Your Ladies power, but only now in these,
Whose match concerns [his] general government?
Hath not each God a part in these high joyes?
And shall not he the King of gods presume
Without proud _Juno's_ licence? let her know,
That when enamour'd _Jove_ fir[st] gave her power
To link soft hearts in undissolv[ed] b[o]nds,
He then foresaw, and to himself reserv'd
The honor of this marriage: thou shalt stand
Still as a Rock, while I to bless this Feast
Will summon up with mine all-charming rod
The Nymphs of Fountains, from whose watry locks,
(Hung with the dew of blessing and increase)
The greedy Rivers take their nourishment.
Y[ou] Nymphs, who bathing in your loved Springs,
Beheld these Rivers in their infancy.
And joy'd to see them, when their circled heads
Refresh'd the Air, and spread the ground with Flowers;
Rise from your Wells, and with your nimble feet
Perform that office to this happy pair,
Which in these Plains you to _Alpheus_ did,
When passing hence, through many Seas unmixt,
He gain'd the favour of his _Arethuse_.
[_The Nymphs rise, and dance a little, and then make a stand._
_Iris._ Is _Hermes_ grown a Lover? by what power
Unknown to us, calls he the [Naiades]?
_Merc._ Presumptuous _Iris_, I could make thee dance,
Till thou forgetst thy Ladies messages,
And rann'st back crying to her; thou shalt know
My power is more, only my breath, and this
Shall move fix'd Stars, and force the Firmament
To yield the Hyades, who govern showers,
And dewy clouds, in whose dispersed drops
Thou form'st the shape of thy deceitful Bow.
Y[ou] Maids, who yearly at appointed times
Advance with kindly tears, the gentle floods
Discend, and pour your blessing on these streams,
Which rolling down from Heaven-aspiring hills,
And now united in the fruitful vales,
Bear all before them, ravish'd with their joy,
And swell in glory, till they know no bounds.
[_The Cloud discends with the Hyades, at which the Maids seem to
be rejoyced; they all dance a while together, then make another
stand, as if they wanted something._
_Iris._ Great Wit and Power hath _Hermes_ to contrive
A livel[esse] dance, which of one sex consists.
_Merc._ Alas poor _Iris_! _Venus_ hath in store
A secret ambush of her winged boys,
Who lurking long within these pleasant groves,
First stuck these Lovers with their equal darts;
Those _Cupids_ shall come forth, and joyn with these,
To honor that which they themselves began.
[_The_ Cupids _come forth and dance, they are weary with their
blind pursuing the Nymphs, and th[e] Nymphs weary with flying
them_.
_Iris._ Behold the Statues which wild Vulcan plac'd
Under the Altar of Olympian _Jove_,
And gave to them an artificial life:
[Shall daunce for joy of these great Nuptialls:]
See how they move, drawn by this Heavenly joy,
Like the wild Trees, which followed _Orpheus_ Harp.
[_The Statues come down, and they all dance, till the Nymphs
out-run them, and lose them, then the_ Cupids _go off, and last the
Statues_.
_Merc._ And what will _Juno's Iris_ do for her?
_Iris._ Just match this shew, or m[y] inventio[n] fail[es],
Had it been worthier, I would have invok'd
The blazing Comets, Clouds, and falling Stars,
And all my kindred Meteors of the air,
To have excell'd it; but I now must strive
To imitate confusion; therefore thou
Delightful _Flora_; if thou ever feltst
Increase of sweetness in those blooming Plants,
On which the horns of my fair Bow decline,
Send hither all th[e] rural company,
Which deck the May-games with their [Countrey] sports;
_Juno_ will have it so.
[_The second Anti-Masque [rush] in, [dance] their measure, and as
rudely depart._
_Merc. Iris_, we strive
Like winds at liberty, who should do worst
E'r we return. If _Juno_ be the Queen
Of Marriages, let her give happy way
To what is done in honor of the State
She governs.
_Iris. Hermes_, so it may be done
Meerly in honor of the State, and th[e]se
That now have prov'd it; not to satisfy
The lust of _Jupiter_, in having thanks
More than his _Juno_; if thy Snaky rod
Have power to search the Heaven, or sound the Sea,
Or call together all the ends of earth,
To bring [in] any thing that may do grace
To us, and these, do it, we shall be pleas'd.
