BELLAMIA

Enough, too much. My Lord, I hoped when last Your importunity enforced my promise Of other answer, I should never see you, If being a sad prisoner to my chamber, Might have prevented your access: but since I am betrayed to this discourse, receive What the necessity of fate compels to. Yes, but such and one As must at least challenge affinity With what I said before: not your estate, Though multiplied to Kingdoms, and those wasted With your invention, to serve my pleasures, Have power to bribe my life away from him, To whose use I am bid to wear it; be yet just, And seek no further to pollute the stream Of my chased thoughts, I'll rather choose to die Poor wife to Peregrine, then live a Kings Inglorious strumpet, can you think my Lord, Should I give up my freedom to your bend, And for the pride of wealth, fell woman in me, (For she must lose that name, that once turns whore) Could I arrive at impudence enough To come abroad, and not be moved to hear My shame from every tongue, but scorn my infamy, (As 'tis the nature of this sin to strengthen It self still with a greater) could you think, If no religion can correct your wildness, Another's price, or pleasure, would not buy me Even from your arms? there is no faith in lust, And she that dares be false to one she loves, Will twine with all the world, and never blush for't, Kiss, and betray as often. Think on this, And call your self home, Worse then infection, how dare you speak This blasphemy to honour, or I hear it? Innocence defend me. What do I hear? Yes, a glorious monster. Good Heaven! Neveroh, never: let me tell you, sir, You have so little prevailed upon my Love, That almost I forget my charity You're a bade man: I'll sooner meet a basilisk, and be one. What do you mean? I know you both, is no body else with you? Not my Lord? Pray let me see him. You may come A little nearer, if there be no change In mind, there is in countenance, my Lord, I have had a short, but pleasing vision, My thought from a steep precipice, as you were falling Into the Sea, and arm chained to a Cloud, Caught hold, and drew you up to Heaven. I feel a new, and secure confidence. Will you vouchsafe us favour? If this be earnest, it's a heavenly language. This is and noble change, and speaks his nature Not barren, when good seeds are trusted with it. I am sorry, I could have chained my ears to his discourse, And willingly would grown old to have herd him: Madam, the Character of praise you gave him, Is short of that true nobleness I find. Be more charitable, I apprehend your trouble, and shall give you A fair account of his, and my own honour, I could be merry now. He's gone, sir. I honour him. Pray tell me, sir, I have herd a little trial of your wit, Are you honest too? But you having a leading voice. I would be excused For some few minuites. Methinks I feel some new access of comfort, Something that tells me, I am near a blessing, Or else my poor heart flattets me. The mortgage? this confirms me, he is noble, A wealthy Carkanet; though I cannot merit This bounty from him, I am rich in thank's. But prithee tell me boy, didst not thou bring Letters, and other Jewels to me? If I remember, you did speak and other Meaning, then what you now deliver. Thou hast a modest countenance, here's to buy the Garters, and Roses. A good boy: this is not the religion of all Pages. They are a present worth acceptance, The piety came with they more then doubles Their valve, if vice blush not at rewards, There is no shame for virtue to receive them But What's all this to me, that am poor still Without my Peregrine? who all this while Treads the uneven path of war, and danger, This very minute, for ought I can tell, Wounded upon some service, or engaged, To stand the murdering Cannon, o, my blood Grows pale within me to imagine, what Horror attends the Soldier Would, my heart trembles. Thy looks speak comfort, what of him? Landed? O! let me fly into his arms, my Peregrine. Let tears of joy salute thee, Welcome, ten thousand welcomes. Your pardon, sir, If after many years of absence, I Dwell long upon a husbands entertainment, And if you think I have expressed a truth Of joy to see him, you will easily Believe the man, whom he calls friend, is welcome. Never I hope to partly again, it's time We now should grow together. I herd some words found most unkindly from you, You named a little stay, have I scarce seen My happiness, and must be sad again To think it will so soon be ravished from me? Thy state is not so lost, and miserable, As it's presented in thy fears, look here, And thank a providence, that smiles upon us, This is recovered, we have some Land Again, by whose revenue we may live, And expect better Fortune's, I have Jewels too, Bright ones, and rich. Possess What I enjoy, and let us live together. Sir you may trust your eyes, these are no forms, in aerie apprehension, but the truth of things, that call you to be leave, and use them as timely benefits: yet I may allow you to wonder, there's a story will deserve it. A friend, a noble friend. If you please to hear me, I must declare, these are the bounty of A living friend. A Gentleman— One you are bound to honour. Believe me, sir, My story's full of innocence, and when You have more knowledge of this friend, you'll quit Your fears, and call him to your heart. More to his virtue, though his title Carry the shine of honour, he has a soul More glorious; have patience but to hear me, You will confess it, and reward his piety With praise above a man, and be in love With him your self. The