Читать книгу Beaumont and Fletcher's Works. Volume 9 - Beaumont Francis - Страница 3

Alb.

Alas dear soul ye faint.

Amint. You speak the language

Which I should use to you, heaven knows, my weakness

Is not for what I suffer in my self,

But to imagine what you endure, and to what fate

Your cruel Stars reserve ye.

Alb. Do not add to my afflictions

By your tender pitties; sure we have chang'd Sexes;

You bear calamity with a fortitude

Would become a man; I like a weak girl, suffer.

Amint. Oh, but your wounds,

How fearfully they gape! and every one

To me is a Sepulchre: if I lov'd truly,

(Wise men affirm, that true love can [doe] wonders,)

These bath'd in my warm tears, would soon be cur'd,

And leave no orifice behind; pray give me leave

To play the Surgeon, and bind 'em up;

The raw air rankles 'em.

Alb. Sweet, we want means.

Amint. Love can supply all wants.

Alb. What have ye done Sweet?

Oh sacriledge to beauty: there's no hair

Of these pure locks, by which the greatest King

Would not be gladly bound, and love his Fetters.

Amint. Oh Albert, I offer this sacrifice of service

To the Altar of your staid temperance, and still adore it,

When with a violent hand you made me yours,

I curs'd the doer: but now I consider,

How long I was in your power: and with what honor;

You entertain'd me, it being seldom seen,

That youth, and heat of bloud, could e'r prescribe

Laws to it self; your goodness is the Lethe,

In which I drown your injuries, and now live

Truly to serve ye: how do you Sir?

Receive you the least ease from my service?

If you do, I am largely recompenc'd.

Alb. You good Angels,

That are ingag'd, when mans ability fails,

To reward goodness: look upon this Lady

Though hunger gripes my croaking entrails,

Yet when I kiss these Rubies, methinks

I'm at a Banquet, a refreshing Banquet;

Speak my bless'd one, art not hungry?

Amint. Indeed I could eat, to bear you company.

Alb. Blush unkind nature,

If thou hast power: or being to hear

Thy self, and by such innocence accus'd;

Must print a thousand kinds of shame, upon

Thy various face: canst thou supply a drunkard,

And with a prodigal hand reach choice of Wines,

Till he cast up thy blessings? or a glutton,

That robs the Elements, to sooth his palat,

And only eats to beget appetite,

Not to be satisfied? and suffer here

A Virgin which the Saints would make their guest,

To pine for hunger? ha, if my sence [Horns within.

Deceive me not, these Notes take Being

From the breath of men; confirm me my Aminta;

Again, this way the gentle wind conveys it to us,

Hear you nothing?

Amint. Yes, it seems free hunters Musick.

Alb. Still 'tis louder; and I remember the Portugals

Inform'd us, they had often heard such sounds,

But ne'r could touch the shore from whence it came;

Follow me, my Aminta: my good genius,

Shew me the way still; still we are directed;

When we gain the top of this near rising hill,

We shall know further.

Alb. Courteous Zephyrus,

On his dewy wings, carries perfumes to cheer us;

The air clears too;

And now, we may discern another Island,

And questionless, the seat of fortunate men:

Oh that we could arrive there.

Amint. No Albert, 'tis not to be hop'd;

This envious Torrent's cruelly interpos'd;

We have no vessel that may transport us;

Nor hath nature given us wings to flie.

Alb. Better try all hazards,

Than perish here remediless; I feel

New vigor in me, and a spirit that dares

More than a man, to serve my fair Aminta;

These Arms shall be my oars, with which I'll swim;

And my zeal to save thy innocent self,

Like wings, shall bear me up above the brackish waves.

Amint. Will ye then leave me?

Alb. Till now I ne'er was wretched.

My best Aminta, I swear by goodness

'Tis nor hope, nor fear, of my self that invites me

To this extream; 'tis to supply thy wants; and believe me

Though pleasure met me in most ravishing forms,

And happiness courted me to entertain her,

I would nor eat nor sleep, till I return'd

And crown'd thee with my fortunes.

Amin. Oh but your absence.

