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Such as blow flowers, and thro' the glad boughs sing

Many soft welcomes to the lusty spring:
These are our music. Next, thy watery race
Bring on in couples (we are pleased to grace
This noble night), each in their richest things
Your own deeps, or the broken vessel, brings.
Be prodigal, and I shall be as kind,
And shine at full upon you.
Nept. Ho! the wind-

Commanding Æolus!

Enter EOLUS, out of a rock.
Eol. Great Neptune?
Nept. He.

Eol. What is thy will?
Nept. We do command thee free
Favonius, and thy milder winds, to wait
Upon our Cinthia; but tie Boreas straight;
He's too rebellious.

Eol. I shall do it.
Nept. Do.-

Eol. Great master of the flood, and all below; Thy full command has taken.Ho! the Main! Neptune!

Nept. Here.

Eol. Boreas has broke his chain, And, struggling, with the rest has got away. Nept. Let him alone, I'll take him up at sea; He will not long be thence. Go once again, And call out of the bottoms of the main Blue Proteus, and the rest; charge them put on Their greatest pearls, and the most sparkling stone The beaten rock breeds; 'till this night is done By me a solemn honour to the moon.

Fly, like a full sail.

Eol. I am gone.

Cinth. Dark Night,

Strike a full silence; do a thorough right
To this great chorus; that our music may
Touch high as heaven, and make the east break

dav At mid-night.



Cinthia, to thy power and thee,
We obey.
Joy to this great company!
And no day

Come to steal this night away,
'Till the rites of love are ended;
And the lusty bridegroom say,

Welcome, light, of all befriended. Pace out, you watery powers below; Let your feet, Like the gallies when they row, Even beat.


unknown measures, set your To the still winds, tell to all, That gods are come, immortal, great,

To honour this great nuptial.

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Let him go on and flame! I hope to see
Another wild-fire in his axletree;
And all fall drenched. But I forgot; speak, queen.
The day grows on; I must no more be seen.

Cinth. Heave up thy drowsy head again, and see
A greater light, a greater majesty,
Between our sect and us! Whip up thy team!
The day-break's here, and yon sun-flaring beam
Shot from the south. Say, which way wilt thou go?
Night. I'll vanish into mists.

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Cinth. I into day.

Exad. That's one of your sad songs, madam.
Asp. Believe me, 'tis a very pretty one.
Eead. How is it, madam?


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Evad. So, leave me now.

Dula. Nay, we must see you laid.

Asp. Madam, good night. May all the mar-
riage joys

That longing maids imagine in their beds,
Prove so unto you. May no discontent
Grow 'twixt your love and you! But, if there do,
Enquire of nie, and I will guide your moan;
Teach you an artificial way to grieve,
To keep your sorrow waking. Love your lord
No worse than I; but, if you love so well,
Alas, you may displease him; so did I.
This is the last time you shall look on me.
Ladies, farewell. As soon as I am dead,
Come all, and watch one night about my hearse;
Bring each a mournful story, and a tear,
To offer at it, when I go to earth.
With flattering ivy clasp my coffin round;
Write on my brow my fortune; let my bier
Be borne by virgins, that shall sing, by course,
The truth of maids, and perjuries of men.
[Exit Evad.

Evad. Alas, I pity thee.
Omnes. Madam, good night.

1 Lady. Come, we'll let in the bridegroom. Dula. Where's my lord?

Enter AMINTOR. 1 Lady. Here, take this light.

Asp. Go, and be happy in your lady's love. May all the wrongs, that you have done to me, Be utterly forgotten in my death! I'll trouble you no more; yet I will take A parting kiss, and will not be denied.

You'll come, my lord, and see the virgins weep,
When I am laid in earth, though you yourself
Can know no pity. Thus I wind myself
Into this willow garland, and am prouder,
That I was once your love, though now refused,
Than to have had another true to me.
So with my prayers I leave you, and must try
Some yet unpractised way to grieve and die. [Exit.
Dula. Come, ladies, will you go?
Omnes. Good night, my lord.

