Thus girds his Sword of conquest to his thigh,
Which ne'r be drawn, but cut out Victorie.
_Lords._ For ever be it thus. [_Exeunt._
_Corn._ Corporall _Nichodemus_, a word with you.
_Nic._ My worthie Sutler _Cornelius_, it befits not _Nichodemus_
the Roman Officer to parley with a fellow of thy rank: the affairs
of the Empire are to be occupied.
_Corn._ Let the affaires of the Empire lie a while unoccupied,
sweet _Nichodemus_; I doe require the money at thy hands, which
thou doest owe me; and if faire means cannot attain, force of Armes
shall accomplish.
_Nic._ Put up and live.
_Corn._ I have put up too much already, thou Corporall of
Concupiscence, for I suspect thou hast dishonored my flock-bed,
and with thy foolish Eloquence, and that bewitching face of thine
drawn my Wife, the young harlotrie baggage to prostitute herself
unto thee. Draw therefore, for thou shalt find thyself a mortall
Corporall.
_Nichod._ Stay thy dead-doing hand, and heare: I will rather
descend from my honor, and argue these contumelies with thee, then
clutch thee (poor flye) in these eaglet ---- of mine: or draw my
sword of Fate on a Pesant, a _Besognio_, a _Cocoloch_, as thou art.
Thou shalt first understand this foolish eloquence, and intolerable
beauty of mine (both which, I protest, are meerly naturall) are the
gifts of the gods, with which I have neither sent baudy Sonnet,
nor amorous glance, or (as the vulgar call it) sheeps eye to thy
betrothed _Florence_.
_Cor._ Thou lyest.
_Nich._ O gods of _Rome_, was _Nichodemus_ born
To hear these braveries from a poor provant?
Yet when dogs bark, or when the asses bray,
The lion laughs, not roars, but goes his way.
_Cornel._ A ---- o' your poeticall veine: This versifying my wife
has hornified me. Sweet Corporall codshead, no more standing on
your punctilio's and punketto's of honor, they are not worth a
lowse: the truth is, thou art the Generals Bygamie, that is, his
fool, and his knave; thou art miscreant and recreant, not an
horse-boy in the Legions, but has beaten thee; thy beginning was
knap-sack, and thy ending will be halter-sack.
_Nich._ Me thinks I am now _Sophocles_, the wise, and thou art
_Martius_, the mad.
_Cornel._ No more of your tricks good Corporall Letherchops: I
say, thou hast dishonour'd me, and since honor now adaies is only
repaired by money, pay me, and I am satisfied: Even reckoning keeps
long friends.
_Nic._ Let us continue friends then, for I have been even with thee
a long time; and though I have not paid thee, I have paid thy wife.
_Corn._ Flow forth my tears, thou hast deflowred her _Tarquin_,
the Garden of my delight, hedg'd about, in which there was but one
bowling Alley for mine owne private procreation, thou hast, like a
thief in the night, leap'd the hedge, entred my Alley, and without
my privitie, plaid thine owne rubbers.
_Nic._ How long shall patience thus securely snore?
Is it my fault, if these attractive eyes,
This budding chin, or rosie-colour'd cheek,
This comely body, and this waxen leg,
Have drawn her into a fools paradise?
By _Cupids_ ---- I do swear (no other)
She's chaster far then _Lucrece_, her grand-mother;
Pure as glass-window, ere the rider dash it,
Whiter then Ladyes smock, when she did wash it:
For well thou wotst (though now my hearts Commandress)
I once was free, and she but the Camps Landress.
_Corn._ I, she then came sweet to me; no part about her but smelt
of Soap-suds, like a _Dryad_ out of a wash-bowl. Pray, or pay.
_Nich._ Hold.
_Corn._ Was thy cheese mouldy, or thy peny-worths small?
Was not thy Ale the mightiest of the earth in Malt,
And thy stope fill'd like a tide: was not thy bed soft, and
Thy Bacon fatter then a dropsie? Come, Sir.
_Nich. Mars_ then inspire me with the fencing skill
Of our Tragedi[a]n Actors. Honor pricks;
And Sutler, now I come with thwacks and thwicks.
Grant us one crush, one pass, and now a high, Cavalto fall:
Then up again, now down again, yet do no harm at all.
_Enter Wife._
_Wife._ O that ever I was born: why Gent?
