TIMAGORAS

Prithee do not nourish These jealous thoughts: I am thine, (and pardon me Though I repeat it thy Timagoras ) That for thy sake, when the bold Theban sued Far famed Pisander, for my sisters love, Sent him disgraced, and discontented home. I wrought my Father then, and I that stopped not In the career of my affection to thee, When that renowned Worthy that brought with him High birth, wealth, courage, as feed Advocates To mediate for him, never will consent A fool that only has the shape of man, Asotas, though he be rich Cleons Heir Shall bear her from thee. Enter Pisander. Which never shall deceive you. Fit for his fortune, it's a strong limmed knave; My Father bought him for my Sisters Litter. Oh pride of women! Coaches are too common, They surfeit in the happiness of peace, And Ladies think they keep not state enough, If for their pomp, and ease, they are not born In triumph on men's shoulders. Giscos their Admiral, And 'tis our happiness: a raw young fellow, One never trained in Arms, but rather fashioned To tilt with Ladies lips, then crack a Lance, Ravish a Feather from a Mistress Fan And wear it as a Favour; a steel Helmet Made horrid with a glorious Plume, will crack His woman's neck. The common danger For Sicily being afire, she is not safe; It being apparent that ambitious Carthage, That to enlarge her Empire, strives to fasten And unjust gripe on us (that live free Lords Of Syracyse ) will not end, till Greece Acknowledge her their Sovereign. He is a man A Trumpet sounds. Of strange and reserude parts; But a great Soldier. His Trumpets call us, I'll forbear his Character. To morrow in the Senate house at large, He will express himself. He speaks home. This bites soar. Observe, how old Cleon. shakes, As if in picture he had shown him, what He was to suffer. Ever my deer Sister, But now our Families glory. May all Diseases, sloth and lechery bring, Fallen upon him that stays at home. I am glad to see you, Sir, so well prepared, To endure the travail of the war. It impertinence To wish you to be careful of your Honour, That ever keep in pay a Guard about you Of faithful virtues: Farewell friend, I leave you To wipe our kisses off, I know that Lovers Partly with more circumstance and ceremony, Which I give way to. Exit Timagoras. Dare you rebel, slaves? Senators shake their whips, and they throw away These weapons, and run off. Now I suspect too; Where found you him? Is that the villains sanctuary? But that I scorn, To rust my good Sword in thy slavish blood, Thou now Wertenberg dead. Come, cheer you, Sir, wee'll urge his punishment To the full satisfaction of your anger. Oh, the best of Ladies, I fear, is gone for ever. Deliver, how. God's-death, be a man, Sir, speak. What of her? Impudence Beyond expression. To have the Hangman, When he is married to the cross, in scorn, To say, gods give you joy. How? The base villain Shall never live to hear it. Enter Archid: Diphilus, and Officers. Vengeance rather Whirlwinds of rage possess me; you are wronged Beyond a Stoicque sufferance, yet you stand, As you were rooted. Melancholy, Which now you must not yield to. Collect your self, as we walk thither. Exeunt. It's well, provide my Horse. 'Twas a deed Deserving rather Trophies, then reproof. I am so far from envy, I am proud You have outstrip'd me in the raze of honour. Oh 'twas a glorious day, and bravely won! Your bold performance gave such lustre to Timoleons wise directions, as the Army Rests doubtful, to whom they stand most ingag'de For their so great success. You abuse your fortune, To entertain her choice, and gracious favours, With a contracted brow; Plumed victory Is truly painted with a cheerful look, Equally distant from proud insolence, And base dejection. Tush, these fears are needless, She cannot, must not, shall not be so cruel. A free confession of a fault wins pardon; But being seconded by desert, commands it. The General is your own, and sure; my Father Repents his harshness: for my self, I am Ever your creature, one day shall be happy In your triumph, and your Marriage. Ever touching On that harsh string? she is your own, and you Without disturbance seize on what's your endue. I long since Expected, that the virgins, and the Matrons, The old men striving with their age, the Priests Carrying the Images of their gods before