Part 7 (2/2)

_Ant_. Of _Ariadne_, Madam?

_Asp_. Yes that piece.

This should be _Theseus_, h'as a cousening face, You meant him for a man.

_Ant_. He was so Madam.

_Asp_. Why then 'tis well enough, never look back, You have a full wind, and a false heart _Theseus_; Does not the story say, his Keel was split, Or his Masts spent, or some kind rock or other Met with his Vessel?

_Ant_. Not as I remember.

_Asp_. It should ha' been so; could the G.o.ds know this, And not of all their number raise a storm?

But they are all as ill. This false smile was well exprest; Just such another caught me; you shall not go so _Antiphila_, In this place work a quick-sand, And over it a shallow smiling Water.

And his s.h.i.+p ploughing it, and then a fear.

Do that fear to the life Wench.

_Ant_. 'Twill wrong the story.

_Asp_. 'Twill make the story wrong'd by wanton Poets Live long and be believ'd; but where's the Lady?

_Ant_. There Madam.

_Asp_. Fie, you have mist it here _Antiphila_, You are much mistaken Wench; These colours are not dull and pale enough, To shew a soul so full of misery As this sad Ladies was; do it by me, Do it again by me the lost _Aspatia_, And you shall find all true but the wild Island; I stand upon the Sea breach now, and think Mine arms thus, and mine hair blown with the wind, Wild as that desart, and let all about me Tell that I am forsaken, do my face

(If thou hadst ever feeling of a sorrow) Thus, thus, _Antiphila_ strive to make me look Like sorrows monument; and the trees about me, Let them be dry and leaveless; let the Rocks Groan with continual surges, and behind me Make all a desolation; look, look Wenches, A miserable life of this poor Picture.

_Olym_. Dear Madam!

_Asp_. I have done, sit down, and let us Upon that point fix all our eyes, that point there; Make a dull silence till you feel a sudden sadness Give us new souls.

[_Enter Calianax_.

_Cal_. The King may do this, and he may not do it; My child is wrong'd, disgrac'd: well, how now Huswives?

What at your ease? is this a time to sit still? up you young Lazie Wh.o.r.es, up or I'le sweng you.

_Olym_. Nay, good my Lord.

_Cal_. You'l lie down shortly, get you in and work; What are you grown so resty? you want ears, We shall have some of the Court boys do that Office.

_Ant_. My Lord we do no more than we are charg'd: It is the Ladies pleasure we be thus in grief; She is forsaken.

_Cal_. There's a Rogue too, A young dissembling slave; well, get you in, I'le have a bout with that boy; 'tis high time Now to be valiant; I confess my youth Was never p.r.o.ne that way: what, made an a.s.s?

A Court stale? well I will be valiant, And beat some dozen of these Whelps; I will; and there's Another of 'em, a trim cheating souldier, I'le maul that Rascal, h'as out-brav'd me twice; But now I thank the G.o.ds I am valiant; Go, get you in, I'le take a course with all.

[_Exeunt Omnes_.

_Actus Tertius_.

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