_Corn. Messaline_ of _Rome_, away, disloyal Concubine: I will be
deafer to thee, then thou art to others: I will have my hundred
drachma's he owes me, thou arrant whore.
_Wife._ I know he is an hundred drachmaes o'the score; but what o'
that? no bloodshed, sweet _Cornelius_. O my heart; o' my conscience
't is faln thorow the bottom of my bellie. O my sweet Didimus,
if either of ye miskil one another, what will become of [p]oor
_Florence_? Pacifie your selves, I pray.
_Corn._ Go to, my heart is not stone; I am not marble: drie your
eyes, _Florence_; the scurvie apes-face knows my blinde side well
enough: leave your puling; will this content ye? let him tast thy
nether lip, which in signe of amitie I thus take off again: go thy
ways, and provide the Cows udder.
_Nich._ Lilie of Concord. And now, honest Sutler, since I have had
proof as well of thy good nature, as of thy wives before, I will
acquaint thee with a project shall fully satisfie thee for thy
debt. Thou shalt understand I am shortly to be knighted.
_Corn._ The devil thou art.
_Nich._ Renounce me else; for the sustenance of which Worship
(which Worship many times wants sustenance) I have here the
Generals grant to have the leading of two hundred men.
_Corn._ You jest, you jest.
_Nich._ Refuse me else to the pit.
_Corn._ Mercie on us: ha you not forgot your self? by you[r]
swearing you should be knighted already.
_Nich._ Damn me, Sir, here's his hand, read it.
_Corn._ Alas, I cannot.
_Nich._ I know that.
It has pleas'd the General to look upon my service. Now, Sir, shall
you joyn with me in petitioning for fifty men more, in regard of my
arrearages to you; which if granted, I will bestow the whole profit
of those fifty men on thee and thine heirs for ever, till _Atropos_
do cut this simple thred.
_Corn._ No more, dear Corporal, Sir _Nichodemus_, that shall be, I
cry your wishes mercie: I am your servant body and goods, moveables
and immoveables; use my house, use my wife, use me, abuse me, do
what you list.
_Nich._ A figment is a candid lye: this is an old Pass. Mark what
follows. [_Exeunt._
_Enter Martius, and two Captains._
_Mar._ Pray leave me: you are Romans, honest men,
Keep me not company, I am turn'd knave,
Have lost my fame and nature. _Athens, Athens_,
This _Dorigen_ is thy _Palladium_:
He that will sack thee, must betray her first,
Whose words wound deeper than her husbands sword;
Her eyes make captive still the Conqueror,
And here they keep her only to that end.
O subtill devil, what a golden ball
Did tempt, when thou didst cast her in my way!
Why, foolish _Sophocles_, broughtst thou not to field
Thy Lady, that thou mightst have overcome?
_Martius_ had kneel'd, and yielded all his wreathes
That hang like Jewels on the seven-fold hill,
And bid _Rome_, send him out to fight with men,
(For that she knew he durst) and not 'gainst Fate
Or Deities, what mortal conquers them?
Insatiate _Julius_, when his Victories
Had run ore half the world, had he met her,
There he had stopt the legend of his deeds,
Laid by his Arms, been overcome himself,
And let her vanquish th' other half. And fame
Made beauteous _Dorigen_, the greater name.
Shall I thus fall? I will not; no, my tears
Cast on my heart, shall quench these lawless fires:
He conquers best, conquers his lewd desires.
_Enter Dorigen, with Ladyes._
_Dor._ Great Sir, my Lord commands me visit you,
And thinks your retir'd melancholy proceeds
From some distast of worthless entertainment.
Will't please you take your chamber? how d'ye do, Sir?
_Mar._ Lost, lost again; the wild rage of my blood
Doth Ocean-like oreflow the shallow shore
Of my weak virtue: my desire's a vane,
That the least breath from her turns every way.
_Dor._ What says my Lord?
_Mar._ Dismiss your women, pray,
And I'll reveal my grief.
_Dor._ Leave me.
_Mar._ Long tales of love (whilst love it self
Might be enjoyed) are languishing delays.
There is a secret strange lies in my brest,
I will partake wi' you, which much concerns
Your Lord, your self, and me. Oh!
_Dor._ Strange secrets, Sir,
Should not be made so cheap to strangers: yet,
If your strange secret do no lower lie
Then in your brest, discover it.