they Should have met us with Procession: Would! the gates Are shut against us! The mystery, Rascals? Open the ports, and play not with and anger, That will consume you. Can we endure this? Scorned too! are you turned stone? Hold parley with our Bondmen? force our entrance, Then Villains, expect. Hell, and Furies! Oh, the gods! Unheard of insolence! Let the City sink first. Make a firm stand: The slaves not satisfied, they have Beatrice us off, Prepare to sally forth. The same wise thing; God's-light, what a beast they have made thee! Africa never Produced the Like. It's a guessed In wisdom never to be entertained On trivial probabilities; but when He does appear in pregnant proofs, not fashioned By idle doubts and fears, to be received, They make their own horns, that are too secure, As well as such as give them grouth, and being From mere imagination. Though I prize Cleora's honour equal with mine own; And know what large additions of power This match brings to our family; I prefer Our friendship, and your peace of mind so far Above my own respects, or hers, that if She hold not her true valve in the test, It's far from my ambition for her cure, That you should wound your self. It's unfit then, That I should press it further. What would Timandra? Collect thy self, and speak. If you believe so, Follow the chase still: And in open court Plead your own interest; we shall find the Judge Our friend I fear not. Are you stupid? God's-light leap into his arms, and there ask pardon. Oh, you expect your slaves reply, no doubt We shall have a fine oration; I will teach My Spaniel to howl in sweeter language, And keep a better method. It's the bold Theban! I will study In my future service to descerue your favour And good opinion. Nay, she dserues The bending of your heart; that to content you, Has kept a vow, the breach of which a vestal (Though the infringing it had called upon her A living funeral,) must of force have shrunk at; No danger could compel her, to dispense with Her cruel Penance; though hight lust came armed To seize upon her, when one look, or accent Might have redeemed her. You needs not fear, They are all under guard, their fangs pared off: The wounds their insolence gave you, to be cured, With the blame of your revenge. And Ass, thou Wertenberg ever. In deed you are fallen away. But your Ladyship looks Sad on the matter, as if you had mised Your ten-crowne Amber Possets, good to smooth The Cutis, as you call it, and prepare you Active, and high for and afternoons encounter, With a rough gamester, on your couch; fie on't, You are grown thrifty, smell Like other women; The College of Physicians have not sat, As they were used, in council how to fill The cranies in your cheeks, or raise a rampire, With Mummy, Ceruses, or Infants fat, To keep off age, and time. So it seems; A partly of your honours ruff stands out of rank too. Oh strange! Not ten days since it would have vexed you more, Then loss of your good name; Pity, this cure For your proud itch came no sooner! Marry, Olympiam seems to bear up still. Thou were't ever And excellent bearer; so is all your tribe, If you may choose your carriage: How now, friend, Looks our Cleora lovely? Enter Leosthenes. and Diphilus with a Guard. But why this guard? They may search boldly. Prate, you dog? As a wild beast, Driven him before you. Why she should be so passionate for a Bondman, Falls not in compass of my understanding, But for some nearer interest; or he raise This mutiny, if he loved her (as you say, She does confess, he did) but to enjoy By fair or foul play, what he ventured for, To mee's a Riddle. Out with it boldly. But she recovered. Say so, or he will sink too, hold, Sir, fie, This is unmanly. Dam her. I'll hear no more. Come, Sir, wee'll follow her, and if no persuasion Can make her take again her natural form, Which by lustest powerful spell she has cast off, This Sword shall dis-inchant her. I am blasted too: Yet hear a little further. You'll hear me, Sir? Bold presumptuous villain. Confute him with a whip, and the doubt decided, Punish him with a halter. WHy should you droop Leosthenes, or despair My Sisters favour? what before you purchased By Courtship, and fair language in these Wars, (For from her soul you know she loves a Soldier) You may deserve by Actium: The better. On our words, Sir.