_Merc._ Then know that from the mouth of _Jove_ himself,
Whose words have wings, and need not to be born,
I took a message, and I b[a]re it through
A thousand yielding clouds, and never staid
Till his high Will was done: the _Olympian_ games,
Which long ha[ve] slept, at these wish'd Nuptials,
He pleas'd to have renew'd, and all his Knights
Are gather'd hither, who within their Tents
Rest on this hill, upon whose rising head
[_The Altar is discovered with the Pri[e]sts about it, and the
Statues under it, and the Knights lying in their Tents on each
side, near the top of the hill._
Behold _Jove's_ Altar, and his blessed Priests
Moving about it; come you Holy men,
And with your voices draw these youths along,
That till _Jove's_ Musick call them to their games.
Their active sports may give a blest content
To those, for whom they are again begun.
The first Song, when the Priests descend, and the Knights follow
them.
_Shake off your heavy trance,_
_and leap into a dance,_
_Such as no mortals use to tread,_
_fit only for_ Apollo
_To play to, for the Moon to lead,_
_And all the Stars to follow_.
The second Song at the end of the first Dance.
_On blessed youths, for_ Jove _doth pause,_
_Laying aside his graver Laws_
_For this device:_
_And at the wedding such a pair,_
_Each dance is taken for a prayer,_
_Each Song a Sacrifice._
The third Song, after their many Dances, when they are to take out
the Ladies.
Single.
_More pleasing were these sweet delights,_
_If Ladies mov'd as well as Knights_;
_Run every one of you and catch_
_A Nymph, in honor of his match;_
_And whisper boldly in her ear,_
Jove _will but laugh, if you forswear._
All.
_And this days sins he doth resolve,_
_That we his Priests should all absolve._
The fourth Song, when they have parted with the Ladies, a shrill
Musick sounds, supposed to be that which calls them to the
Olympian games, at which they all make a seeming preparation to
depart.
_Y[e] should stay longer if we durst,_
_Away, alas! that he that first_
_Gave time wild wings to fly away,_
_H[ath] now no power to make him stay._
_[But] though these games must needs be plaid,_
_I would th[is] pair, when they are laid,_
_And not a creature nigh 'em,_
_[Could] catch his sithe, as he doth pass,_
_And [cut] his wings, and break his glass,_
_And keep him ever by 'em._
The fifth Song, when all is done, as they ascend
_Peace and silence be the guide_
_To the Man, and to the Bride:_
_If there be a joy y[e]t new_
_In marriage, let it fall on you,_
_That all the world may wonder:_
_If we should stay, we should do worse,_
_And turn our blessings to a curse,_
_By keeping you asunder._
Four PLAYS in One.
The Persons represented in the Play.
Emanuel, _King of_ Portugal, & Castile.
Isabella, _his Queen_.
Lords.
Frigoso, _a Courtier_. } _Spectators of the Play at the_
Rinaldo, _his acquaintance_. } _celebration of their Nuptials._
The Triumph of Honor.
Martius, _a Roman General_.
Valerius, _his Brother_.
Nicodemus, _a cowardly Corporal_.
Cornelius, _a wittal Sutler_.
Captain.
Sophocles, _Duke of_ Athens.
WOMEN.
Diana.
Dorigen, Sophocles _wife, the example of Chastity_.
Florence, _Wife to_ Cornelius.
The Triumph of Love.
Cupid.
Rinaldo, _Duke of_ Milan.
Benvoglio, } _Brothers, Lords of_
Randulpho, } Milan
Gerard, } _Sons of the Duke, supposed_
Ferdinand, } _lost._
WOMEN.
Angelina, _Wife to_ Benvoglio.
Violante, _her Daughter_, Gerard's _Mistriss_.
Dorothea, Violante's _Attendant_.
Cornelia, _the obscured Duchess_.
The Triumph of Death.
Duke _of_ Anjou.
Lavall, _his lustful Heir_.
Gentille, _a Courtier, Father to_ Perolot.
Perolot, _contracted to_ Gabriella.
Two Gentlemen.
A Spirit.
Shalloone, _servant to_ Lavall.
WOMEN.
Gabriella, _the despised wife of_ Lavall.
Hellena, _his second wife_.
Casta, _Daughter to_ Gentille.
Maria, _a servant attending on_ Gabriella.
The Triumph of Time.
Jupiter.
Mercurie.
Plutus.
Time.
Atropos.
Desire.
Vain Delight.
Bounty.
Poverty.
Honesty.
Simplicity.
Fame.
Four
PLAYS
OR
Moral Representations
IN ONE.
_Enter Don_ Frigozo.
