_Bust._ Oh Gentlemen, look to your selves, ye are
Men of another world else; your enemies are upon you;
The old house of the _Bellides_ will fall upon your heads:
Signior _Lisauro_.
_Ant. Lisauro?_
_Bust._ And _Don_ what call you him? he's a Gentleman:
Yet he has but a Yeomans name,
Don _Tarso, Tarso_, and a dozen at their heels.
_Ant. Lisauro, Tarso_, nor a dozen more
Shall fright me from my ground, nor shun my path,
Let 'em come on in their ablest fury.
_Mar._ 'Tis worthily resolved: I'll stand by you Sir,
This way, I am thy true friend.
_Bust._ I'll be gone Sir, that one may live to tell what's
become of you.
Put up, put up, will you never learn to know a lye
From an _Esop_'s Fables? there's a tast for you now. [_Exit._
_Enter_ Ismenia _and_ Aminta.
_Mar._ Look Sir, what time of day is it?
_Ant._ I know not, my eyes go false, I dare not trust 'em now,
I prethee tell me (_Martin_) if thou canst,
Is that _Ismenia_ or _Isabella_.
_Mar._ This is the Lady, forget not, _Isabella_.
_Ant._ If this face may be borrowed and lent out,
If it can shift shoulders, and take other tyres,
So, 'tis mine where ere I find it.
_Ism._ Be sudden. [_Exit Aminta._
I cannot hold out long.
_Mar._ Believ't she frowns.
_Ant._ Let it come, she cannot frown me off on't:
How prettily it wooes me to come nearer?
How do you do (Lady) since yesterdays pains?
Were you not weary? of my faith.
_Ism._ I think you were.
_Ant._ What Lady?
_Ism._ Weary of your faith; 'tis a burthen
That men faint under, though they bear little of it.
_Mar._ So, this is to the purpose.
_Ant._ You came home
In a fair hour I hope?
_Enter_ Aminta.
_Ism._ From whence Sir?
_Am._ Sir, there's a Gentlewoman without desires to speak with you.
_Ant._ They were pretty homely toyes: but your presence
Made them illustrious.
_Ism._ My Cosen speaks to you.
_Am._ A Gentlewoman Sir, _Isabella_.
She names her self.
_Mar._ So, so, it hits finely now.
_Ant._ Name your self how you please: speak what you please,
I'll hear you cheerfully.
_Ism._ You are not well,
Request her in, she may have more acquaintance
With his passions, and better cure for 'em.
_Am._ She's nice in that (Madam) poor soul it seems
She's fearful of your displeasure.
_Ism._ I'll quit her
From that presently, and bring her in my self. [_Exit._
_Mar._ How carelesly do you behave your self,
When you should call all your best faculties
To counsel in you! how will you answer
The breach you made with fair _Ismenia_?
Have you forgot the retrograde vow you took
With her, that now is come in evidence?
You'll dye upon your shame, you need no more
Enemies of the house, but the Lady now:
You shall have your dispatch.
_Enter_ Ismenia _like_ Juno.
_Ant._ Give me that face,
And I am satisfied upon whose shoulders
So ere it grows: _Juno_ deliver us
Out of this amazement: Beseech you Goddess
Tell us of our friends, how does _Ismenia_?
And how does _Isabella_? both in good health
I hope, as you your self are.
_Ism._ I am at farthest
In my counterfeit: my _Antonio_
I have matter against you may need pardon,
As I must crave of you.
_Ant._ Observe you Sir,
What evidence is come against me? what think you
The _Hydra_-headed Jury will say to't?
_Mar._ 'Tis I am fool'd,
My hopes are pour'd into the bottomless tubs,
'Tis labour for the house of _Bellides_:
I must not seem so yet: but in sooth (Lady)
Did you imagine your changeable face
Hid you from me? By this hand I knew you.
_Ant._ I went by the face: and by these eyes I
Might have been deceived.
_Ism._ You might indeed (_Antonio_)
For this Gentleman did vow to _Isabella_,
That he it was that lov'd _Ismenia_,
And not _Antonio_?
_Mar._ Good, was not that
A manifest confession that I knew you?
I else had been unjust unto my friend:
'Twas well remembred, there I found you out
And speak your conscience now.
_Ant._ But did he so protest?
_Ism._ Yes, I vow to you, had _Antonio_
Wedded _Isabella, Isme[n]ia_
Had not been lost, there had been her lover.