Alb. Suppose it but a dream, and as you may,

Endeavour to take rest; and when that sleep

Deceives your hunger with imagin'd food,

Think you have sent me for discovery

Of some most fortunate Continent, yet unknown,

Which you are to be Queen of.

And now ye Powers, that e'er heard Lovers Prayers,

Or cherisht pure affection; look on him

That is your Votary; and make it known

Against all stops, you can defend your own.

Hip. How did we lose Clarinda?

Cro. When we believ'd the Stag was spent, and would take soil,

The sight of the black lake which we suppos'd

He chose for his last refuge, frighted him more

Than we that did pursue him.

Jul. That's usual; for, death it self is not so terrible

To any beast of chase.

Hip. Since we liv'd here, we ne'er could force one to it.

Cro. 'Tis so dreadful,

Birds that with their pinions cleave the air

Dare not flie over it: when the Stag turn'd head,

And we, even tir'd with labor, Clarinda, as if

She were made of Air and Fire,

And had no part of earth in her, eagerly pursu'd him;

Nor need we fear her safety, this place yields not

Fawns nor Satyrs, or more lustful men;

Here we live secure,

And have among our selves a Common-wealth,

Which in our selves begun, with us must end.

Jul. I, there's the misery.

Cro. But being alone,

Allow me freedom but to speak my thoughts;

The strictness of our Governess, that forbids us,

On pain of death, the sight and use of men,

Is more than tyranny: for her self, she's past

Those youthful heats, and feels not the want

Of that which young maids long for: and her daughter

The fair Clarinda, though in few years

Improv'd in height and large proportion,

Came here so young,

That scarce remembring that she had a father,

She never dreams of man; and should she see one,

In my opinion, a would appear a strange beast to her.

Jul. 'Tis not so with us.

Hip. For my part, I confess it, I was not made

For this single life; nor do I love hunting so,

But that I had rather be the chace my self.

Cro. By Venus (out upon me) I should have sworn

By Diana, I am of thy mind too wench;

And though I have ta'en an oath, not alone

To detest, but never to think of man,

Every hour something tels me I am forsworn;

For I confess, imagination helps me sometimes,

And that's all is left for us to feed on,

We might starve else, for if I have any pleasure

In this life, but when I sleep, I am a Pagan;

Then from the Courtier to the Countrey-clown,

I have strange visions.

Jul. Visions Crocale?

Cro. Yes, and fine visions too;

And visions I hope in dreams are harmless,

And not forbid by our Canons; the last night

(Troth 'tis a foolish one, but I must tell it)

As I lay in my Cabin, betwixt sleeping and waking.

Hip. Upon your back?

Cro. How should a young Maid lie, fool,

When she would be intranc'd?

Hip. We are instructed; forward I prethee.

Cro. Methought a sweet young man

In years some twenty, with a downy chin,

Promising a future beard, and yet no red one,

Stole slylie to my Cabin all unbrac'd,

Took me in his arms, and kiss'd me twenty times,

Yet still I slept.

Jul. Fie; thy lips run over Crocale.

But to the rest.

Cro. Lord, What a man is this thought I,

To do this to a Maid!

Yet then for my life I could not wake.

The youth, a little danted, with a trembling hand

Heav'd up the clothes.

Hip. Yet still you slept?

Cro. Y'faith I did; and when, methoughts, he was warm

by my side,

Thinking to catch him, I stretcht out both mine armes;

And when I felt him not, I shreekt out,

And wak'd for anger.

Hip. 'Twas a pretty dream.

Cro. I, if it had been a true one.

Jul. But stay, What's here cast o'th' shore?

Hip. 'Tis a man;

Shall I shoot him?

Cro. No, no, 'tis a handsome beast;

Would we had more o'th' breed; stand close wenches,

And let's hear if he can speak.

Alb. Do I yet live?

Sure it is ayr I breathe; What place is this?

Sure something more than humane keeps residence here,

For I have past the Stygian gulph,

And touch upon the blessed shore? 'tis so;

This is the Elizian shade; these happy spirits,

That here enjoy all pleasures.

Hip. He makes towards us.

Jul. Stand, or I'll shoot.

Cro. Hold, he makes no resistance.

