me, Pru, by chance. Here comes mine Host! No cry king! Good Pru. Where is my servant Lovel, Host? Would you advise it? Pray thee be not llen, I yet must have thy counsel. Thou shalt wear, Pru, The new gown, yet. Come, be not angri , or grieved: I have a pro ct. They have no taint in them, Now o'the Taylor. It is restorative, Pru! with thy but chafing it, A barren Hinds grease may work miracles. Find but his chamber door, and he will rise To thee! or if thou pleasest, feign to be The wretched party her sell e, and comest unto him In forma pauperis, to crave the aid Of his Knight errant valour, to the rescue Of thy distressed robes! name but thy gown, And he will rise to that! Pru. I'll fire the charm first, I had rather die in a ditch, with Mistress Shore, Without a smock, as the piti ull matter has it, Then owe my wit to cloth S, or have it beholden. I pr'y thee Pru, abuse me enough, that's use me As thou thinkest fit, any course way, to humble me, Or bring me home again, or Lovel on: Thou dost not know my sufferings, what I fe le, y fires, and fears, are met: I burn, and freeze, My liver's one great coal, my heart shrunk up With all the fivers, and the mass of blood Within me, is a standing lake of fire, Curled with the cold wind of my gelid sighs, TO at worser ine a drift of fleet through all my body, And shoo a February through my veins. I see him, I am drunk with thirst, And surfeited with hunger of his presence. I know not where I am, or no, or speak, Or whither thou dost hear me. Religiously, deer Pru, Lou and his Mother, I'll built them several Churches, Shrines, and Alt rs, And over head, I'll have, in the glass windows, The story of this day be painted, round, For the poor Laity of love to read, I'll make my self their book, nay their example, To bid them take occasion by the forelock, And play no after-games of Love, hereafter. H ! Runn's it mirth, let't come, It shall be well received, and much made of it. You have, my Lord. But laws of hospitality, and fair rites, Would have made me acquainted. Thy gown's commis sion. Much joy, my Lord. No going off my Lord. Mine? what is her name? Sister, Oh gladness! Then you are our mother? On my knees, I bless The light I see you by. Indefinite Pru. Wear it wenc Is not this our Gown, Pru? That I bespoke of Stuff? My jealousy is off, I am now secure. That was lost?