Lord Fitzavarice. Has misery a name beyond my suffering? Hath love, and fortune both conspired to drop Their stings into my bosom? The Lord Fitzavarice. Yet will you hear me, sir. I hope you have not met. No hearts did ever meet More loving lie, until he saw— The presents that you sent me. Would I had been poor still, although you bring All innocent thoughts. My Lord, I must beseech you, Never to see me again, o never, sir, It will be dangerous to express your virtue, And every minute you stay here, is fatal, Alas I fear he's come. O misery of Misery's! But I am lost again, in what place am I? I'st not a Prison? o that sad thought shoots A trembling through me. You amaze me. I obey you, Do not allay this unexpected joy With a sad change good heaven. Of fame, you were jealous of our honours. To what Virtue in time will he grow to Jacintha? What joys flow in my heart. Thou art sad fister. You'll be in time converted, And leave your wild invectives against men, 'Tis possible you may marry, if you could Find such another man to be your husband. What? Thou wouldst have him, how now my witty sister? Has little Cupid Been practising with his bird-bolt, if thou be'st not, I'll wish thee heartily in love, to punish Thy want of charity against all men And marriage, it's but justice, nay be not melancholy; He will be here presently. He shall. But dost love him Indeed? now but for pity I could laugh. And thou canst have no argument to despair, Come shall I tell my Lord? That thou love him. O my husband, sir. I shall much repent My discourse to thee, if it did not raise Thy admiration, it's a noble Lord, Thou art bound to make him restitution. I am free too, out of debt, Nay I did wonder at it. Good morrow sir. You were pleasant worser. To send for me. What plots? You are not; Jealous of me And dee love her? Good morrow. I thank you for your counsel but it needs not, I pity the condition of this Gentleman, That makes his life a penance to seem wise, He talks of plots, and is the greatest enemy To himself with his vain fears, but why do I Discourse of misery without my self, That carry in my bosom every minute, All that can make a woman miserable? Thought of my husband wounds me, yet I cannot Be suffered to enjoy it, Like a Dear I am chased by foreign Hunter's, and not left To think what cruelty at home pursues me. You might have known my pleasure, in good manners, Ere you admitted any. He serves the Lord Fitzamorous Beshrew your diligence. I preethe carry they back, their insid's poison, Does your Lord Instruct you thus? I shall not need, return him then my thanks, By messenger. How black sin does scatter Her seed betimes, and every ground is fruitful. More rude intrusions? What do you mean By this strange language? pray be clearer, sir, If you direct it to my understanding. What is your business? What love I beseech you sir? Of me? it will concern That I should know him. How sir! He may be bountiful indeed then. What miracle is this? I find not By all these marks of honour and of goodness What person you commend thus Your Lord may be Beside himself after so great a Character. Cry mercy sir, I know him, and you might with half the expense Of so much wit in blank verse, have expressed His purpose, and himself, I thank him heartily, But am not so much worth, pray tell him so. I'st your Trade? It seems so, by your prompt and elegant way, Are you soliciter general for other's, In love, tied by your place, never to move Conditions for your self? he is but a Lord Whose fame you have advanced thus. And I was never taught, that wit or handsomeness are assured by patent, dee think this Lord May not find his peers? This would well be a double Knave. As gracious with a Lady; With wit, with valour, bounty, a fair presence, And tongue to inchant heaven. I have kept a Jewel for your Lordship. And because I would not be held guilty of ingratitude, Not furnished with a gift worth your acceptance, I must present your own again. I dare not accept of any, they are dangerous. Yes more killing then The teeth of Serpents, or the Vipers blood, Without a charm, they had ere this undone me. Can you seem ignorant, by whose direction They were sent hither, o my Lord, but think, What honour you can gain out of my ruins. Why do you still pursue me with this heat Of sensual f am, and send these tempters to me, After so many vows, to keep my faith, And name unstained? To enjoy my husband. When he is absent from my heart, may Consent to be as black, as you would make me; But while he hath a constant dwelling here, I must lose both at once, if I forsake him. O think upon your self my Lord, and make Your title good, and justify, that honour By our selves acquired, is richer, then what blood, And birth can throw upon us, send no more Agents to plead your shame, their errand is So foul, it must infect they, to be false, Even to your self, my husband is abroad To far from home. I'll hear no more. You have a stained soul. You'll never marry? This is joy Able to drown my poor heart, but is all This peace concluded? Just heaven hath herd my prayers, happy Bellamia. What riches I embrace, what world's of treasures, In every kiss, how many lives I take From those sweet smiles? You may triumph sister, you have cause. My Uncle, sister, Madam. Sir Would more plots? bless me, but what are these? Men? apprehended? what new fears invade me? And your name Oldrat, what's the matter gentlemen? Would you and interlude? Make not your self the general derision, Your drudges mirth. Why this is Dormant your servant Uncle.