Amin. Much happiness unto you all!
[Exeunt ladies.
I did that lady wrong: Methinks, I feel
Her grief shoot suddenly through all my veins.
Mine eyes run: This is strange at such a time.
It was the king first moved me to't; but he
Has not my will in keeping. Why do I
Perplex myself thus? Something whispers me,
'Go not to bed.' My guilt is not so great
As my own conscience, too sensible,
Would make me think: I only brake a promise,
And 'twas the king that forced me. Timorous flesh,
Why shak'st thou so? Away, my idle fears!


Yonder she is, the lustre of whose eye
Can blot away the sad remembrance
Of all these things. Oh, my Evadne, spare
That tender body; let it not take cold."
The vapours of the night will not fall here;
To bed, my love. Hymen will punish us
For being slack performers of his rites.
Cam'st thou to call me?

Evad. No.

Amin. Come, come, my love,

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Amin. Come, this is but the coyness of a bride. Evad. The coyness of a bride?

Evad. Ay.

Amia. How! sworn, Evadne?
Evad. Yes, sworn, Amintor;

And will swear again, if you will wish to hear me.
Amin. To whom have you sworn this?
Erad. If I should name him, the matter were

not great.

Amin. How prettily that frown becomes thee. Evad. Do you like it so?

Amin. Thou canst not dress thy face in such a look,

But I shall like it.

Evad. What look likes you best?

Amin. Why do you ask?

Evad. That I may shew you one less pleasing

to you.

Amin. How's that?

Evad. That I may shew you one less pleasing

The man, you hated.

Evad. Know it then, and do it.

And let us loose ourselves to one another.

Why art thou up so long?

Amin. Oh, no; what look soe'er thou shalt put on
To try my faith, I shall not think thee false:
I cannot find one blemish in thy face,

Evad. I am not well.

Amin. To bed then; let me wind thee in these Where falsehood should abide. Leave, and to bed.

to you.

Amin. I prithee, put thy jests in milder looks. It shews as thou wert angry.

Evad. So, perhaps,

I am indeed.

Amin. Why, who has done thee wrong? Name me the man, and by thyself I swear, Thy yet un-conquer'd self, I will revenge thee. Erad. Now I shall try thy truth. If thou dost love me,

Thou weighest not any thing compared with me:
Life, honour, joys eternal, all delights
This world can yield, or hopeful people feign,
Or in the life to come, are light as air
To a true lover, when his lady frowns,
And bids him do this. Wilt thou kill this man?
Swear, my Amintor, and I'll kiss the sin
Off from thy lips.

Amin. I will not swear, sweet love,
Till I do know the cause.

Evad. I would, thou would'st.

Why, it is thou, that wrong'st me; I hate thee; Thou should'st have killed thyself.

Amin. If I should know that, I should quickly kill

This cannot be

Thy natural temper. Shall I call thy maids?
Either thy healthful sleep hath left thee long,
Or else some fever rages in thy blood.

Evad. Neither, Amintor: Think you I am mad, Because I speak the truth?

Amin. Will you not lie with me to-night? Evad. To-night! you talk as if I would hereafter. Amin. Hereafter! yes, I do.

Evad. You are deceived.

Put off amazement, and with patience mark
What I shall utter; for the oracle
Knows nothing truer: 'tis not for a night,
Or two, that I forbear thy bed, but for over.
Amin. I dream! Awake, Amintor!
Evad. You hear right.

I sooner will find out the beds of snakes,
And with my youthful blood warm their cold flesh,
Letting them curl themselves about my limbs,

Than sleep one night with thee. This is not feigned,

Nor sounds it like the coyness of a bride.

Amin. Is flesh so earthly to endure all this? Are these the joys of marriage? Hymen, keep This story (that will make succeeding youth Neglect thy ceremonies) from all ears; Let it not rise up, for thy shame and mine, To after-ages: We will scorn thy laws, If thou no better bless them. Touch the heart Of her, that thou hast sent me, or the world Shall know: There's not an altar, that will smoke In praise of thee; we will adopt us sons; Then virtue shall inherit, and not blood. I do rage in vain;

She can but jest. O, pardon me, my love!
So dear the thoughts are that I hold of thee,
That I must break forth. Satisfy my fear;
It is a pain, beyond the hand of death,
To be in doubt: Confirm it with an oath,
If this be true.

ed still!

