Part 7 (1/2)

_Si._ I would undertake, Sir, A Voyage round about the World.

_Mem._ Short, _Siphax_.

A Merchant does it to spice pots of Ale.

_Si._ I wou'd swim in Armour.

_Mem._ Short still; a poor Jade Loaden will take a stream and stem it strongly To leap a Mare.

_Si._ The plague, I durst.

_Mem._ Still shorter, I'll cure it with an Onion.

_Si._ Surfeits.

_Mem._ Short still: They are often Physicks for our healths, and help us.

_Si._ I wou'd stand a breach.

_Mem._ Thine honour bids thee, Souldier: 'Tis shame to find a second cause.

_Si._ I durst, Sir, Fight with the fellest Monster.

_Mem._ That's the poorest, Man was ordain'd their Master; durst ye dye, Sir?

_Si._ How? dye my Lord!

_Mem._ Dye _Siphax_; take thy Sword, And come by that door to her; there's a price To buy a l.u.s.ty love at.

_Si._ I am content, Sir, To prove no Purchaser.

_Mem._ Away thou World-worm, Thou win a matchless Beauty?

_Si._ 'Tis to lose't Sir, For being dead, where's the reward I reach at?

The love I labour for?

_Mem._ There it begins Fool, Thou art meerly cozen'd; for the loves we now know Are but the heats of half an hour; and hated Desires stir'd up by nature to encrease her; Licking of one another to a l.u.s.t; Course and base appet.i.tes, earths meer inheritours And Heirs of Idleness and blood; Pure Love, That, that the soul affects, and cannot purchase While she is loaden with our flesh, that Love, Sir, Which is the price of honour, dwells not here, Your Ladies eyes are lampless to that Vertue, That beauty smiles not on a cheek washt over, Nor scents the sweet of Ambers; below, _Siphax_ Below us, in the other World _Elyzium_, Where's no more dying, no despairing, mourning, Where all desires are full, desarts down loaden, There _Siphax_, there, where loves are ever living.

_Si._ Why do we love in this World then?

_Mem._ To preserve it, The maker lost his work else; but mark _Siphax_, What issues that love bears.

_Si._ Why Children, Sir.

I never heard him talk thus; thus divinely And sensible before.

_Mem._ It does so, _Siphax_, Things like our selves, as sensual, vain, unvented Bubbles, and breaths of air, got with an itching As blisters are, and bred, as much corruption Flows from their lives, sorrow conceives and shapes 'em, And oftentimes the death of those we love most.

The breeders bring them to the World to curse 'em, Crying they creep amongst us like young Cats.

Cares and continual Crosses keeping with 'em, They make Time old to tend them, and experience An a.s.s, they alter so; they grow and goodly, Ere we can turn our thoughts, like drops of water They fall into the main, are known no more; This is the love of this World; I must tell thee For thou art understanding.

_Si._ What you please, Sir.