_Frig._ [_Noise within._ Away with those bald-pated Rascals there,
their wits are bound up in Vellom, they are not currant here. Down
with those City-Gentlemen, &c. Out with those ---- I say, and in
with their wives at the back door. Worship and place, I am weary of
ye, ye lye on my shoulders lik a load of Gold on an Asses back. A
man in Authority, is but as a candle in the wind, sooner wasted or
blown out, than under a bushel. How now, what's the matter?
Who are you, Sir?
_Enter_ Rinaldo.
_Rin._ Who am I, Sir? why, do y' not know me?
_Frig._ No by my ---- do I not.
_Rin._ I am sure we din'd together to day.
_Frig._ That's all one: as I din'd with you in the City, and as you
paid for my dinner there, I do know you, and am beholding to you:
But as my mind is since transmigrated into my office, and as you
come to Court to have me pay you again, and be beholding to me, I
know you not, I know you not.
_Rin._ Nay, but look ye, Sir.
_Frig._ Pardon me: If you had been my bed-fellow these seven
years, and lent me money to buy my place, I must not transgress
principles: This very talking with you is an ill example.
_Rin._ Pish, you are too punctual a Courtier, Sir: why, I am a
Courtier too, yet never understood the place or name to be so
infectious to humanity and manners, as to cast a man into a burning
pride and arrogance, for which there is no cure. I am a Courtier,
and yet I will know my friends, I tell you.
_Frig._ And I tell you, you will thrive accordingly, I warrant you.
_Rin._ But hark ye, Signior _Frigozo_, you shall first understand,
I have no friends with me to trouble you.
_Frig._ Humh: That's a good motive.
_Rin._ No[r] to borrow money of you.
_Frig._ That's an excellent motive.
_Rin._ No my sweet Don, nor to ask what you owe me.
_Frig._ Why, that is the very motive of motives, why I ought and
will know thee: and if I had not wound thee up to this promise, I
would not have known thee these fifteen years, no more than the
errantst, or most founder'd _Castillian_ that followed our new
Queens Carriages a-foot.
_Rin._ Nor for any thing, dear Don, but that you would place me
conveniently to see the Play to night.
_Frig._ That shall I, Signior _Rinaldo_: but would you had come
sooner: you see how full the Scaffolds are, there is scant room for
a Lovers thought here. Gentlewomen sit close for shame: Has none of
ye a little corner for this Gentleman? I'll place ye, fear not. And
how did our brave King of _Portugal_, _Emanuel_, bear himself to
day? You saw the solemnity of the marriage.
_Rin._ Why, like a fit Husband for so gracious and excellent a
Princess, as his worthy mate _Isabella_, the King of _Castiles_
Daughter doth in her very external li[ne]aments, mixture of
colours, and joyning Dove-like behaviour assure her self to be.
And I protest (my dear Don) seriously, I can sing prophetically
nothing but blessed Hymns, and happy occasions to this sacred union
of _Portugal_ and _Castile_, which have so wisely and mutually
conjoyned two such virtuous and beautiful Princes as these are; and
in all opinion like to multiply to their very last minute.
_Frig._ The King is entring: Signior, hover here about, and as soon
as the Train is set, clap into me, we'll stand near the State. If
you have any Creditors here, they shall renew bonds a Twelvemonth
on such a sight: but to touch the pomel of the King's Chair in
the sight of a Citizen, is better security for a thousand double
Duckets, than three of the best Merchants in _Lisbon_. Besides,
Signior, we will censure, not only the King in the Play here, that
Reigns his two hours; but the King himself, that is to rule his
life time: Take my counsel: I have one word to say to this noble
Assembly, and I am for you.
_Rin._ Your method shall govern me.
Frig. _Prologues are bad Huishers before the wise;_
_Why may not then an Huisher Prologize?_
_Here's a fair sight, and were ye oftner seen_
_Thus gather'd here, 'twould please our King and Queen_
_Upon my conscience, ye are welcome all_
_To_ Lisbon, _and the Court of_ Portugal;
_Where your fair eyes shall feed on no worse sights_
_Than preparations made for Kings delights._
_We wish to men content, the manliest treasure,_
_And to the Women, their own wish'd for pleasure._ [Flourish.
_Enter King and Queen, Emanuel and Isabella,_
_Lords and attendants._
_Em._ Fair fountain of my life, from whose pure streams
The propagation of two Kingdoms flowes,
Never contention rise in eithers brest,
But contestation whose love shall be best.