_Mar._ I will.
Oh! can you not see it, Lady, in my sighs?
_Dor._ Sighs none can paint, and therefore who can see?
_Mar._ Scorn me not, _Dorigen_, with mocks: _Alcides_,
That master'd monsters, was by beautie tam'd,
_Omphale_ smil'd his club out of his hand,
And made him spin her smocks. O sweet, I love you,
And I love _Sophocles_: I must enjoy you,
And yet I would not injure him.
_Dor._ Let go;
You hurt me, Sir: fare well. Stay, is this _Martius_?
I will not tell my Lord; he'll swear I lye.
Doubt my fidelitie, before thy honor.
How hast thou vex'd the gods, that they would let thee
Thus violate friendship, hospitalitie,
And all the bounds of sacred pietie?
Sure thou but tri'st me out of love to him,
And wouldst reject me, if I did consent.
O _Martius, Martius_, wouldst thou in one minute,
Blast all thy Laurels, which so many years
Thou hast been purchasing with blood and sweat?
Hath _Dorigen_ never been written, read,
Without the epithet of chast, chast _Dorigen_?
And wouldst thou fall upon her chastitie,
Like a black drop of ink, to blot it out?
When men shall read the records of thy valour,
Thy hitherto-brave virtue, and approach
(Highly content yet) to this foul assault
Included in this leaf, this ominous leaf,
They shall throw down the Book, and read no more,
Though the best deeds ensue, and all conclude,
That ravell'd the whole story, whose sound heart
(Which should have been) prov'd the most leprous part.
_Mar._ O! thou confut'st divinely, and thy words
Do fall like rods upon me; but they have
Such silken lines, and silver hooks, that I
Am faster snar'd: my love has ta'en such hold,
That (like two wrestlers) though thou stronger be,
And hast cast me, I hope to pull thee after.
I must, or perish.
_Dor._ Perish, _Martius_, then;
For I here vow unto the gods, These rocks,
These rocks we see so fix'd, shall be removed,
Made champion field, ere I so impious prove,
To stain my Lords bed with adulterous love.
_Enter Valerius._
_Val._ The gods protect fair _Dorigen_.
_Dor._ Amen,
From all you wolvish Romanes. [_Exit._
_Val._ Ha? what's this?
Still, brother, in your moods? O th[e]n my doubts
Are truths. Have at it: I must try a way
To be resolv'd.
_Mar._ How strangely dost thou look! what ailst thou?
_Val._ What ailst thou?
_Mar._ Why, I 'm mad.
_Val._ Why, I [a]m madder. _Martius_, draw thy sword,
And lop a villain from the earth; for if
Thou wilt not, on some tree about this place
I'll hang my self; _Valerius_ shall not live
To wound his brothers honor, stain his Countrey,
And branded with ingratitude to all times.
_Mar._ For what can all this be?
_Val._ I [a]m in love.
_Mar._ Why so am I. With whom? ha?
_Val. Dorigen._
_Mar._ With _Dorigen_? how dost thou love her? speak.
_Val._ Even to the height of lust; and I must have her or else I
die.
_Mar._ Thou shalt, thou daring Traitor.
On all the confines I have rid my horse,
Was there no other woman for thy choice
But _Dorigen_? Why, villain, she is mine:
She makes me pine thus, sullen, mad, and fool;
'T is I must have her, or I die.
_Val._ O all ye gods,
With mercy look on this declining rock
Of valour, and of virtue; breed not up
(From infancie) in honor, to full man,
As you have done him, to destroy: here, strike;
For I have onely search'd thy wound: dispatch;
Far, far be such love from _Valerius_,
So far he scorns to live to be call'd brother
By him that dares own such folly and such vice.
_Mar._ 'T is truth thou speak'st; but I do hate it: peace,
If heaven will snatch my sword out of my hand,
And put a rattle in it, what can I do?
He that is destin'd to be odious
In his old age, must undergo his fate.
_Enter Cornelius and Nichodemus._
_Corn._ If you do not back me, I shall never do't.
_Nich._ I warrant you.
_Corn._ Humh, humh: Sir; my Lord, my Lord.
_Mart._ Hah? what's the matter?
_Corn._ Humh; concerning the odd fifty, my Lord, and 't please your
Generality, his Worship, Sir _Nichodemus_.