Alb. Be not offended Goddesses, that I fall

Thus prostrate at your feet: or if not such,

But Nymphs of Dian's train, that range these groves,

Which you forbid to men; vouchsafe to know

I am a man, a wicked sinful man; and yet not sold

So far to impudence, as to presume

To press upon your privacies, or provoke

Your Heavenly angers; 'tis not for my self

I beg thus poorly, for I am already wounded,

Wounded to death, and faint; my last breath

Is for a Virgin, comes as near your selves

In all perfection, as what's mortal may

Resemble things divine. O pitty her,

And let your charity free her from that desart,

If Heavenly charity can reach to Hell,

For sure that place comes near it: and where ere

My ghost shall find abode,

Eternally I shall powre blessings on ye.

Hip. By my life I cannot hurt him.

Cro. Though I lose my head for it, nor I.

I must pitty him, and will.

Jul. But stay, Clarinda?

Cla. What new game have ye found here, ha!

What beast is this lies wallowing in his gore?

Cro. Keep off.

Cla. Wherefore, I pray? I ne'er turn'd

From a fell Lioness rob'd of her whelps,

And, Shall I fear dead carrion?

Jul. O but.

Cla. But, What is't?

Hip. It is infectious.

Cla. Has it not a name?

Cro. Yes, but such a name from which

As from the Devil your Mother commands us flie.

Cla. Is't a man?

Clo. It is.

Cla. What a brave shape it has in death;

How excellent would it appear had it life!

Why should it be infectious? I have heard

My Mother say, I had a Father,

And was not he a Man?

Cro. Questionless Madam.

Cla. Your fathers too were Men?

Jul. Without doubt Lady.

Cla. And without such it is impossible

We could have been.

Hip. A sin against nature to deny it.

Cla. Nor can you or I have any hope to be a Mother,

Without the help of Men.

Cro. Impossible.

Cla. Which of you then most barbarous, that knew

You from a man had Being, and owe to it

The name of parent, durst presume to kill

The likeness of that thing by which you are?

Whose Arrowes made these wounds? speak, or by Dian

Without distinction I'll let fly at ye all.

Jul. Not mine.

Hip. Nor mine.

Cro. 'Tis strange to see her mov'd thus.

Restrain your fury Madam; had we kill'd him,

We had but perform'd your Mothers command.

Cla. But if she command unjust and cruel things,

We are not to obey it.

Cro. We are innocent; some storm did cast

Him shipwrackt on the shore, as you see wounded:

Nor durst we be Surgeons to such

Your Mother doth appoint for death.

Cla. Weak excuse; Where's pity?

Where's soft compassion? cruel, and ungrateful

Did providence offer to your charity

But one poor Subject to express it on,

And in't to shew our wants too; and could you

So carelessly neglect it?

Hip. For ought I know, he's living yet;

And may tempt your Mother, by giving him succor.

Cla. Ha, come near I charge ye.

So, bend his body softly; rub his temples;

Nay, that shall be my office: how the red

Steales into his pale lips! run and fetch the simples

With which my Mother heal'd my arme

When last I was wounded by the Bore.

Cro. Doe: but remember her to come after ye,

That she may behold her daughters charity.

Cla. Now he breathes; [Exit Hippolita.

The ayr passing through the Arabian groves

Yields not so sweet an odour: prethee taste it;

Taste it good Crocale; yet I envy thee so great a blessing;

'Tis not sin to touch these Rubies, is it?

Jul. Not, I think.

Cla. Or thus to live Camelion like?

I could resign my essence to live ever thus.

O welcome; raise him up Gently. Some soft hand

Bound up these wounds; a womans hair. What fury

For which my ignorance does not know a name,

Is crept into my bosome? But I forget.

My pious work. Now if this juyce hath power,

Let it appear; his eyelids ope: Prodigious!

Two Suns break from these Orbes.

Alb. Ha, Where am I? What new vision's this?

To what Goddess do I owe this second life?

Sure thou art more than mortal:

And any Sacrifice of thanks or duty

In poor and wretched man to pay, comes short

Of your immortal bounty: but to shew

I am not unthankful, th[u]s in humility

I kiss the happy ground you have made sacred,

By bearing of your weight.

