ALBERT

Nay, if I go not now, I might be gelded i'faith. Albert ascends, and being on the top of the ladder, puts outs the candle. I herd the steps of some coming this way, Did you not hear Albert pass by as yet. Then he intends joust at the break of day, To lend his trusty help to our departure: 'Tis yet two hours time thither, till when lets rest, For that our speedy flight will not yield any. Just at the instant, fear not of his Care: If I do not do so, then hate me ever, I'll then return alone to fetch you hence, Sooner isle deceive my soul, and so I fear I have. Till when, this touch of lips be the true pledge, of Carracus constant true devoted love, But you did lend a hand unto my entrance. How have I wronged my friend, my faith full friend, Robbed him of whats more precious then his blood, His earthly heaven unspotted honour, Of his soule-ioying Mistress, the fruition of whose bed, I yet am warm of, while deer Carracus, Wanders this cold night, through th'unsheltering field, Seeking me treacherous man, yet no man neither, Though in and outward show of such appearance, But am a Devil indeed, for so this deed. Of wronged love and friendship rightly makes me, I may compare my friend, to one that's sick, Who lying on his deathbed, calls to him, His dearest thought friend and bids him go, To some rare gifted man that can restore, His former health, this his friend sadly hears, And vows with protestations to fulfil, His wished desires, with his best performance, But then no sooner seeing that the death, Of his sick friend, would and to him some gain. Goes not to seek a remedy to save, But Like a wretch hides him to dig his graven, As I have done for virtuous Carracus, Yet Albert be not reasonless, to endanger, What thou mayest yet secure, who can detect, The crime of thy licentious appetite, There ones pace 'tis surely Carracus. 'Tis wronged Carracus by Alberts baseness, I have no power now to reveal my self, Oh Carracus, you are a slow paced lover. Your credit had been touched, had I not been: Why I excused you to the fair Maria; Who would have thought you else, a slack performer. For coming first under her chamber window, She herd me tread, and called upon your name, To which I answered with a tongue Like yours: And told her, I would go to seek for Albert, And straight return. Yes but hearing of some Company, She at my warning, was fore't to put it out: And had I been so too, you and I too had still been happy. Yes, and your servant honoured Lady. Oh friend, no more, come, you are slow in haste, Friendship ought never be distrust in words, Till all her deeds be finished, who looking in a book, And reads but some partly only, cannot judge What pray so the whole deserves, because his knowledge Is grounded but on partly, as thine friend is Ignorant of that black mischief I have done thee. Yes I do follow, would I had done so ever, And never had gone before. My business is not so troublesome: Is a in health with his late espoused wife I me truly glad ont, farewell good friend. You may say, one Albert riding by this way, only inquired their health. How Like a poisonous Doctor have I come, To inquire their welfare, knowing that my self Have given the portion of their never recovery; For which I will afflict my self with torture ever: And since the earth yields not a remedy, Able to salve the sores my lust hath made, I'll now take farewell of society, And th'aboade of men to entertain a life Fitting my fellowship, in desert woods; Where beasts Like me consort, there may I live, Far off from wronging virtuous Carracus; Theres no Maria that shall satisfy My hateful lust, the trees shall shelter This wretched trunk of mine, upon whose back. I will engrave the story of my sin, And there this short breath of mortality, I'll finish up in that repentant state; Where not th'allurements of earth's vanities Can ere overtake me, there's no baits for lust, No friend to ruin, I shall then be free From practising the art of treachery; Thither then steps where such content abides, Where penitency not disturbed may grieve, Where on each tree and springing plant, I'll carve This heavy motto of my misery. Who but a damned one could have done Like me? Carracus farewell, if ere thou seest me more, Shalt find me curing of a sole-sicke soar. How pardon me, Oh found Angelical, But see! she faints, Oh heavens now show your power, That these distilled waters made in grief, May and some comfort to affliction: Look up fair youth, and see a remedy. I, thou shalt live with me, and I will I tell thee Such strange occurrents of my forepast life, That all thy young sprung griefs shall seem but sparks To the great fire of my calamities; Then isle live only with you for to hear, If any humane woes can be Like mine; Yet since my being in this darksome desert, I have read on tre most lamentable stories. 'Tis true indeed, theres one within these woods Whose name is Albert, a man so full of sorrow, That one each tree he passes by he earues, Such doleful lines for his rash follies passed, That who so reads them, and not drowned in tears; Must have a heart framed forth of Addamant. I when thou wilt, bele often come to me, And at my Cave fit a whole winter's night, Recounting of his stories, I tell thee boy Had he offended more then did that man, Who stole the fire from heaven, his contrition Would appease all the gods, and quite revert Their wrath to mercy; but come my pretty boy Wele to my Cave, and after some repose, Relate the sequel of each others woes. I herd the Echo answer unto one, That by his speech cannot be far remote From of this ground, and see I have descried him: O heavens! its Carracus, whose reasons seat Is now usurped by madness, and distraction; Which I the author of confusion Have planted here, by my accursed deeds. Good sir, if any spark do yet remain Of your consumed reason, let me strive. But though your words do savour sir of judgement, Yet when they derogate from the endue observance Of fitting times, they ought not be respected, No more, then if a man should tell a tale Of feigned mirth in amid of extreme sorrows. Good sir walk with me, but where you see The shadowing Elms, within whose circling round There is a holy spring about encompassed, By dandling sycamores and violent es, Whose waters cure all homane maladies: Few drops thereof being sprinkled on your temples, Revives your fading memory, and restores Your senses lost unto their perfect being. Most pleasant to the taste, pray will you go. Which unto you befall, thereof most worthy: But virtuous sir, what I will now request From your true generous nature, is, that you would Be pleased to pardon that repentant Wight Whose sinful stories upon you trees bark, Your self did read, for that you say, to you Those wrongs were done. I rather ought to thank the heavens Creator, That he vouchsafed me such especial grace, In doing so small a good, which could I hourly Bestow on all, yet could I not assuage The swelling rancour of my forepast crimes. Then see false Albert prostrate at your feet, Desiring Justice for his heinous ill. So please you, virtuous pair, Albert will stay, And spend the remnant of this weary some life In these dark woods. Loved Carracus, I have found in thy converse Comfort so blessed, that nothing now but death, Shall cause a separation in our being. Heaven so continue it. I'll see that peace concluded. What ere you are that call, you know my name. May you continue ever so: But its time now to make some hast to horse: Night soon will vanish: Oh that it had power For ever to exclude day from oureies, For my looks then will show my villainy: Then you must call, for so I said I would, Because I would be herd sir, is the M r . of this house within? It is Maria that fair innocent, Whom my abhorred lust hath brought to this; I'll go for sustenance: and Oh you powers! If ever true repentance won acceptance, Oh show it Albert now, and let him save His wronged beauty from untimely graven. Let death walk by himself, if a want company, Theres many thousands boy, whose aged years Have taken a surfeit of earth's vanities, They will go with him, when he please to call, To drink my boy thy pleasing tender youth Cannot deserve to die, no, it is for us, Whose years are laden by our often sins, Singing the last partly of our blessed repentance, Are fit for death, and none but such as we, Death ought to claim; for when a snatches youth, It shows him but a tyrant; but when age, Then is a joust, and not composed of rage. How fares my lad? Oh but thou shalt possess it. If thou didst fear thy death but as I do, Thou wouldst take pity, though not of thy self, Yet of my aged years; trust me my boy, Tha'st struck such deep compassion in my breast, That all the moisture which prolongs my life, Will from my eyes gush forth, if now thou leavest me.