Volume Ii Part 97 (1/2)

SCENE I.

_Enter_ Fillamour _and_ Galliard, _as in_ Silvianetta's _Apartment_.

_Fil_. How splendidly these common Women live!

How rich is all we meet with in this Palace; And rather seems the Apartment of some Prince, Than a Receptacle for l.u.s.t and Shame.

_Gal_. You see, _Harry_, all the keeping Fools are not in our Dominions; but this grave, this wise People, are Mistress-ridden too.

_Fil_. I fear we have mistook the House, and the Youth that brought us in may have deceived us, on some other design; however whilst I've this--I cannot fear--[_Draws_.

_Gal_. A good caution, and I'll stand upon my guard with this; but see-- here's one will put us out of doubt.

[_Pulls a Pistol out of his pocket_.

_Fil_. Hah! the fair Inchantress.

[_Enter_ Mar. _richly and loosely drest_.

_Mar_. What, on your guard, my lovely Cavalier? Lies there a danger In this Face and Eyes, that needs that rough resistance?

--Hide, hide that mark of Anger from my sight, And if thou wou'dst be absolute Conquerer here, Put on soft Looks, with Eyes all languis.h.i.+ng, Words tender, gentle Sighs, and kind Desires.

_Gal_. Death, with what unconcern he hears all this!

Art thou possest?--Pox, why dost not answer her?

_Mar_. I hope he will not yield--[_Aside_.

--He stands unmov'd-- Surely I was mistaken in this Face, And I believe in Charms that have no power.

_Gal_. 'Sdeath, thou deservest not such a n.o.ble Creature,-- I'll have 'em both my self.--[_Aside_.

_Fil_.--Yes, thou hast wondrous power, And I have felt it long. [_Pausingly_.

_Mar_. How!

_Fil_.--I've often seen that Face--but 'twas in Dreams: And sleeping lov'd extremely!

And waking;--sigh'd to find it but a Dream: The lovely Phantom vanish'd with my Slumbers, But left a strong Idea on my heart Of what I find in perfect Beauty here, --But with this difference, she was virtuous too.

_Mar_. What silly she was that?

_Fil_. She whom I dream'd I lov'd.

_Mar_. You only dreamt that she was virtuous too; Virtue it self's a Dream of so slight force, The very fluttering of Love's Wings destroys it; Ambition, or the meaner hope of Interest, wakes it to nothing; In Men a feeble Beauty shakes the dull slumber off.--

_Gal_. Egad, she argues like an Angel, _Harry_.

_Fil_.--What haste thou'st made to d.a.m.n thy self so young!

Hast thou been long thus wicked? hast thou sinn'd past Repentance?

Heaven may do much to save so fair a Criminal; Turn yet, and be forgiven.

_Gal_. What a Pox dost thou mean by all this Canting?

_Mar_. A very pretty Sermon, and from a Priest so gay, It cannot chuse but edify.

Do Holy men of your Religion, Signior, wear all this Habit?