Cla. No Goddess, friend: but made

Of that same brittle mould as you are;

One too acquainted with calamities,

And from that apt to pity. Charity ever

Finds in the act reward, and needs no Trumpet

In the receiver. O forbear this duty;

I have a hand to meet with yours,

And lips to bid yours welcome.

Cro. I see, that by instinct,

Though a young Maid hath never seen a Man,

Touches have titillations, and inform her.

But here's our Governess;

Now I expect a storme.

Ros. Child of my flesh,

And not of my fair unspotted mind,

Un-hand this Monster.

Cla. Monster, Mother?

Ros. Yes; and every word he speaks, a Syrens note,

To drown the careless hearer. Have I not taught thee

The falshood and the perjuries of Men?

On whom, but for a woman to shew pity,

Is to be cruel to her self; the Soveraignty

Proud and imperious men usurp upon us,

We conferr on our selves, and love those fetters

We fasten to our freedomes. Have we, Clarinda,

Since thy fathers wrack, sought liberty,

To lose it un-compel'd? Did fortune guide,

Or rather destiny, our Barke, to which

We could appoint no Port, to this blest place,

Inhabited heretofore by warlike women,

That kept men in subjection? Did we then,

By their example, after we had lost

All we could love in man, here plant our selves,

With execrable oaths never to look

On man, but as a Monster? and, Wilt thou

Be the first president to infringe those vows

We made to Heaven?

Cla. Hear me; and hear me with justice.

And as ye are delighted in the name

Of Mother, hear a daughter that would be like you.

Should all Women use this obstinate abstinence,

You would force upon us; in a few years

The whole World would be peopled

Onely with Beasts.

Hip. We must, and will have Men.

Cro. I, or wee'll shake off all obedience.

Ros. Are ye mad?

Can no perswasion alter ye? suppose

You had my suffrage to your sute;

Can this Shipwrackt wretch supply them all?

Alb. Hear me great Lady!

I have fellowes in my misery, not far hence,

Divided only by this hellish River,

There live a company of wretched Men,

Such as your charity may make your slaves;

Imagine all the miseries mankind

May suffer under: and they groan beneath 'em.

Cla. But are they like to you?

Jul. Speak they your Language?

Cro. Are they able, lusty men?

Alb. They were good, Ladies;

And in their May of youth of gentle blood,

And such as may deserve ye; now cold and hunger

Hath lessen'd their perfection: but restor'd

To what they were, I doubt not they'll appear

Worthy your favors.

Jul. This is a blessing

We durst not hope for.

Cla. Dear Mother, be not obdurate.

Ros. Hear then my resolution: and labor not

To add to what I'll grant, for 'twill be fruitless,

You shall appear as good Angels to these wretched Men;

In a small Boat wee'll pass o'er to 'em;

And bring 'em comfort: if you like their persons,

And they approve of yours: for wee'll force nothing;

And since we want ceremonies,

Each one shall choose a husband, and injoy

His company a Month, but that expir'd,

You shall no more come near 'em; if you prove fruitful,

The Males ye shall return to them, the Females

We will reserve our selves: this is the utmost,

Ye shall e'er obtain: as ye think fit;

Ye may dismiss this stranger,

And prepare to morrow for the journey.

Cla. Come, Sir, Will ye walk?

We will shew ye our pleasant Bowers,

And something ye shall find to cheer your heart.

Alb. Excellent Lady;

Though 'twill appear a wonder one near starv'd

Should refuse rest and meat, I must not take

Your noble offer: I left in yonder desart

A Virgin almost pin'd.

Cla. Shee's not your Wife?

Alb. No Lady, but my Sister ('tis now dangerous

To speak truth) To her I deeply vow'd

Not to tast food, or rest, if fortune brought it me,

Till I bless'd her with my return: now if you please

To afford me an easie passage to her,

And some meat for her recovery,

I shall live your slave: and thankfully

She shall ever acknowledge her life at your service.

Cla. You plead so well, I can deny ye nothing;

I my self will see you furnisht;

And with the next Sun visit and relieve thee.

Alb. Ye are all goodness —