_Ant._ Why much good do you friend, take her to you:
I crave but one, here have I my wish full,
I am glad we shall be so near neighbors.
_Mar._ Take both Sir, _Juno_ to boot: three parts in one,
S. _Hilarie_ bless you, now opportunity
Beware to meet with falshood, if thou canst
Shun it, my friends faith's turning from him.
_Ism._ Might I not justly accuse _Antonio_
For a love-wanderer? you know no other
But me, for another, and confess troth now?
_Ant._ Here was my guide, where ere I find this face,
I am a Lover, marry, I must not miss
This freckle then, I have the number of 'em,
Nor this dimple, no[t] a silk from this brow,
I carry the full Idea ever with me;
If nature can so punctually parallel,
I may be cozened.
_Ism._ Well, all this is even:
But now, to perfect all, our love must now
Come to our Enemies hands, where neither part
Will ever give consent to't.
_Ant._ Most certain:
For which reason it must not be put to'em:
Have we not prevention in our own hands.
Shall I walk by the tree? desire the fruit,
Yet be so nice to pull till I ask leave
Of the churlish Gard'ner, that will deny me?
_Ism._ O _Antonio_.
_Ant._ 'Tis manners to fall to
When grace is said.
_Ism._ That holy acts to come.
_Mar._ You may open an oyster or two before grace.
_Ant._ Are there not double vows, as valuable
And as well spoke as any Frier utters?
Heaven has heard all.
_Ism._ Yes: but stayes the blessing,
Till all dues be done: heaven is not serv'd by halfs.
We shall have ne'r a fathers blessing here,
Let us not lose the better, from above.
_Ant._ You take up weapons of unequal force,
It shows you cowardly: heark in your ear.
_Am._ Have I lost all imployment? Would this proffer
Had been to me, though I had paid it
With a reasonable pennance.
_Mar._ Have I past
All thy fore-lock (Time?) I'll stretch a long arm
But I'll catch hold again: Do but look back
Over thy shoulder, and have a pull at thee.
_Ism._ I hear you (Sir) nor can I hear too much
While you speak well: You know th'accustom'd place
Of our night-parley: if you can ascend,
The window shall receive you. You may find there
A corrupted Church-man to bid you welcome.
_Ant._ I would meet no other man.
_Ism. Aminta_, you hear this.
_Am._ With joy (Madam) 'cause it pleases you.
It may be mine own case another time:
Now you go the right way; ask the Banes out,
Put it past father, or friends, to forbid it,
And then you're sure. Sir, your _Hymen_ Taper
I'll light up for you: the window shall show you
The way to _Sestos_.
_Ant._ I'll venture drowning.
_Mar._ The simile holds not; 'tis hanging rather.
You must ascend your Castle by a Ladder;
To the foot I'll bring you.
_Ant._ Leave me to climb it.
_Mar._ If I do turn you off?
_Ant._ Till night fare-well:
Then better.
_Ism._ Best it should be;
But peevish hatred keeps back that degree. [_Exeunt._
_Mar._ I never look'd so smooth as now I purpose:
And then beware: Knave is at worst of knave
When he smiles best, and the most seems to save. [_Exit._
_Scæna Secunda._
_Enter_ Julio.
_Jul._ My mind's unquiet; while _Antonio_
My Nephew's abroad, my heart is not at home,
Only my fears stay with me; bad company:
But I cannot shift 'em off. This hatred
Betwixt the house of _Bellides_ and us,
Is not fair war: 'tis civil, but uncivil.
We are near neighbors, were of love as near,
Till a cross misconstruction ('twas no more
In conscience) put us so far asunder:
I would 'twere reconcil'd; it has lasted
Too many Sun-sets, if grace might moderate:
Man should not lose so many days of peace
To satisfie the anger of one minute.
I could repent it heartily. I sent
The knave to attend my _Antonio_ too,
Yet he returns no comfort to me neither.
_Enter_ Bustofa.
_Bust._ No: I must not.
_Jul._ Hah; hee's come.
_Bust._ I must not: 'twill break his heart to hear it.
_Jul._ How? there's bad tidings: I must obscure and hear it;
He will not tell me for breaking of my heart,
'Tis half split already.
_Bust._ I have spi'd him: Now to knock down a Don
with a lye, a silly harmless lye; 'twill be valiantly done, and
nobly perhaps.
_Jul._ I cannot hear him now.