_Mar._ What's here? a Pass? you would for _Rome_? you lubbers, doth
one days laziness make ye covet home? away, ye boarish rogues; ye
dogs, away.
_Enter wife._
_Wife._ Oh, oh, oh:
How now man, are you satisfi'd?
_Corn._ I, I, I: a ---- o' your Corporal; I 'm paid soundly, I was
never better paid in all my life.
_Wife._ Mar[r]y the gods blessing on his honors heart: you have
done a charitable deed, Sir, many more such may you live to do,
Sir: the gods keep you, Sir, the gods protect you. [_Exit._
_Mar._ These peasants mock me sure (_Valerius_)
Forgive my dotage, see my ashes urn'd,
And tell fair _Dorigen_, (she that but now
Left me with this harsh vow, Sooner these rocks
Should be remov'd, then she would yield) that I
Was yet so loving, on her gift to die.
_Val._ O _Jupiter_ forbid it, Sir, and grant
This my device may certifie thy mind:
You are my brother, nor must perish thus:
Be comforted: think you fair _Dorigen_
Would yield your wishes, if these envious rocks
By skill could be remov'd, or by fallacie
She made believe so?
_Mar._ Why, she could not chuse;
The _Athenians_ are religious in their vows,
Above all nations.
_Val._ Soft, down yonder hill
The Lady comes this way, once more to trie her,
If she persist in obstinacie: by my skill
Learn'd from the old _Caldean_ was my Tutor,
Who train'd me in the _Mathematicks_, I will
So dazle and delude her sight, that she
Shall think this great impossibilitie
Effected by some supernatural means.
Be confident; this engine shall at least,
Till the gods better order, still this brest. [_Exit Valerius._
_Mar._ O my best brother, go; and for reward,
Chuse any part o'th' world, I'll give it thee.
O little _Rome_, men say thou art a god;
Thou mightst have got a fitter fool then I.
_Enter Dorigen._
_Dor._ Art thou there, Basilisk? remove thine eyes,
For I'm sick to death with thy infection.
_Mar._ Yet, yet have mercy on me; save him, Lady,
Whose single arm defends all _Rome_, whose mercie
Hath sav'd thy husband's and thy life.
_Dor._ To spoil
Our fame and honors? no, my vow is fixt,
And stands, as constant as these stones do, still.
_Mar._ Then pitie me, ye gods; you onely may
Move her, by tearing these firm stones a way.
[_Solemn musick._
_A mist ariseth, the rocks remove._
_Enter Valerius like Mercury, singing._
Val. _Martius rejoyce, Jove sends me from above,_
_His Messenger, to cure thy desperate love;_
_To shew rash vows c[a]nnot binde destinie:_
_Lady, behold, the rocks transplanted be._
_Hard-hearted Dorigen, yield, lest for contempt,_
_They fix thee here a rock, whence they 're exempt._
_Dor._ What strange delusion's this? what Sorcery
Affrights me with these apparitions?
My colder Chastity's nigh turn'd to death.
Hence, lewd Magician; dar'st thou make the gods
Bawds to thy lust; will they do miracles
To further evil? or do they love it now?
Know, if they dare do so, I dare hate them,
And will no longer serve 'em. _Jupiter_,
Thy golden showr, nor thy snow-white Swan,
Had I been _Læda_, or bright _Danae_,
Had bought mine honor. Turn me into stone
For being good, and blush when thou hast done. [_Exit Dorigen._
_Enter Valerius._
_Mar._ O my _Valerius_, all yet will not do;
Unless I could so draw mine honestie
Down to the lees to be a ravisher;
She calls me witch, and villain.
_Val._ Patience, Sir,
The gods will punish perjury. Let her breathe
And ruminate on this strange sight. Time decays
The strongest fairest buildings we can finde;
But still _Diana_, fortifie her minde. [_Exeunt._
_Enter Sophocles and Dorigen._
_Soph._ Weep not bright _Dorigen_; for thou hast stood
Constant and chaste (it seems 'gainst gods and men)
When rocks and mountains were remov'd. These wonders
Do stupifie my senses. _Martius_,
This is inhumane: was thy sickness lust?
Yet were this truth, why weeps she? Jealous soul,
What dost thou thus suggest? Vows, Magick, Rocks?
Fine tales, and tears. She ne'er complain'd before.
