JOLAS

MArried? and in Diana's Grove! Married! Now by those Powers that tie those pretty knots, it's very fine, good faith it's wondrous fine: Why? to marry Sister— enjoy betwixt lawful and unlawful thus a happiness, steal as 'twere ones own; Diana's Grove, sayest thou?— Scratcheth his head. And will they lie together, thinkest thou? True; but the King, Sister! Thou sayest well; it's fine, it's wondrous fine: Diana's grove— Why thou knowest a drowning man holds not a thing so fast: Sema he! she shuns me too: What hurt? Some such slight Tale I've herd. Pish, it's not that. It's Ziriff, and his fresh glories here have robbed me of her. Since he thus appeared in Court, my love has languished worse than Plants in drought. But time's a good Physician: come, lets in: the King and Queen by this time are come forth. How now my Lord? what? walking o'th'tops of Pyramids? whispering your self away Like a denied lover? come! to horse, to horse, and I will show you straight a sighed shall please you more than kind looks from her you dote upon after a falling out. I'll tell you as I go.— If it succeed? will night succeed the day? or hours one to another? is not his lust the Idol of his soul? and was not she the Idol of his lust? as safely he might have stolen the Diadem from off his head, and he would less have missed it. You now, my Lord, must raise his jealousy, teach it to look through the false optic fear, and make it see all double: Tell him the Prince would not have thus presumed, but that he does intend worse yet; and that his crown and life will be the next attempt. Well, I'll away first for the print's too big if we be seen together.— It's Z iff, Sir. I told him so, Sir, urged 'twas no common knot, that to the tying of it two powerful Princes, Virtue and Love were joined, and that a greater than these two was now engaged in it; Religion; but 'twould not do, the cork of passion boyed up all reason so that what was said, swam but o'th'top of th'eare never reached the heart: Right Sir: no quarry for his lust to gorge on, but on what you fairly had flown at, and taken: well—Wertenberg not the King, or Wertenberg indeed not you, that have such Hope's, and such a crown to venture, and yet— 'tis but a woman. Why Sir? there are no altars yet addressed unto her, nor sacrifice; if I have made her less than what she is, it was my love to you: For in my thoughts, and here within, I hold her the noblest piece Nature ere lent our eyes, and of the which, all women else, are but weak counterfeits, made up by her journey-men: but was this fit to tell you? I know you valve but too high all that, and in a lose we should not make things more, 'tis Misery's happiness, that we can make it less by art, throw a forgetfulness upon our ills, Yet who can do it here? when every voice, must needs, and every face, by showing what she was not, show what she was. Stay Sir Thought be the utmost of my Fortune's hope to have and equal share of ill with you: yet I could wish we sold this trifle life, at a far dearer rate, than we are Like to do, since' 'tis a King's the Merchant. —He cools again.— True Sir, and yet me thinks to know a reason— for passive nature never had glorious end, and he that States preventions ever learned, knows, it's one motion to strike and to defend. This will not do; his resolution's Like a skilful horseman, and reason is the stirrup, which though a sudden shock may make it lose, yet does it meet it handsomely again. Stay, 'tmust be some sudden fear of wrong to her, that may draw on a sudden act from him, and ruin from the King; for such a spirit will not Like common ones, be raised by every spell, it's in loves circle only it'll appear. Why! what's the matter Sir? Now by the love I bear to Justice, That Nunnery was too severe; when virtuous love's a crime what man can hope to escape a punishment, or who's indeed so wretched to desire it? What answer made you, Sir? Virtue forbid Sir, but if you would permit, them to approach the room (yet who would advice Treason should come so near?) there would be then No place left for excuse. Weak, considering the enterprise; they are but few in number, and those few too, having nothing but their resolutions considerable about them. A Troop indeed designed to suffer what they come to execute. Their names I cannot give you. For those he sent for, he did still receive at a back door, and so dismissed them too. But I do think Ziriff is one.— Sir, 'twas the Prince who first— As sure as night will come it self. Orsames, and Philan, how came you hither? is Death have they all escaped? Stephines, and Odîris —we trifle. Which way took the rest? How the villain swells upon us?— How could I chide my love, and my ambition now, that thrust me upon such a quarrel? here I do vow— This Ziriff will grow great with all the world. How so? Shall we then kill him too at the same instant? Right. Rare! our witness will be taken. What? are we grown, Semanthe, night, and day? Must one still vanish when the other comes? Of all that ever Love did yet bring forth (and it has been fruitful too,) this is the strangest Issue.— Hate, Semanthe. It is ill done, Semanthe, to plead bankrupt, when with such ease you may be out of debt; In loves dominions, native commodity is currant payment, change is all the Trade, and heart for heart, the richest merchandise. Sympathy! o teach but yours to love then, and two so rich no mortal ever knew. In such a cold, and frozen place, as is thy breast? how should they kindle of themselves Semanthe? Thou art thy self the greatest miracle, for thou art fair to all perfection, and yet dost want the greatest partly of beauty, Kindness; thy cruelty (next to thy self,) above all things on earth takes up my wonder. So perishing Sailors pray to storms, and so they hear again. So men with death about them, look on Physicians that have given them over, and so they turn away: Two fixed Stars that keep a constant distance, and by laws made with themselves must know no motion eccentric, may meet as soon as we: The anger that the foolish Sea does show, when it does brave it out, and roar against a stubborn rock that still denies it passage, is not so vain and fruitless, as my prayers. Ye mighty Powers of Love and Fate, where is your Justice here? It is thy partly (found Boy) when thou dost find one wounded heart, to make the other so, but if thy Tyranny be such, that thou wilt leave one breast to hate, If we must live, and this survive, how much more cruel's Fate?— A Glorious night! I do not Like this waiting, nor this fellows leaving us. Whom have we here? the King! Basely! and tamely— A Glorious night! Sure it's a partly of the first Chaos, that would not suffer any change, I do not Like this waiting, nor this fellows leaving of us. May it be plague and famine here till I return. No: thou shalt not yet forgive me: What if the malcontents that use to come unto him were discovered? What means my Lord?