_Bust._ Oh the bloody days that we live in; the envious,
malitious, deadly days that we draw breath in!
_Jul._ Now I hear too loud.
_Bust._ The Children that [n]ever shall be born may rue it;
for men that are slain now might have liv'd to have got children,
that might have curs'd their fathers.
_Jul._ Oh, my posterity is ruin'd.
_Bust._ Oh sweet _Antonio_.
_Jul._ Oh dear _Antonio_.
_Bust._ Yet it was nobly done of both parts: When he and
_Lisauro_ met.
_Jul._ Oh, death Has parted 'em.
_Bust._ Welcome my mortal foe (says one,) Welcome my
deadly enemy (says th'other:) off go their doublets, they in
their shirts, and their swords stark naked; here lies _Antonio_,
here lies _Lisauro_: he comes upon him with an _Embroccado_,
that he puts by with a _puncta reversa_; _Lisauro_ recoils me
two paces and some six inches back, takes his carrere, and
then, on.
_Jul._ Oh.
_Bust._ Runs _Antonio_ quite thorow.
_Jul._ Oh villain.
_Bust._ Quite thorow between the arm and the body: so
yet he had no hurt at that bout.
_Jul._ Goodness be praised.
_Bust._ But then, at next encounter, he fetches me up
_Lisauro_; _Lisauro_ makes out a long at him, which he thinking
to be a _Passado, Antonio's_ foot slipping: down: oh down.
_Jul._ O now thou art lost.
_Bust._ Oh, but the quality of the thing: both Gentlemen,
both Spanish Christians, yet one man to shed....
_Jul._ Say his enemies blood.
_Bust._ His hair, may come by divers casualties, though he
never go into the field with his foe: but a man to lose nine
ounces and two drams of blood at one wound, thirteen and a
scruple at another, and to live till he dye in cold blood: yet
the Surgeon (that cur'd him) said if _Pia-mater_ had not been
perish'd, he had been a lives man till this day.
_Jul._ There he concludes he is gone.
_Bust._ But all this is nothing: now I come to the point.
_Jul._ I, the point, that's deadly: the antient blow
Over the buckler, ne'r went half so deep.
_Bust._ Yet pitty bids me keep in my charity: for me to
pull an old mans ears from his head with telling of a Tale:
oh fowle Tale! No, be silent Tale. Farthermore, there is
the charge of Buriall; every one will cry Blacks, Blacks,
that had but the least finger dipt in his blood, though ten
degrees remov'd when 'twas done. Moreover, the Surgeon
(that made an end of him) will be paid: Sugar-plums and
sweet breads; yet I say, the man may recover again, and dye
in his bed.
_Jul._ What motley stuff is this? Sirrha, speak truth
What hath befallen my dear _Antonio_?
Restrain your pitty in concealing it;
Tell me the danger full; take off your care
Of my receiving it: kill me that way,
I'll forgive my death; what thou keepst back from truth
Thou shalt speak in pain; do not look to find
A limb in his right place, a bone unbroke,
Nor so much flesh unbroil'd of all that mountain,
As a worm might sup on, dispatch, or be dispatch'd.
_Bust._ Alass Sir, I know nothing, but that _Antonio_ is a man
of Gods making to this hour, 'tis not two since I left him so.
_Jul._ Where didst thou leave him?
_Bust._ In the same clothes he had on when he went from you.
_Jul._ Does he live?
_Bust._ I saw him drink.
_Jul._ Is he not wounded?
_Bust._ He may have a cut i'th'leg by this time; for Don
_Martin_ and he were at whole slashes.
_Jul._ Met he not with _Lisauro_?
_Bust._ I do not know her.
_Jul._ Her? _Lisauro_ is a man, as he is.
_Bust._ I saw ne'er a man like him.
_Jul._ Didst thou not discourse a fight betwixt _Ant._ and _Lis_?
_Bust._ I to my self; I hope a man may give himself the lye if
it please him.
_Jul._ Didst thou lye then?
_Bust._ As sure as you live now.
_Jul._ I live the happier by it: when will he return?
_Bust._ That he sent me to tell you, within these ten days
at farthest.
_Jul._ Ten days? he's not wont to be absent two.
_Bust._ Nor I think he will not, he said he would be at
home to morrow, but I love to speak within my compass.
_Jul._ You shall speak within mine Sir, now. Within there.
_Enter Servants._
Take this fellow into custody, keep him safe
I charge you.
