_Enter Clarence, Musicians_.
_Cla_. Worke on, sweet love; I am not yet resolved
T'exhaust this troubled spring of vanities
And Nurse of perturbations, my poore life,
And therefore since in every man that holds
This being deare, there must be some desire,
Whose power t'enjoy his object may so maske
The judging part, that in her radyant eyes
His estimation of the World may seeme
Vpright, and worthy, I have chosen love
To blind my Reason with his misty hands
And make my estimative power beleive
I have a project worthy to imploy
What worth so ever my whole man affordes:
Then sit at rest, my soule, thou now hast found
The end of thy infusion; in the eyes
Of thy divine _Eugenia_ looke for Heaven.
Thanks gentle friends. [_A song to the Violls_.
Is your good Lord, and mine, gon up to bedd yet?
_Enter Momford_.
_Mom_. I do assure ye not, sir, not yet, nor yet, my deepe, and studious
friend; not yet, musicall _Clarence_.
_Cla_. My Lord?
_Mom_. Nor yet, thou sole divider of my Lordshippe.
_Cla_. That were a most unfit division,
And farre above the pitch of my low plumes;
I am your bold, and constant guest my Lord.
_Mom_. Far, far from bold, for thou hast known me long
Almost these twenty yeeres, and halfe those yeeres
Hast bin my bed-fellow; long time before
This unseene thing, this thing of naught indeed,
Or _Atome_ cald my Lordshippe shind in me,
And yet thou mak'st thy selfe as little bould
To take such kindnes, as becomes the Age
And truth of our indissolable love,
As our acquaintance sprong but yesterday;
Such is thy gentle, and too tender spirit.
_Cla_. My _Lord_, my want of Courtship makes me feare
I should be rude, and this my meane estate
Meetes with such envie, and detraction,
Such misconstructions and resolud misdoomes
Of my poore worth, that should I be advaunce'd
Beyond my unseene lowenes, but one haire,
I should be torne in peeces with the Spirits
That fly in ill-lungd tempests through the world,
Tearing the head of vertue from her shoulders
If she but looke out of the ground of glorie.
Twixt whom and me, and every worldly fortune
There fights such sowre, and curst _Antipathy_,
So waspish and so petulant a Starre,
That all things tending to my grace or good
Are ravisht from their object, as I were
A thing created for a wildernes,
And must not thinke of any place with men.
_Mom_. O harke you Sir, this waiward moode of yours
Must sifted be, or rather rooted out.
Youle no more musick Sir?
_Cla_. Not now, my Lord.
_Mom_. Begon my masters then to bedd, to bedd.
_Cla_. I thanke you, honest friends.
[_Exeunt Musicians_.
_Mo_. Hence with this book, and now, _Mounsieur Clarence_, me thinks
plaine and prose friendship would do excellent well betwixt us: come
thus, Sir, or rather thus, come. Sir, tis time I trowe that we both
liv'd like one body, thus, and that both our sides were slit, and
concorporat with _Organs_ fit to effect an individuall passage even for
our very thoughts; suppose we were one body now, and I charge you
beleeve it; whereof I am the hart, and you the liver.
_Cla_. Your Lordship might well make that division[12], if you knew the
plaine song.
_Mo_. O Sir, and why so I pray?
_Cla_. First because the heart, is the more worthy entraile, being the
first that is borne, and moves, and the last that moves, and dies; and
then being the Fountaine of heate too: for wheresoever our heate does
not flow directly from the hart to the other _Organs_ there, their
action must of necessity cease, and so without you I neither would nor
could live.
_Mom_. Well Sir, for these reasons I may be the heart, why may you be
the liver now?
_Cla_. I am more then asham'd, to tell you that my _Lord_.
_Mom_. Nay, nay, be not too suspitious of my judgement in you I beseech
you: asham'd friend? if your love overcome not that shame, a shame take
that love, I saie. Come sir, why may you be the liver?
_Cla_. The plaine, and short truth is (my _Lord_) because I am all
liver, and turn'd lover.
_Mom_. Lover?
_Cla_. Lover, yfaith my _Lord_.
_Mom_. Now I prethee let me leape out of my skin for joy: why thou wilt
not now revive the sociable mirth of thy sweet disposition? wilt thou
shine in the World anew? and make those that have sleighted thy love
with the Austeritie of thy knowledge, dote on thee againe with thy
commanding shaft of their humours?
_Cla_. Alas, my Lord, they are all farre out of my aime; and only to fit
my selfe a little better to your friendshippe, have I given these
wilfull raynes to my affections.
_Mom_. And yfaith is my sower friend to all worldly desires ouer taken
with the hart of the World, Love? I shall be monstrous proud now, to
heare shees every way a most rare woman, that I know thy spirit, and
judgement hath chosen; is she wise? is she noble? is she capable of thy
vertues? will she kisse this forehead with judiciall lipps where somuch
judgement and vertue deserves it? Come brother Twin, be short, I charge
you, and name me the woman.
_Cla_. Since your Lordship will shorten the length of my follies
relation, the woman that I so passionately love, is no worse Lady then
your owne Neece, the too worthy Countesse _Eugenia_.
