John Fletcher - The Maids Tragedy

Cleon . The rest are making ready Sir.

Strat . So let them, there's time enough.

Diph . You are the brother to the King, my Lord, we'll take your word.

Lys . Strato , thou hast some skill in Poetry, What thinkst thou of a Mask? will it be well?

Strat . As well as Mask can be.

Lys . As Mask can be?

Cle . See, good my Lord, who is return'd!

Lys . Noble Melantius !

Diph . Hail worthy brother!
He that rejoyces not at your return
In safety, is mine enemy for ever.

Mel . I thank thee Diphilus : but thou art faulty;
I sent for thee to exercise thine armes
With me at Patria : thou cam'st not Diphilus : 'Twas
ill.

Diph . My noble brother, my excuse
Is my King's strict command, which you my Lord
Can witness with me.

Lys . 'Tis true Melantius ,
He might not come till the solemnity
Of this great match were past.

Diph . Have you heard of it?

Mel . Yes, I have given cause to those that
Envy my deeds abroad, to call me gamesome;
I have no other business here at Rhodes .

Lys . We have a Mask to night,
And you must tread a Soldiers measure.

Mel . These soft and silken wars are not for me;
The Musick must be shrill, and all confus'd,
That stirs my blood, and then I dance with armes:
But is Amintor Wed?

Diph . This day.

Mel . All joyes upon him, for he is my friend:
Wonder not that I call a man so young my friend,
His worth is great; valiant he is, and temperate,
And one that never thinks his life his own,
If his friend need it: when he was a boy,
As oft as I return'd (as without boast)
I brought home conquest, he would gaze upon me,
And view me round, to find in what one limb
The vertue lay to do those things he heard:
Then would he wish to see my Sword, and feel
The quickness of the edge, and in his hand
Weigh it; he oft would make me smile at this;
His youth did promise much, and his ripe years
Will see it all perform'd.

Melan . Hail Maid and Wife!
Thou fair Aspatia , may the holy knot
That thou hast tyed to day, last till the hand
Of age undo't; may'st thou bring a race
Unto Amintor that may fill the world
Successively with Souldiers.

Asp . My hard fortunes
Deserve not scorn; for I was never proud
When they were good.

Mel . How's this?

Lys . You are mistaken, for she is not married.

Mel . You said Amintor was.

Diph . 'Tis true; but

Mel . Pardon me, I did receive
Letters at Patria , from my Amintor ,
That he should marry her.

Diph . And so it stood,
In all opinion long; but your arrival
Made me imagine you had heard the change.

Mel . Who hath he taken then?

Lys . A Lady Sir,
That bears the light above her, and strikes dead
With flashes of her eye; the fair Evadne your
vertuous Sister.

Mel . Peace of heart betwixt them: but this is strange.

Lys . The King my brother did it
To honour you; and these solemnities
Are at his charge.

Mel . 'Tis Royal, like himself;
But I am sad, my speech bears so unfortunate a sound
To beautiful Aspatia ; there is rage
Hid in her fathers breast; Calianax
Bent long against me, and he should not think,
If I could call it back, that I would take
So base revenges, as to scorn the state
Of his neglected daughter: holds he still his greatness
with the King?

Lys . Yes; but this Lady
Walks discontented, with her watry eyes
Bent on the earth: the unfrequented woods
Are her delight; and when she sees a bank
Stuck full of flowers, she with a sigh will tell
Her servants what a pretty place it were
To bury lovers in, and make her maids
Pluck'em, and strow her over like a Corse.
She carries with her an infectious grief
That strikes all her beholders, she will sing
The mournful'st things that ever ear hath heard,
And sigh, and sing again, and when the rest
Of our young Ladies in their wanton blood,
Tell mirthful tales in course that fill the room
With laughter, she will with so sad a look
Bring forth a story of the silent death
Of some forsaken Virgin, which her grief
Will put in such a phrase, that ere she end,
She'l send them weeping one by one away.

Mel . She has a brother under my command
Like her, a face as womanish as hers,
But with a spirit that hath much out-grown
The number of his years.

Cle . My Lord the Bridegroom!

Mel . I might run fiercely, not more hastily
Upon my foe: I love thee well Amintor ,
My mouth is much too narrow for my heart;
I joy to look upon those eyes of thine;
Thou art my friend, but my disorder'd speech cuts off
my love.