_Bust._ Safe? do you hear? take notice what plight you
find me in, if there want but a collop or a steak o'me, look
to't.
_Jul._ If my Nephew return not in his health to morrow,
Thou goest to th'Rack.
_Bust._ Let me go to th'manger first; I had rather eat oats
than hay. [_Exeunt._
_Enter_ Bellides _with a Letter_.
_Bel._ By your leave, Sir.
_Jul._ For ought I know yet, you are welcome Sir.
_Bel._ Read that, and tell me so: or if thy spectacles be not easie,
Keep thy nose unsadl'd, and ope thine ears;
I can speak thee the contents, I made 'em;
'Tis a challenge, a fair one, I'll maintain't:
I scorn to hire my Second to deliver't,
I bring't my self: Dost know me, _Julio_?
_Jul. Bellides?_
_Bel._ Yes: is not thy hair on end now?
_Jul._ Somewhat amaz'd at thy rash hardiness;
How durst thou come so near thine enemy?
_Bel._ Durst?
I dare come nearer: thou'rt a fool, _Julio_.
_Jul._ Take it home to thee with a knave to boot.
_Bel._ Knave to thy teeth again: and all that's quit:
Give me not a fool more than I give thee,
Or if thou dost, look to hear on't again.
_Jul._ What an encounter's this?
_Bel._ A noble one:
My hand is to my words, thou hast it there,
There I do challenge thee, if thou dar'st be
Good friends with me; or I'll proclaim thee coward.
_Jul._ Be friends with thee?
_Bel._ I'll shew thee reasons for't:
A pair of old Coxcombs (now we go together)
Such as should stand examples of discretion,
The rules of Grammar to unwilling youth
To take out lessons by; we that should check
And quench the raging fire in others bloods,
We strike the battel to destruction?
Read 'em the black art? and make 'em believe
It is divinity? Heathens, are we not?
Speak thy conscience, how hast thou slept this month,
Since this Fiend haunted us?
_Jul._ Sure some Good Angel
Was with us both last night: speak thou truth now,
Was it not last nights motion?
_Bel._ Dost not think
I would not lay hold of it at first proffer?
Should I n'er sleep again?
_Jul._ Take not all from me;
I'll tell the doctrine of my vision.
Say that [_Antonio_] (best of thy blood)
Or any one, the least allyed to thee,
Should be the prey unto _Lisauro_'s sword,
Or any of the house of _Bellides_?
_Bel._ Mine was the just inversion: on, on.
_Jul._ How would thine eyes have emptied thee in sorrow,
And left the Conduit of nature drie?
Thy hands have turn'd rebellious to the balls,
And broke the glasses, with thine own curses
Have torn thy soul, left thee a Statue
To propagate thy next posterity.
_Bel._ Yes, and thou causer: so it said to me,
They fight but your mischiefs: the young men were friends,
As is the life and blood coagulate
And curded in one body; but this is yours,
An inheritance that you have gather'd for 'em,
A Legacie of blood to kill each other
Throughout your Generations. Was't not so?
_Jul._ Word for word.
_Bel._ Nay, I can go farther yet.
_Jul._ 'Tis far enough; Let us attone it here.
And in a reconciled circle fold
Our friendship new again.
_Bel._ The sign's in _Gemini_,
An auspicious house, 't has join'd both ours again.
_Jul._ You cannot proclaim me coward now, Don _Bellides_.
_Bel._ No: thou 'rt a valiant fellow: so am I:
I'll fight with thee at this hug, to the last leg
I have to stand on, or breath or life left.
_Jul._ This is the salt unto humanity,
And keeps it sweet.
_Bel._ Love! oh life stinks without it.
I can tell you news.
_Jul._ Good has long been wanting.
_Bel._ I do suspect, and I have some proof on't,
(So far as a Love-Epistle comes to)
That _Antonio_ (your Nephew) and my daughter
_Ismenia_ are very good friends before us.
_Jul._ That were a double wall about our houses,
Which I could wish were built.
_Bel._ I had it
From _Antonio_'s Intimate, Don _Martin_:
And yet (me thought) it was no friendly part
To show it me.
_Jul._ Perhaps 't was his consent:
Lovers have policies as well as Statesmen:
They look not always at the mark they aim at.
_Bel._ Wee'll take up cudgels, and have one bowt with 'em,
They shall know nothing of this union:
And till they find themselves most desperate,
Succor shall never see 'em.
