Volume Ii Part 86 (1/2)

ACT II.

SCENE I. _The Gardens of the Villa Medici_.

_Enter_ Morosini _and_ Octavio.

_Oct_. By Heaven, I will not eat, nor sleep, nor pray for any thing but swift and sure Revenge, till I have found _Marcella_, that false deceiving Beauty, or her Lover, my hated Rival _Fillamour_; who, wanton in the Arms of the fair Fugitive, laughs at my shameful easiness, and cries, these Joys were never meant for tame _Octavio_.

_Enter_ c.r.a.pine.

_Mar_. How now, _c.r.a.pine_! What, no News, no News of my Nieces yet, _Marcella_ and _Cornelia_?

_c.r.a.p_. None, Sir.

_Oct_. That's wondrous strange, _Rome's_ a place of that general Intelligence, methinks thou might'st have News of such trivial things as Women, amongst the Cardinals Pages: I'll undertake to learn the Religion _de stato_, and present juncture of all affairs in _Italy_, of a common Curtezan.

_Mar_. Sirrah, Sirrah, let it be your care to examine all the Nunneries, for my own part not a Petticoat shall escape me.

_Oct_. My task shall be for _Fillamour_. [_Aside_.

_Mor_. I'll only make a visit to your Sister _Donna Laura Lucretia_, and deliver her a Letter from my Nephew _Julio_, and return to you presently.-- [_Going out, is staid by_ Octavio.

_Oct_. Stay, Sir, defer your visit to my Sister _Laura_, she is not yet to know of my being in Town; 'tis therefore I have taken a Lodging in an obscure street, and am resolv'd never to be my self again till I've redeem'd my Honour. Come, Sir, let's walk--

_Enter to them, as they are going out_, Marcella _and_ Cornelia, _drest like Curtezans_, Philippa, _and Attendance_.

_Mor_. Stay, stay, what Women are these?

_Oct_. Wh.o.r.es, Sir, and so 'tis ten to one are all the kind; only these differ from the rest in this, they generously own their trade of Sin, which others deal by stealth in; they are Curtezans.

[_Exeunt_.

_Mar_. The Evening's soft and calm, as happy Lovers Thoughts; And here are Groves where the kind meeting Trees Will hide us from the amorous gazing Croud.

_Cor_. What should we do there, sigh till our wandering Breath Has rais'd a gentle Gale amongst the Boughs; To whose dull melancholy Musick we, Laid on a Bed of Moss, and new-fallen Leaves, Will read the dismal tale of Echo's Love!

--No, I can make better use of famous _Ovid_.

[_s.n.a.t.c.hes a little Book from her_.

And prithee what a pox have we to do with Trees, Flowers, Fountains, or naked Statues?

_Mar_. But, prithee, mad _Cornelia_, let's be grave and wise, at least enough to think a little.

_Cor_. On what? your _English_ Cavalier _Fillamour_, of whom you tell so many dull stories of his making Love! Oh, how I hate a civil whining c.o.xcomb!

_Mar_. And so do I, I'll therefore think of him no more.

_Cor_. Good Lord! what a d.a.m.nable wicked thing is a Virgin grown up to Woman.

_Mar_. What, art thou such a Fool to think I love this _Fillamour?_

_Cor_. It may be not at _Rome_, but at _Viterbo_, where Men are scarce, you did; and did you follow him to _Rome_, to tell him you cou'd love no more?