_Mom_. Why so, so, so, you are a worthy friend, are you not, to conceale
this love-mine in your head, and would not open it to your hart? now
beshrow my hart, if my hart danse not for joy, tho my heeles do not; and
they doe not, because I will not set that at my heeles that my friend
sets at his heart? friend, and Nephews both? nephew is a far inferior
title to friend I confesse, but I will preferre thee backwards (as many
friends doe) and leave their friends woorse then they found them.
_Cla_. But, my noble Lord, it is almost a prodegie, that I being onely a
poore Gentleman, and farre short of that state and wealth that a Ladie
of her greatnesse in both will expect in her husband--
_Mom_. Hold thy doubt friend, never feare any woman, unlesse thyselfe be
made of straw, or some such drie matter, and she of lightning.
_Audacitie_ prospers above probability in all Worldly matters. Dost not
thou know that Fortune governes them without order, and therefore reason
the mother of order is none of her counsaile? why should a man desiring
to aspire an unreasonable creature, which is a woman, seeke her fruition
by reasonable meanes? because thy selfe binds upon reason, wilt thou
looke for congruity in a woman? why? there is not one woman amongst one
thousand, but will speake false _Latine_, and breake _Priscians_ head.
Attempt nothing that you may with great reason doubt of and out of doubt
you shall obtaine nothing. I tell thee, friend, the eminent confidence
of strong spirits is the onely witch-craft of this World, Spirits
wrastling with spirits as bodies with bodies: this were enough to make
thee hope well, if she were one of these painted communities, that are
ravisht with Coaches, and upper hands,[13] and brave men of durt: but
thou knowest friend shees a good scholler, and like enough to bite at
the rightest reason, and reason evermore _Ad optima hortatur_: to like
that which is best, not that which is bravest, or rightest, or greatest,
and so consequently worst. But prove what shee can, wee will turne her,
and winde her, and make her so plyant, that we will drawe her thorugh a
wedding ring yfaith.
_Cla_. Would to God we might, my Lord.
_Mom_. He warrant thee, friend.
_Enter Messenger_.
_Mes_. Here is Mistris _Wynnifred_ from my Lady _Eugenia_ desires to
speake with your Lordshippe.
_Mom_. Marrie, enter, Mistris _Wynnifred_, even here I pray thee;--from
the Lady _Eugenia_, doe you heare, friend?
_Cla_. Very easily on that side, my Lord.
_Mom_. Let me feele. Does not thy heart pant apace? by my hart, well
labor'd _Cupid_, the field is yours, sir. God! and upon a very
honourable composition. I am sent for now I am sure, and must even
trusse, and to her.
_Enter Wynnifred_.
Witty Mistris _Wynnifred_, nay come neere, woman. I am sure this
Gentleman thinkes his Chamber the sweeter for your deare presence.
_Wyn_. My absence shall thanke him, my Lord.
_Mom_. What, rude? Mistris _Wynnifred_? nay faith you shall come to him,
and kisse him, for his kindenesse.
_Wyn_. Nay good, my Lord, I'le never goe to the market for that ware, I
can have it brought home to my Dore.
_Mom_. O _Wynnifred_, a man may know by the market-folkes how the market
goes.
_Wyn_. So you may, my Lord, but I know few Lords that thinke scorne to
go to that market themselves.
_Mom_. To goe to it _Wynnifred_? nay to ride to it yfaith.
_Wyn_. Thats more then I know my Lord.
_Mom_. Youle not beleeve it till you are then a horsebacke, will ye?
_Wyn_. Come, come, I am sent of a message to you, will you heare it?
_Mom_. Stoppe, stoppe, faire _Wynnifred_, would you have audience so
soone, there were no state in that yfaith. This faire gentlewoman sir--
_Wyn_. Now we shall have a fiction I beleive.
_Mom_. Had three Suiters at once.
_Wyn_. Youle leave out none my Lord.
_Mom_. No more did you, _Wynnifred_: you enterferde with them all in
truth.
_Wyn_. O Monstrous Lord by this light!
_Mom_. Now sir to make my tale short I will doe that which she did not;
vz. leave out the two first. The third comming, the third night for his
turne--
_Wyn_. My Lord, my Lord, my Lady does that that no body else does,
desires your company; and so fare you well.
_Mom_. O stay a little sweet _Wynnifred_, helpe me but to trusse my
Poynts againe, and have with you.
_Wyn_. Not I by my truth my Lord, I had rather see your hose about your
heeles, then I would helpe you to trusse a poynt.
_Mom_. O witty _Wynnifred_? for that jest, take thy passeport, and tell
thy Ladie[14], thou leftst me with my hose about my heeles.
_Wyn_. Well, well my Lord you shall sit till the mosse grow about your
heeles, ere I come at you againe. [_Exit_.
_Mom_. She cannot abide to heare of her three Suiters, but is not this
very fit my sweet _Clarence_? Thou seest my rare Neece cannot sleepe
without me; but for thy company sake, she shall to night; and in the
morning I will visit her earely; when doe thou but stand in that place,
and thou maiest chance heare (but art sure to see) in what subtill, and
farre-fetcht manner Ile solicite her about thee.
_Cla_. Thank's, worthy Lord.
[_Exeunt_.
_Finis Actus Primi_.
_Actvs Secvndi_.