_Jul._ I'll take your part Sir.
_Bel._ It grows late; there's a happy day past us.
_Jul._ The example I hope to all behind it. [_Exeunt._
_Scæna Tertia._
_Enter_ Aminta _(above) with a Taper_.
_Am._ Stand fair, light of Love, which epithite and place
Adds to thee honour, to me it would be shame,
We must be weight in love, no grain too light;
Thou art the Land-mark, but if love be blind,
(As many that can see have so reported)
What benefit canst thou be to his darkness?
Love is a jewel (some say) inestimable,
But hung at the ear, deprives our own sight,
And so it shines to others, not our selves.
I speak my skill, I have only heard on't,
But I could wish a nearer document,
Alass, the ignorant desire to know:
Some say Love's but a toy, and with a but.
Now methinks I should love it ne'er the worse,
A toy is harmless sure, and may be plaid with,
It seldome goes without his adjunct, pretty,
A pretty toy we say, 'tis meeter to joy too.
Well, here may be a mad night yet for all this,
Here's a Priest ready, and a Lady ready:
A chamber ready, and a bed ready,
'Tis then but making unready, and that's soon done:
My Lady is my Cosen; I, my self,
Which is nearest then? My desires are mine,
Say they be hers too, is't a hanging matter?
It may be ventur'd in a worser cause,
I must go question with my conscience:
I have the word; Centinel, do thou stand,
Thou shalt not need to call, I'll be at hand. [_Exit._
_Enter_ Antonio _and_ Martin.
_Ant._ Are we not dog'd behind us, thinkst thou friend?
_Mar._ I heard not one bark, Sir.
_Ant._ There are that bite
And bark not (man:) me-thought I spy'd two fellows
That through two streets together walk'd aloof,
And wore their eyes suspiciously upon us.
_Mar._ Your Jealousie, nothing else; or such perhaps
As are afraid as much of us, who knows
But about the like business? but for your fears sake
I'll advise and intreat one curtesie.
_Ant._ What's that friend?
_Mar._ I will not be denyed, Sir,
Change your upper garments with me.
_Ant._ It needs not.
_Mar._ I think so too, but I will have it so,
If you dare trust me with the better Sir.
_Ant._ Nay then.
_Mar._ If there should be danger towards,
There will be the main mark I'm sure.
_Ant._ Here thou tak'st from me.
_Mar._ Tush, the General
Must be safe, how ere the Battle goes:
See you the Beacon yonder?
_Ant._ Yes, we are near shore.
_Enter 2. Gentlemen with weapons drawn, they set upon_ Martin:
Antonio _pursues them out in rescue of_ Martin.
_Mar._ Come, Land, land, you must clamber by the cliffe,
Here are no stairs to rise by.
_Ant._ I are you there? [_fight and Exeunt._
_Enter_ Aminta _above, and_ Martin _return'd again ascends_.
_Am. Antonio?_
_Mar._ Yes _Ismenia_.
_Am._ Thine own.
_Mar._ Quench the light, thine eyes are guides illustrious.
_Am._ 'Tis necessary. [_Exeunt._
_Enter_ Antonio.
[_Ant._] Your legs have sav'd your lives, who ere you are,
Friend. _Martin?_ where art thou? not hurt I hope:
Sure I was farthest in the pursuit of 'em:
My pleasures are forgotten through my fears:
The lights extinct, it was discreetly done:
They could not but have notice of the broil,
And fearing that might call up company,
Have carefully prevented, and closed up:
I do commend the heed; oh, but my friend,
I fear his hurt: friend? friend? it cannot be
So mortal, that I should lose thee quite, friend?
A groan, any thing that may discover thee:
Thou art not sunk so far, but I might hear thee:
I'll lay mine ear as low as thou canst fall:
Friend, Don _Martin_, I must answer for thee,
'Twas in my cause thou fe[ll]'st, if thou be'st down,
Such dangers stand betwixt us and our joyes,
That should we forethink ere we undertake,
Wee'ld sit at home, and save. What a night's here!
Purpos'd for so much joy, and now dispos'd
To so much wretchedness! I shall not rest in't:
If I had all my pleasures there within,
I should not entertain 'em with a smile.
Good night to you: Mine will be black and sad,
A friend cannot, a woman may be bad. [_Exit._
_Actus Quintus. Scæna Prima._
_Enter_ Ismenia _and_ Aminta.
_Ism._ O thou false.
