Volume I Part 110 (1/2)

_L. Lam._ Heaven! How he looks and speaks-- [To _Desbro_, aside.

_L. Des._ Oh, these Heroicks, Madam, have the most charming Tongues.

_L. Lam._ Pray come to me-- and ask for any of my Officers, and you shall have admittance--

_Lov._ Who shall I ask for, Madam? for I'm yet ignorant to whom I owe for this great Bounty.

_L. Lam._ Not know me! Thou art indeed a Stranger.

I thought I'd been so elevated above the common Crowd, it had been visible to all Eyes who I was.

_Lov._ Pardon my Ignorance.

My Soul conceives ye all that Heaven can make ye, Of Great, of Fair and Excellent; But cannot guess a Name to call you by But such as would displease ye-- My Heart begins to fail, and by her Vanity I fear she's one of the new Race of Quality: --But be she Devil, I must love that Form. [Aside.

_L. Lam._ Hard Fate of Greatness, we so highly elevated Are more expos'd to Censure than the little ones, By being forc'd to speak our Pa.s.sions first.

--Is my Coach ready?

_Page._ It waits your Honour.

_L. Lam._ I give you leave to visit me-- ask for the General's Lady, if my t.i.tle be not by that time alter'd.

_Lov._ Pistols and Daggers to my Heart-- 'tis so.

_L. Lam._ Adieu, Sir.

[Ex. all but _Lov._ who stands musing.

Enter _Freeman_.

_Free._ How now, what's the matter with thee?

_Lov._ Prithee wake me, _Freeman_.

_Free._ Wake thee!

_Lov._ I dream; by Heaven I dream; Nay, yet the lovely Phantom's in my View.

Oh! wake me, or I sleep to perfect Madness.

_Free._ What ail'st thou? what did'st dream of?

_Lov._ A strange fantastick Charmer, A thing just like a Woman Friend; It walkt and lookt with wondrous Majesty, Had Eyes that kill'd, and Graces deck'd her Face; But when she talk'd, mad as the Winds she grew, Chimera in the form of Angel, Woman!

_Free._ Who the Devil meanest thou?

_Lov._ By Heav'n I know not, but, as she vanish'd hence, she bad me come to the General's.

_Free._ Why, this is she I told thee ey'd thee so at the Conventicle; 'tis _Lambert_, the renown'd, the famous Lady _Lambert_-- Mad call'st thou her? 'tis her ill acted Greatness, thou mistak'st; thou art not us'd to the Pageantry of these Women yet: they all run thus mad; 'tis Greatness in 'em, _Loveless._

_Lov._ And is thine thus, thy Lady _Desbro_?