ORLEANS

Be gone: leave that with me, and leave me to my self, if the king ask for me, swear to him I am sick, and thou shalt not lie, pray thee leave me. This music makes me but more out of tune Oh, Agripyna. Oh, I love that madness, Even for the names sake. If he do: why so do I. Dear friend, thou art deceiuued, loves voice does sing As sweetly in a beggar as a king. I'll gaze on heaven if Agripyne be there: If not: Fa, La, la, Solemnizing, la, &c. Laugh they at me, sweet Galloway? Would, would, I laugh at them, are not they mad, That let my true true sorrow make them glad? I dance and sing only to anger grief, That in that anger, he might smite life down With his Iron fist: good heart, it seems then, They laugh to see grief kill me: Oh, found men, You laugh at others tears, when others smile, You tear your selves in pieces: vile, vile, vile, Would, would, when I behold a swarm of fools, Crowding together to be counted wise, I laugh because sweet Agripine's not there, But weep because she is not any where, And weep because whither she be or not, My love was ever and is still forgotten: forgotten, forgotten, forgotten. Look yonder, Galloway, dost thou see that Sun? Nay good friend, stare upon it, mark it well, Ere he be two hours elder, all that glory Is banished heaven, and then (for grief) this sky, That's now so jocund, will mourn all in black, And shall not Orleans mourn? Alack, alack, Oh, what a Savage tyranny it were, T'inforce care, laugh and woe: not shed a tear? Dead is my love, I am buried in her scorn, That is my Sunset, and shall I not mourn? Yes by my troth I will. Thou art a Traitor to that white and read, Which sitting on hex cheeks (being Cupid's throne) Is my hearts sovereign: Oh when she is dead, This wonder (Beauty) shall be found in none. Now Agripyne's not mine, I vow to be In love with nothing but deformity. Oh fair Deformity, I muse all eyes Are not enamord of thee: thou didst never Murder men's hearts, or let them pine Like wax, Melting against the Sun of thy destiny, Thou art a faithful nurse to Chastity, Thy beauty is not Like to Agripynes, For cares, and age, and sickness hers deface, But thine eternal: Oh Deformity, Thy fairness is not Like to Agripynes, For (dread) her beauty will no beauty have, But thy face looks most lovely in the graven. Oh, watch sweet Galloway, when their hands do partly, Between them, shalt thou find my murdered heart. To hold her ever in mine arms whom I loath in my heart, were some plague, yet the punishment were no more then to be enjoined to keep poison in my hand, yet never to taste it. Then a speedy death would end a speeding misery: But to love a Lady and never enjoy her, o it is not death, but worse then damnation; 'Tis hell, 'tis. But is't not a miserable tyranny, to see a Lady triumph in the passion of a soul languishing through her cruelty? Sweet friend, she speaks this but to torture me. I will: and esteem myself more then happy, that you will employ me. Exit. These Cypriots are the devils that torture me. He courts her, and she smiles, but I am born, To be her beauty's slave, and her loves scorn. So does not Orleans, I defy all those, That love not Agripyne, and him defy, That dares but her half so well as I. Oh pardon me, I have in sorrows Jail, Been long tormented, long this mangled bosom Hath bled, and never durst expose her wounds, Till now, till now, when at thy beauteous feet, I offer love and life, Oh cast and eye Of mercy on me, this deformed face Cannot affright my soul from loving Thee. What sentence will my love pronounce on me? Oh gentle, gentle friend I am not mad: He's mad, whose eyes on painted cheeks do dote, Oh Galloway; such read beauty's book by roate. He's mad, that pines for want of a gay flower, Which saves when grief does blast, or sickness lower, Which heat does wither, and white ages frost Nips dead: such fairness, when 'tis found, 'tis lost, I am not mad, for loving Agripyne, My love looks on her eyes, with eyes divine, I dote on the rich brightness of her mind, That sacred beauty strikes all other blind, Oh make me happy then, since my desires Are set a burning by loves purest fires. Count every man upon his swiftest horse. Fly several ways, he cannot bear her far.