_Am._ Do your daringst, he's mine own,
Soul and body mine, church and chamber mine,
Totally mine.
_Ism._ Dar'st thou face thy falshood?
_Am._ Shall I not give a welcome to my wishes
Come home so sweetly: farewell your company
Till you be calmer woman. [_Exit._
_Ism._ Oh what a heap
Of misery has one night brought with it.
_Enter_ Antonio.
_Ant._ Where is he? do you turn your shame from me?
You'r a blind Adulteress, you know you are.
_Ism._ How's that _Antonio_?
_Ant._ Till I have vengeance,
Your sin's not pardonable: I'll have him,
If hell hide him not: y'have had your last of him. [_Exit._
_Ism._ What did he speak? I understood him not,
He call'd me a foul name, it was not mine,
He took me for another sure.
_Enter Bellides._
_Bell._ Ha? are you there?
Where's your sweet heart? I have found you Traytor
To my house: wilt league with mine enemy?
You'll shed his blood, you'll say: hah? will you so?
And fight with your heels upwards? No Minion,
I have a husband for you, since y'are so rank,
And such a husband as thou shalt like him,
Whether thou wilt or no: _Antonio_?
_Ism._ It thunders with the storm now.
_Bel._ And to night
I'll have it dispatch'd: I'll make it sure, I,
By to morrow this time thy Maiden-head
Shall not be worth a Chicken, if it were
Knockt at an out-cry: go, I'll ha'ye before me:
Shough, shough, up to your coop, Pea-Hen.
_Ism._ Then I'll try my wings. [_Exit._
_Bel._ I, are you good at that? stop, stop thief, stop there. [_Exit._
_Scæna Secunda._
_Enter_ Otrante _and_ Florimell _singing_.
1. SONG.
Flo. _Now having leisure, and a happy wind,_
_Thou mayst at pleasure cause the stones to grind,_
_Sayls spread, and grist here ready to be ground,_
_Fie, stand not idlely, but let the Mill go round._
_Otr._ Why dost thou sing and dance thus? why so merry?
Why dost thou look so wantonly upon me?
And kiss my hands?
_Flo._ If I were high enough,
I would kiss your lips too.
_Otr._ Do, this is some kindness,
This tastes of willingness, nay, you may kiss
Still, but why o'th' sudden now does the fit take ye,
Unoffer'd, or uncompell'd? why these sweet curtesies?
Even now you would have blush'd to death to kiss thus:
Prethee let me be prepar'd to meet thy kindness,
I shall be unfurnish'd else to hold thee play, wench:
Stay now a little, and delay your blessings;
If this be love, methinks it is too violent:
If you repent you of your strictness to me,
It is so sudden, it wants circumstance.
_Flo._ Fy, how dull!
2. SONG.
_How long shall I pine for love?_
_how long shall I sue in vain?_
_How long like the Turtle-Dove_
_shall I heav[i]ly thus complain?_
_Shall the sayls of my love stand still?_
_Shall the grists of my hopes be unground?_
_Oh fie, oh fie, oh fie,_
_Let the Mill, let the Mill go round._
_Otr._ Prethee be calm a little,
Thou mak'st me wonder, thou that wert so strange,
And read such pious rules to my behavior
But yesternight, thou that wert made of modesty,
Shouldst in a few short minutes turn thus desperate.
_Flo._ You are too cold.
_Otr._ I do confess I freeze now,
I am another thing all over me:
It is my part to wooe, not to be courted:
Unfold this Riddle, 'tis to me a wonder,
That now [o']th' instant ere I can expect,
Ere I can turn my thoughts, and think upon
A separation of your honest carriage
From the desires of youth, thus wantonly,
Thus beyond expectation.
_Flo._ I will tell ye,
And tell ye seriously, why I appear thus,
To hold ye no more ignorant and blinded,
I have no modestie, I am truly wanton:
I am that you look for Sir; now come up roundly:
If my strict face and counterfeited sta[ied]ness
Could have won on ye, I had caught ye that way,
And you should never have come to have known who hurt ye.
Prethee (sweet Count) be more familiar with me.
How ever we are open in our natures,
And apt to more desires than you dare meet with,
Yet we affect to lay the gloss of good on't:
I saw you touch[t] not at the bait of chastity,
And that it grew distasteful to your palate
To appear so holy, therefore I take my true shape:
Is your bed ready Sir? you shall quickly find me.
3. SONG