Was ever such a marriage night as this!
Ye powers above, if you did ever mean
Man should be used thus, you have thought a way
How he may bear himself, and save his honour.
Instruct me in it; for to my dull eyes

There is no mean, no moderate course to run:
I must live scorned, or be a murderer.

Is there a third? Why is this night so calm? Why does not heaven speak in thunder to us, And drown her voice?

Amin. I sleep, and am too temperate! Come to bed!

Evad. This rage will do no good.

Amin. Evadne, hear me: Thou hast ta'en an oath, But such a rash one, that, to keep it, were Worse than to swear it: Call it back to thee; Such vows as those never ascend to heaven; A tear or two will wash it quite away. Have mercy on my youth, my hopeful youth, If thou be pitiful; for, without boast, This land was proud of me. What lady was there, That men called fair and virtuous in this isle, That would have shunned my love? It is in thee To make me hold this worth. Oh! we vain men, That trust out all our reputation, To rest upon the weak and yielding hand Of feeble woman! But thou art not stone; Thy flesh is soft, and in thine eyes doth dwell The spirit of love; thy heart cannot be hard. Come, lead me, from the bottom of despair, To all the joys thou hast; I know, thou wilt; And make me careful, lest the sudden change O'ercome my spirits.

Evad. When I call back this oath, The pains of hell environ me!

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Evad. Do you invent the form:
Let there be in it all the binding words
Devils and conjurers can put together,
And I will take it. I have sworn before,
And here, by all things holy, do again,
Never to be acquainted with thy bed.
Is your doubt over now?

But it was the folly of thy youth

To think this beauty, to what land soever
It shall be called, shall stoop to any second.
I do enjoy the best, and in that height

Amin. I know too much. 'Would I had doubt- Have sworn to stand or die: You guess the man.
Amin. No; let me know the man, that wrongs

Every ill-sounding word, or threatening look, Thou shewest to me, will be revenged at full. Amin. It will not, sure, Evadne?

Evad. Do not you hazard that.
Amin. Have you your champions?

Evad. Alas, Amintor, thinkest thou I forbear
To sleep with thee, because I have put on
A maiden's strictness? Look upon these cheeks,
And thou shalt find the hot and rising blood
Unapt for such a vow. No; in this heart
There dwells as much desire as ever yet
Was known to woman.

me so,

That I may cut his body into motes, And scatter it before the northern wind. Evad. You dare not strike him.

Amin. Do not wrong me so.

Yes, if his body were a poisonous plant, That it were death to touch, I have a soul Will throw me on him.

Evad. Why, it is the king.

Amin. The king!

Evad. What will you do now?

Amin. It is not the king!

Evad. What did he make this match for, dulf

Amin. Oh, thou hast named a word, that wipes

All thoughts revengeful! In that sacred name,
'The king,' there lies a terror. What frail man
Dares lift his hand against it? Let the gods
Speak to him, when they please; till when, let us
Suffer, and wait.

Evad. Why should you fill yourself so full of

And haste so to my bed? I am no virgin.
Amin. What devil put it in thy fancy, then,
To marry me?

Evad. Alas, I must have one

To father children, and to bear the name
Of husband to me, that my sin may be
More honourable.

Amin. What a strange thing am I !

Evad. A miserable one; one, that myself Am sorry for.

Amin. Why, shew it then in this:
If thou hast pity, though thy love be none,
Kill me; and all true lovers, that shall live
In after ages, crossed in their desires,
Shall bless thy memory, and call thee good;
Because such mercy in thy heart was found,
To rid a lingering wretch.

Evad. I must have one


So thick upon me, that I lose all sense
Of what they are. Methinks, I am not wronged;
Nor is it aught, if from the censuring world
I can but hide it. Reputation!

Thou art a word, no more.-But thou hast shewn
An impudence so high, that to the world
I fear thou wilt betray or shame thyself.

