Part 57 (1/2)

_Enter_ PLANGUS, _as from sleep_.

PLAN. Lord! how this spirit of revenge still haunts me, And tempts me with such promis'd opportunity, And magnifies my injuries! Sometimes It calls me coward, and tells me conscience, In princes who are injur'd like myself, Is but an excuse they find for what is in truth Poorness of spirit or something baser.

It tells me 'tis a sin to be good, when all The world is bad.

It makes me look upon myself, whilst wearing This garb of virtue, like some old antiquary In clothes that are out of fas.h.i.+on in Iberia.

But I will not yield to it: I know it is a greater glory To a man's self (and he that courts opinion Is of a vulgar spirit) to disobey than satisfy An appet.i.te which I know is sinful.

Good Heaven, guard me, how am I tempted

_Enter_ ANDROMANA.

To put on my former temper! but thus I fling it from me.

[_Throws away his sword._

SCENE III.

AND. Why, how now, prince? if you part with your darling So easily, there is small hopes but you Have thrown all love behind you.

PLAN. Heaven, how she's alter'd!

I, that once swore Jove from the well-tun'd sphere Ne'er heard such harmony as I did when She spake: methinks I can now, in comparison Of her voice, count screech-owls' music, Or the croaking toad.

[_Aside._

AND. Who is't you speak of, sir?

PLAN. Tempt me not, madam, with another word; For, by Heaven, you know I'm apt, being incens'd---- Wake not those wrongs, that bellow louder in My soul than wretches in the brazen bull, or Jove Who speaks in thunder; those wrongs my goodness Had half laid aside--or if you do, I have a soul dares what you dare tempt me to.

AND. Sir, I must speak, Though Jove forbad me with a flash of lightning.

You think perhaps, sir, I have forgot my Plangus?

But, sir, I have infinitely injur'd you, And could not satisfy my conscience--if I Should say my love too, I should not lie-- Till I had ask'd your pardon.

PLAN. Madam, the fault's forgiven and forgotten, Without you move me to remember't with A worse apology. Live and enjoy your sins And the angry G.o.ds. Nay, the severest plague I wish you is, that you may die Without one cross (for afflictions commonly teach Virtues to them that know them not while prosperous) Secure, without one thought or sense of a repentance.

AND. Methinks you have a steely temper on, to that Which the other day you wore, when you were More soft than down of bees. But, sir, if you But knew the reason why I've done the action Which you perhaps call treason to our loves, You would forbear such language.

PLAN. Reason!

No doubt the man that robs a church, or profanes altars, Hath reason for what he doth: to satisfy your l.u.s.t, You have that reason, madam.

AND. That I have loved you once, I call Heaven, my own heart, and you to witness; Now, by that love, by all those vows have pa.s.s'd Betwixt us, hear me.

PLAN. O Heaven! is that a conjuration!

Things you have broke, with as much ease as politicians Do maxims of religion! But I will hear, To know you and to hate you more. Speak on.

AND. You know whilst Leon liv'd, whose due they were, I out of love resign'd my love and honour Unto your----

PLAN. l.u.s.t, madam.

AND. I know not, sir: Your eloquence gave it that t.i.tle then.

How many dangers walk'd I fearless through To satisfy your pleasures, your very will-- Nay more, your word--nay, if I thought by sympathy A thought of yours, that I imagin'd you Might blush to speak, I made it straight my own, And work'd and studied as much to put it into act, As doth a gamester upon loss to compa.s.s money.

At last we were betray'd, sir, to your father's spies, who Denied us afterwards those opportunities we stole Before, befriended by my husband's ignorance.

Now was I brought to that which is the worst of ills, A seeing, but not enjoying of that which I held dearest.