_Isab._ Majestick Ocean, that with plenty feeds
Me, thy poor tributary Rivolet,
Sun of my beauty, that with radiant beams
Dost gild, and dance upon these humble streams,
Curst be my birth-hour, and my ending day,
When back your love-floods I forget to pay:
Or if this brest of mine, your crystall brook,
Ever take other form in, other look
But yours, or ere produce unto your grace
A strange reflection, or anothers face,
But be your love-book clasp'd, open'd to none
But you, nor hold a storie, but your own;
A water fix'd, that ebbs nor floods pursue,
Frozen to all, onely dissolv'd to you.
_Em._ O, who shall tel the sweetness of our love
To future times, and not be thought to lye?
I look through this hour like a perspective,
And far off see millions of prosperous seeds,
That our reciprocall affection breeds.
Thus my white rib, close in my brest with me,
Which nought shall tear hence, but mortalitie.
_Lords._ Be Kingdoms blest in you, you blest in them.
_Frig._ Whist, Seignior; my strong imagination shews me
Love (me thinks) bathing in milk, and wine in her cheeks:
O! how she clips him, like a plant of Ivie.
_Rin._ I; Could not you be content to be an Owl in such an
ivie-bush, or one of the Oaks of the City to be so clipt?
_Frig._ Equivocal Don, though I like the clipping well, I could not
be content either to be your Owl, or your Ox of the City. The Play
begins. [_Flourish._
_Enter a Poet with a garland._
Poet Prologue. _Low at your sacred feet our poor Muse layes_
_Her, and her thunder-fearless virdant Bayes._
_Four severall_ Triumphs _to your Princely eyes,_
_Of_ Honor, Love, Death, _and_ Time _do rise_
_From our approaching subject, which we move_
_Towards you with fear, since that a sweeter_ Love,
_A brighter_ Honor, _purer_ Chastitie
_March in your brests this day triumphantly,_
_Then our weak Scenes can show: then how dare we_
_Present like Apes and Zanies, things that be_
_Exemplifi'd in you, but that we know,_
_We ne'r crav'd grace, which you did not bestow_?
_Enter in triumph with Drums, Trumpets, Colours_, Martius,
Valerius, Sophocles _bound_, Nicodemus, Cornelius, _Captains
and Soldiers_.
_Mar._ What means proud _Sophocles_?
_Soph._ To go even with _Martius_,
And not to follow him like his Officer:
I never waited yet on any man.
_Mar._ Why poor _Athenian_ Duke, thou art my slave,
My blows have conquerd thee.
_Soph._ Thy slave? proud _Martius_,
_Cato_ thy countrey-man (whose constancie,
Of all the Romans, I did honor most)
Rip'd himself twice to avoid slavery,
Making himself his own Anatomie.
But look thee _Martius_, not a vein runs here
From head to foot, but _Sophocles_ would unseame, and
Like a spring garden shoot his scornfull blood
Into their eyes, durst come to tread on him:
As for thy blows, they did [not] conquer me:
Seven Battailes have I met thee face to face,
And given thee blow for blow, and wound for wound,
And till thou taught'st me, knew not to retire;
Thy sword was then as bold, thy arm as strong;
Thy blows then _Martius_, cannot conquer me.
_Val._ What is it then?
_Soph._ Fortune.
_Val._ Why, yet in that
Thou art the worse man, and must follow him.
_Soph._ Young Sir, you erre: If Fortune could be call'd
Or his, or your's, or mine, in good or evill
For any certain space, thou hadst spoke truth:
But she but jests with man, and in mischance
Abhors all constancie, flowting him still
With some small touch of good, or seeming good
Midst of his mischief: which vicissitude
Makes him strait doff his armour, and his fence
He had prepar'd before, to break her strokes.
So from the very Zenith of her wheel,
When she has dandled some choice favorite,
Given him his boons in women, honor, wealth,
And all the various delecacies of earth;
That the fool scorns the gods in his excess,
She whirls, and leaves him at th' _Antipodes_.
_Mar._ Art sure we have taken him? Is this _Sophocles_?
His fettred arms say no; his free soul, I.
This _Athens_ nurseth Arts, as well as Arms.
_Soph._ Nor glory _Martius_, in this day of thine,
'Tis behind yesterday, but before to morrow:
Who knows what Fortune then will do with thee?
She never yet could make the better man,
The better chance she has: the man that's best
She still contends with, and doth favor least.
_Mar._ Me thinks a graver thunder then the skies
Breaks from his lips; I am amaz'd to hear,
And _Athens_ words, more then her swords doth fear.