At least, be more than I was; and be sure
You credit any thing the light gives light to,
Before a man. Rather believe the sea
Weeps for the ruined merchant, when he roars;

To fill thy room again, if thou wert dead;
Else, by this night, I would: I pity thee.

Amin. These strange and sudden injuries have Rather, the wind courts but the pregnant sails,
When the strong cordage cracks; rather, the sun
Comes but to kiss the fruit in wealthy autumn,
When all falls blasted. If you needs must love,
(Forced by ill fate) take to your maiden bosoms
Two dead-cold aspicks, and of them make lovers:
They cannot flatter, nor forswear; one kiss
Makes a long peace for all. But man,
Oh, that beast man! Come, let's be sad, my girls!

Know, I conceive he wrongs me; then mine honour
Will thrust me into action, though my flesh
Could bear with patience. And it is some ease
To me in these extremes, that I knew this,
Before I touched thee; else, had all the sins
Of mankind stood betwixt me and the king,
I had gone through them to his heart and thine.
I have lost one, desire: 'Tis not his crown
Shall buy me to thy bed now, I resolve,
He has dishonoured thee. Give me thy hand;
Be careful of thy credit, and sin close;
'Tis all I wish. Upon thy chamber floor
Til rest to-night, that morning visitors
May think we did as married people use.
And, prithee, smile upon me when they come,
And seem to toy, as if thou hadst been pleased
With what we did.

Evad. Fear not; I will do this.

Amin. Come, let us practise; and, as wantonly
As ever loving bride and bridegroom met,
Let's laugh and enter here.

Evad. I am content.

Amin. Down all the swellings of my troubled heart!

Thou hast an easy temper, fit for stamp.
Olym. Never.

When we walk thus entwined, let all eyes see,
If ever lovers better did agree. [Exeunt.
Asp. Away, you are not sad; force it no further.
Good gods, how well you look! Such a full colour
Young bashful brides put on. Sure, you are new

Asp. Nor you, Antiphila ?

Ant. Nor I.

Amin. Nor let the king

Evad. To cover shame, I took thee; never fear That down-cast of thine eye, Olympias, That I would blaze myself. Shews a fine sorrow. Mark, Antiphila; Just such another was the nymph Enone, When Paris brought home Helen. Now, a tear; And then thou art a piece expressing fully The Carthage queen, when, from a cold sea-rock, Full with her sorrow, she tied fast her eyes To the fair Trojan ships; and, having lost them, Just as thine eyes do, down stole a tear. Antiphila, What would this wench do, if she were Aspatia? Here she would stand, till some more pitying god Turned her to marble! It is enough, my wench! Shew me the piece of needlework you wrought. Ant. Of Ariadne, madam?

Ant. Yes, madam, to your grief.

Asp. Alas, poor wenches!

Go learn to love first; learn to lose yourselves;
Learn to be flattered, and believe, and bless
The double tongue, that did it. Make a faith
Out of the miracles of ancient lovers,
Such as spake truth, and died in it; and, like me,
Believe all faithful, and be miserable.
Did you ne'er love yet, wenches? Speak, Olympias:

Asp. Then, my good girls, be more than women,


Asp. Yes, that piece.

This should be Theseus; he has a cozening face:
You meant him for a man?

Ant. He was so, madam.

Asp. Why, then, 'tis well enough. Never look


You have a full wind, and a false heart, Theseus!
Does not the story say, his keel was split,
Or his masts spent, or some kind rock or other
Met with his vessel?

Ant. Not as I remember.

Asp. It should have been so. Could the gods know this,

And not, of all their number, raise a storm?
But they are all as ill! This false smile was
Well expressed; just such another caught me!
You shall not go on so, Antiphila :
In this place work a quicksand,
And over it a shallow smiling water,
And his ship ploughing it; and then a Fear:
Do that Fear to the life, wench.

Ant. It will wrong the story.

Asp. It will make the story, wronged by wanton

Live long, and be believed. But where's the lady?
Ant. There, madam.

Asp. Fie! you have missed it here, Antiphila;
You are much mistaken, wench:
These colours are not dull and pale enough
To shew a soul so full of misery

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