I bade her visit him; she often did,
Had many opportunities. Humh, 'tis naught: O!
No way but this. Come, weep no more, I have ponder'd
This miracle: the anger of the gods,
Thy vow, my love to thee, and _Martius_:
He must not perish, nor thou be forsworn,
Lest worse fates follow us; Go, keep thy oath:
For chaste, and whore, are words of equal length:
But let not _Martius_ know that I consent,
O! I'm pull'd in pieces.
_Dor._ I? say you so?
I'll meet you in your path. O wretched men!
With all your valour and your learning, bubbles.
Forgive me, _Sophocles_. Yet why kneel I
For pardon, having been but over-diligent,
Like an obedient servant, antedating
My Lords command? Sir, I have often, and already given
This bosom up to his embraces, and
Am proud that my dear Lord is pleas'd with it;
Whose gentle honorable minde I see
Participates even all, his wife and all,
Unto his friend. You are sad, Sir. _Martius_ loves me,
And I love _Martius_ with such ardencie,
As never married couple could: I must
Attend him now. My Lord, when you have need
To use your own wife, pray Sir send for me;
Till then, make use of your Philosophie. [_Exit._
_Soph._ Stay, _Dorigen_: O me, inquisitive fool!
Thou that didst order this congested heap
When it was Chaos, 'twixt thy spacious palms
Forming it to this vast rotundie;
Dissolve it now; shuffle the elements,
That no one proper by it self may stand:
Let the sea quench the sun, and in that instant
The sun drink up the sea: day, ne'er come down,
To light me to those deeds that must be done. [_Exit._
_Drums and Colours._
_Enter Martius, Valerius, Captains and soldiers, at one_
_door, and Dorigen with Lad[i]es, at another._
_Dor._ Hail, General of _Rome_; from _Sophocles_
That honors _Martius_, _Dorigen_ presents
Her self to be dishonour'd: do thy will;
For _Sophocles_ commands me to obey.
Come, violate all rules of holiness,
And rend the consecrated knot of love.
_Mar._ Never, _Valerius_, was I blest till now:
Behold the end of all my weary steps,
The prize of all my Battels: leave us all;
Leave us as quick as thought. Thus joy begin,
In zealous love a minutes loss is sin.
_Val._ Can _Martius_ be so vile? or _Dorigen_?
_Dor._ Stay, stay, and monster, keep thou further of;
I thought thy brave soul would have much, much loath'd
To have gone on still on such terms as this.
See, thou ungrateful, since thy desperate lust
Nothing can cure but death, I'll die for thee,
Whilst my chaste name lives to posterity.
_Mar._ Live, live, thou Angel of thy sex: forgive,
Till by those golden tresses thou be'st snatch'd
Alive to Heaven: for thy corruption's
So little, that it cannot suffer death.
Was ever such a woman? O my mirror!
How perfectly thou shew'st me all my faults,
Which now I hate, and when I next attempt thee,
Let all the fires in the _Zodiak_
Drop on this cursed head.
_All._ O blest event!
_Dor._ Rise like the sun again in all his glory,
After a dark Eclipse.
_Mar._ Never without a pardon.
_Enter Sophocles, and two or three with him._
_Dor._ Sir, you have forgiven your self.
_Soph._ Behold their impudence: are my words just?
Unthankful man, viper to Arms, and _Rome_
Thy natural mother; have I warm'd thee here
To corrode ev'n my heart? _Martius_, prepare
To kill me, or be kill'd.
_Mar._ Why _Sophocles_?
Then prethee kill me; I deserve it highly;
For I have both transgress'd 'gainst men, and gods;
But am repentant now, and in best case
To uncase my soul of this oppressing flesh;
Which, though (Gods witness) nev'r was actually
Injurious to thy wife and thee, yet 't was
Her goodness that restrain'd and held me now:
But take my life, dear friend, for my intent,
Or else forgive it.
_Val._ By the gods of _Athens_,
These words are true, and all direct again.
_Soph._ Pardon me, _Dorigen_.
_Mar._ Forgive me, _Sophocles_,
And _Dorigen_ too, and every one that 's good.
_Dor._ Rise, noble Roman, belov'd _Sophocles_,
Take to thy brest thy friend.