_Soph. Martius_, slave _Sophocles_, couldst thou acquire
(And did thy Roman gods so love thy prayers,
And solemn sacrifice, to grant thy suit)
To gather all the valour of the _Cæsars_
Thy Predecessors, and what is to come,
And by their influence fling it on thee now,
Thou couldst not make my mind go less, not pare
With all their swords one virtue from my soul:
How am I vassall'd then? Make such thy slaves,
As dare not keep their goodness past their graves.
Know General, we two are chances on
The die of Fate; now thrown, thy six is up,
And my poor one beneath thee, next th[y] throw
May set me upmost, and cast thee below.
_Mar._ Yet will I trie thee more: Calamitie
Is mans true touchstone: Listen insolent Prince,
That dar'st contemn the Master of thy life,
Which I will force here 'fore thy City walls
With barbarous crueltie, and call thy wife
To see it, and then after send her--
_Soph._ Ha, ha, ha.
_Mar._ And then demolish _Athens_ to the ground,
Depopulate her, fright away her fame,
And leave succession neither stone nor name.
_Soph._ Ha, ha, ha.
_Mar._ Dost thou deride me?
_Val._ Kneel, ask _Martius_
For mercy, _Sophocles_, and live happy still.
_Soph._ Kneel, and ask mercie? (_Roman_) art a god?
I never kneel'd, or begg'd of any else.
Thou art a fool, and I will loose no more
Instructions on thee: now I find thy eares [_Solemn Musick._
_Enter Dorigen, Ladyes bearing a sword._
Are foolish, like thy tongue. My _Dorigen_?
Oh! must she see me bound?
_1 Cap._ There's the first sigh
He breath'd since he was born, I think.
_2 Cap._ Forbear,
All but the Lady his wife.
_Soph._ How my heart chides
The manacles of my hands, that let them not
Embrace my _Dorigen_.
_Val._ Turn but thy face.
And ask thy life of _Martius_ thus, and thou
(With thy fair wife) shalt live; _Athens_ shall stand,
And all her priviledges augmented be.
_Soph._ 'Twere better _Athens_ perish'd, and my wife
Which (Romans) I do know a worthie one,
Then _Sophocles_ should shrink of _Sophocles_,
Commit profane Idolatry, by giving
The reverence due to gods to thee blown man.
_Mar._ Rough, stubborn Cynick.
_Soph._ Thou art rougher far,
And of a couser wale, fuller of pride,
Less temperate to bear prosperity.
Thou seest my meer neglect hath rais'd in thee
A storm more boystrous then the Oceans,
My virtue, Patience, makes thee vitious.
_Mar._ Why, fair-ey'd Lady, do you kneel?
_Dor._ Great Generall,
Victorious, godlike _Martius_, your poor handmaid
Kneels, for her husband will not, cannot: speaks
Thus humbly, that he may not. Listen _Roman_,
Thou whose advanced front doth speak thee _Roman_
To every Nation, and whose deeds assure 't;
Behold a Princess (whose declining head
Like to a drooping lilly after storms
Bowes to thy feet) and playing here the slave,
To keep her husbands greatness unabated:
All which doth make thy Conquest greater: For,
If he be base in ought whom thou hast taken,
Then _Martius_ hath but taken a base prize.
But if this Jewell hold lustre and value,
_Martius_ is richer then in that he hath won.
O make him such a Captive, as thy self
Unto another wouldst, great Captain, be;
Till then, he is no prisoner fit for thee.
_Mar. Valerius_, here is harmonie would have brought
Old crabbed _Saturn_ to sweet sleep, when _Jove_
Did first incense him with Rebellion:
_Athens_ doth make women Philosophers,
And sure their children chat the talk of gods.
_Val._ Rise beauteous _Dorigen_.
_Dor._ Not untill I know
The Generals resolution.
_Val._ One soft word
From _Sophocles_ would calm him into tears,
Like gentle showres after tempestuous winds.
_Dor._ To buy the world, he will not give a word,
A look, a tear, a knee, 'gainst his own judgement,
And the divine composure of his minde:
All which I therefore doe, and here present
This Victors wreathe, this rich _Athenian_ sword,
Trophies of Conqu[e]st, which, great _Martius_, wear,
And be appeas'd: Let _Sophocles_ still live.
_Mar._ He would not live.
_Dor._ He would not beg to live.
When he shall so forget, then I begin
To command, _Martius_; and when he kneels,
_Dorigen_ stands; when he lets fall a tear,
I dry mine eyes, and scorn him.
_Mar._ Scorn him now then,
Here in the face of _Athens_, and thy friends.