_Mar._ And to thy heart
Thy matchless wife: Heaven has not stuff enough
To make another such: for if it could,
_Martius_ would marry too. For thy blest sake
(O thou infinitie of excellence)
Henceforth in mens discourse _Rome_ shall not take
The wall of _Athens_, as 'tofore. But when
In their fair honors we to speak do come,
We'll say 'T was so in _Athens_, and in _Rome_.
[_Exeun[t] in pomp._
_Diana descends._
Diana. _Honor set ope thy gates, and with thee bring_
_My servant and thy friend, fair_ Dorigen_:_
_Let her triumph, with her, her Lord, and friend,_
_Who, though misled, still honor was their end_. [Flourish.
_Enter the Shew of_ Honors Triumph; _a great flourish of Trumpets
and Drums within; Then enter a noise of Trumpets sounding
cheerfully. Then follows an armed Knight bearing a Crimson
Banneret in hand, with the inscription_ Valour: _by his side
a Lady, bearing a Watchet Banneret, the inscription_ Clemencie:
_next_ Martius _and_ Sophocles _with Coronets. Next, two
Lad[i]es, one bearing a white Banneret, the inscription_ Chastity:
_the other a black, the inscription_ Constancie. _Then_ Dorigen
_crown'd. Last, a Chariot drawn by two Moors, in it a Person
crown'd, with a Scepter: on the top, in an antick Scutcheon, is
written_ Honor. _As they pass over_, Diana _ascends_.
_Rinald._ How like you it?
_Frig._ Rarely; so well, I would they would do it again. How many
of our wives now adays would deserve to triumph in such a Chariot?
_Rinald._ That's all one; you see they triumph in Caroches.
_Frig._ That they do, by the mass; but not all neither; many of
them are content with Carts. But Seignior, I have now found out a
great absurditie i'faith.
_Rinald._ What was 't?
_Frig._ The Prologue presenting four Triumphs, made but three legs
to the King: a three-legged Prologue, 't was monstrous.
_Rinald._ 'T had been more monstrous to have had a four-legg'd one.
Peace, the King speaks.
_Em._ Here was a woman, _Isabel._
_Isa._ I, my Lord,
But that she told a lye to vex her husband;
Therein sh[e] fail'd.
_Em._ She serv'd him well enough;
He that was so much man, yet would be cast
To jealousie for her integrity.
This teacheth us, the passion of love
Can fight with Soldiers, and with Scholars too.
_Isa._ In _Martius_, clemencie and valour shown,
In the other, courage and humanitie;
And therefore in the Triumph they were usher'd
By clemencie and valour.
_Em._ Rightly observ'd,
As she by chastitie and constancie;
What hurt's now in a Play, against which some rail
So vehemently? thou and I, my love,
Make excellent use methinks: I learn to be
A lawful lover void of jealousie,
And thou a constant wife. Sweet Poetry's
A flower, where men, like Bees and Spiders, may
Bear poison, or else sweets and Wax away.
Be venom-drawing Spiders they that will;
I'll be the Bee, and suck the honey still. [_Flourish._
_Cupid descends._
Cupid. _Stay, clouds, ye rack too fast: bright Phœbus see,_
_Honor has triumph'd with fair Chastity:_
_Give Love now leave, in purity to shew_
_Unchaste affe[ct]ions flie not from his bowe._
_Produce the sweet example of your youth._
_Whilst I provide a Triumph for your Truth._ [Flourish.
_Enter Violanta (with childe) and Gerrard._
_Viol._ Why does my _Gerr[a]rd_ grieve?
_Ger._ O my sweet Mistris,
'Tis not life (which by our _Milain_ law
My fact hath forfeited) makes me thus pensive;
That I would lose to save the little finger
Of this your noble burthen, from least hurt,
Because your blood is in't. But since your love
Made poor incompatible me the parent,
(Being we are not married) your dear blood
Falls under the same cruel penalty;
And can Heaven think fit ye die for me?
For Heavens sake say I ravisht you, I'll swear it,
To keep your life, and repute unstain'd.
_Viol._ O _Gerrard_, th' art my life and faculties:
And if I lose thee, I'll not keep mine own;
The thought of whom, sweetens all miseries.
Wouldst have me murder thee beyond thy death?
Unjustly scandal thee with ravishment?
It was so far from rape, that Heaven doth know,
If ever the first Lovers, ere they fell,
Knew simply in the state of innocence,
Such was this act, this, that doth ask no blush.