Self-will'd, stiff _Sophocles_, prepare to die,
And by that sword thy Lady honor'd me,
With which her self shall follow. Romans, Friends,
Who dares but strike this stroke, shall part with me
Half _Athens_, and my half of Victorie.
_Cap._ By ---- not we.
_Nic. Cor._ We two will do it, Sir.
_Soph._ Away, ye fish-fac'd Rascals.
_Val. Martius_,
To Eclipse this great Eclipse labours thy fame;
_Valerius_ thy Brother shall for once
Turn Executioner: Give me the sword.
Now _Sophocles_, I'll strike as suddenly
As thou dar'st die.
_Soph._ Thou canst not. And _Valerius_,
'Tis less dishonour to thee thus to kill me,
Then bid me kneel to _Martius_: 'tis to murther
The fame of living men, which great ones do;
Their studies strangle, poyson makes away,
The wretched hangman only ends the Play.
_Val._ Art thou prepar'd?
_Soph._ Yes.
_Val._ Bid thy wife farewell.
_Soph._ No, I will take no leave: My _Dorigen_,
Yonder above, 'bout _Ariadnes_ Crown
My spirit shall hover for thee; prethee haste.
_Dor._ Stay _Sophocles_, with this tie up my sight,
Let not soft nature so transform[e]d be
(And lose her gentle[r] sex'd humanitie)
To make me see my Lord bleed. So, 'tis well:
Never one object underneath the Sun
Will I behold before my _Sophocles_.
Farewell: now teach the Romans how to die.
_Mar._ Dost know what 'tis to die?
_Soph._ Thou dost not, _Martius_,
And therefore not what 'tis to live; to die
Is to begin to live: It is to end
An old stale weary work, and to commence
A newer and a better. 'Tis to leave
Deceitfull knaves for the societie
Of gods and goodness. Thou thy self must part
At last from all thy garlands, pleasures, Triumphs,
And prove thy fortitude, what then 'twill do.
_Val._ But ar't not griev'd nor vex'd to leave life thus?
_Soph._ Why should I grieve, or vex for being sent
To them I ever lov'd best? now I'll kneel,
But with my back toward thee; 'tis the last duty
This trunk can doe the gods.
_Mar._ Strike, strike, _Valerius_,
Or _Martius_ heart will leap out at his mouth.
This is a man, a woman! Kiss thy Lord,
And live with all the freedome you were wont.
O Love! thou doubly hast afflicted me,
With virtue, and with beauty. Treacherous heart,
My hand shall cast thee quick into my urne,
E're thou transgress this knot of pietie.
_Val._ What ails my Brother?
_Soph. Martius_, oh _Martius_!
Thou now hast found a way to conquer me.
_Dor._ O star of _Rome_, what gratitude can speak
Fit words to follow such a deed as this?
_Mar._ Doth _Juno_ talk, or _Dorigen_?
_Val._ You are observ'd.
_Mar._ This admirable Duke (_Valerius_)
With his disdain of Fortune, and of Death,
Captiv'd himself, hath captivated me:
And though my arm hath ta'ne his body here,
His soul hath subjugated _Martius_ soul:
By _Romulus_, he is all soul, I think;
He hath no flesh, and spirit cannot b[e] gyv'd;
Then we have vanquish'd nothing; he is free,
And _Martius_ walks now in captivitie.
_Soph._ How fares the noble Roman?
_Mar._ Why?
_Dor._ Your blood
Is sunk down to your heart, and your bright eyes
Have lost their splendor.
_Mar._ Baser fires go out,
When the Sun shines on 'em: I am not well,
An Apoplectick fit I use to have
After my heats in war carelesly coold.
_Soph. Martius_ shall rest in _Athens_ with his friends,
Till this distemper leave him: O! great Roman,
See _Sophocles_ doe that for thee, he could not
Do for himself, weep. _Martius_, by the----
It grieves me that so brave a soul should suffer
Under the bodies weak infirmitie.
Sweet Lady, take him to thy loving charge,
And let thy care be tender.
_Dor._ Kingly Sir,
I am your Nurse and servant.
_Mar._ O deer Lady,
My Mistris, nay my Deity; guide me heaven,
Ten wreathes triumphant _Martius_ will give,
To change a _Martius_ for a _Sophocles_:
Can't not be done (_Valerius_) with this boot?
Inseparable affection, ever thus
Colleague with _Athens Rome_.
_Dor._ Beat warlike tunes,
Whilest _Dorigen_ thus honors _Martius_ brow
With one victorious wreath more.