A Collection of Old English Plays, Vol. II - Various
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_Sir Gef_. Come, you shall love me.
_Cla_. I cannot choose: goe, get you home, antiquity; thinke [of]
heaven, say thy prayers often for thy old sinns and let [thy] maid diett
thee with warme broathes least some cold appoplexis sease thee before
thou art prepard.
_Sir Gef_. Madam! madam! shees in her old fitt!
_Cla_. Call her, I care not if she heare me, I councell better than your
physician: every night drinke a good cup of muscadine,[113]--you will
not have moysture left to ingender spitle to cleanse thy mouth ith
morning. Goe, set thy feath[er] right, good mooncalfe[114]: you have
your answeare.
_Sir Gef_, Contemne an old man and his feather, _Bunch_,
Ile begon, _B[unch]_.
[_Exeunt Sir Gef. and Bunch_.
_Cla_. Will you goe?--Sister, I have shakd mine off.
What stayes this nifle[115] for?
_Crac_. Nay, call me what you will, she is my prise,
And I will keepe her.--Captaine, to her Captaine.
_Suc_. You must not part thus, Mrs; here are men
Has scapd--
_Cla_. The Gallowes.
_Suc_. Ile rigg you up; although you were a Carack
I shall find tackling for you.
_Bel_. You are uncivill; pray, desist.
_Crac_. Not kisse a gentleman? a pretty ring this same:
I have a mind to it and I must have it.
_Bel_. You will not robb me of it?
_Suc_. I will intreate this glove which shall adorne
In fight my burgonett.
_Cla_. Some honest hostesse
Ere this has made a chamber pot of it.
_Crac_. It is some rivalls ring and I will have it
To weare in spight of him.
_Bel_. Helpe, Sister, helpe.
_Enter Bonvill and Grimes_.
_Bon_. She shall not neede. It is my ring the villaine desires soe
importunatly: what untuterd slave art thou that darst inforce aught
from this gentlewoman.
_Crac_. Whats that to you? you might have come before me.
_Bel_. What would you have don?
_Crac_. Entreated you againe to have come behind me.
_Bel_. O, my _Bonvill_, so happy a benefit no hand but thine could have
administred. Thou save[d]st the Jewell I esteeme next to my honour,--the
Ring thou gavest me.
_Crac_. Nay, if you have more right to her than I, takt I pray you:--
would I were off with a faire broken pate.
_Suc_. Is your life hatefull to you?
_Bon_. Why doe you inquire, good puff past?
_Suc_. My blade
Is of the _Bilbo_[116] mettle; at its splendor
My foes does vanish.
_Bon_. Ile try that presently;--feare nothing, ladyes.
_Suc_. Death! now I thinke out, I did breake my blade this morning on
foure that did waylay me: Ile goe fetch another, and then I am for you.
_Crac_. Take myne, Captaine.
_Suc_. Hold your peace, be wise: that fellow
In the blew garment has a countenance
Presages losse of limme if we encounter.--
Ile meet you presently.
_Bon_. It shall not serve your turne yet: Ile not blunt
My sword upon such stock fish. _Grimes_, bestow
Thy timber on them.
_Grimes_. Come, sir. [_beats them_.
_Suc_. Take me without a weapon? this cudgell sure
Is Crabb tree, it tasts so sourely.
[_Exeunt_.
_Bel_. Oh, my Deare _Bonvill_.
_Bon_. Mistrisse, I sent an advocate to plead
My guiltless cause: you, too[117] severe a Judge
Forbad him audience; I am therefore come
Once more to prove my innocence.
_Cla_. Come, without Ceremony
Forgive you her and she shall pardon you
Most willingly.
_Bon_. Can you have soe much mercy,
You soe much goodnes?
_Bel_. Noe soule long tir'd with famine, whom kind death
Has new enfranchisd from the loathed flesh,
With happier expedition enters heaven
Then mine thy bosome, _Bonvill_. Let our loves,
Like plants that by their cutting downe shoot up,
Straiter and taller flourish: we are now
Inseperable.
_Cla_. Your good fates, though I
Repine not at them, makes my unhappy fortunes
Appeare farr more disastrous.
_Bon_. Whats thy misfortune?
_Bel_. Alas, my mother has crost her in her affection as she did us.
_Bon_. She shall
Crosse ours no more. _Belisia_, if youle
Be ruld by me you shall away with me;
None but you sister shall be privy to it,
And sheele keepe Councell.
_Bel_. Ile goe any whither
To enjoy thy presence; theres no heaven without it.
_Bon_. You shalbe advertisd where she remaines,
And certifie us how your mother takes it:
When we are married we shall live to thanke you.
_Cla_. Will you leave me, then?
_Bel_. Prethee, poore heart, lament not; we shall meet,
And all these stormes blowe over.
_Cla_. Your tempests past; mine now begins to rise
But Ile allay its violence with my eyes.
_Exeunt omnes_.
_Actus Quartus_.
SCENE 1.
_Enter Magdalen, Timothy and Alexander_.
_Ma_. Run, good sweet _Timothy_; search the barnes, the stab[les], while
I looke in the Chambers. Should she be lost or come to any harme my lady
will hang us all. Why dost not fly?
_Tim_. Hey day, if her feet walke as fast as thy tongue, sh[e's] far
enough ere this time. What a stir you make! Were you, as shee is, with
your sweet heart, you would [be] pursud, would you? You would be hangd
as soone. Al[as], good gentlewoman, heaven speed her!
_Ma_. You will not goe then?
_Tim_. No, indeed, will I not.
Her mother may be angry if she please.
The time has bin she would as willingly
Bin at the sport her selfe as now her daughter.
The ge[ntleman] shees gon with is a man,
And see theres no harme d[one], I warrant you.
_Lov_. Ha, ha, gramercy, _Timothy_, thou hittst it right. _Maudlin_, goe
to; should _Tim_ here offer as much to you, ha, I beleave you would not
lock your selfe up in my ladyes closett; goe to, and goe to.
[_Exeunt_.
_Ma_. Udsme, my lady!
_Enter Lady_.
_Lady_. Lost, past redemption! I pursue a fier
Which like the giddy Meteors that seduce
With their false light benighted travellers
Allures me to distruction. To curse fate
Were to allow I feard it, and admit
Participation in me of that spiritt
I most detest, a womans.
_Lov_. Please your good Ladyship.
_Lady_. Yes, that you depart.-- [_Exit Alexander_.
What can he see in her more worthy love
Then is in me? shees but a picture drawne
By my dimensions, and men sooner fancy
The Substance then the Shaddow. Oh, but shee
Is the true image not of what I am
But what I was, when like the spring I wore
My virgin roses on my cheeks.
_Lov_. Madam, you seeme--
_Lady_. Angry at your impertinency; learne manners, leave me.
_Lov_. She has coniurd downe my spirit: these are immodest devills that
make modest ladyes become strickers[118]. Ile out oth storme, take
shelter in the cellar. Goe to and goe to; tis better venter quarriling
mongst those hogesheads.
[_Exit Alexander_.
_Enter Maudlin [and Timothy.]_
_Ma_. Madam, your daughter--
_Lady_. Where is she? Who? _Clariana_?
_Ma_. The faire _Belisea_.
_Enter Clariana_.
_Cla_. Did you call me, madam.
_Lady_. Noe: were you soe neere? begon againe,--
Yet stay.--_Maudlin_, avoid the Roome, and if you see
Mr. _Thurston_, entreat him hither. _Timothy_,
Find out my son and charge him to delay
The execution of my late comaund
Till I next speake with him. [_Exeunt Mag. and Tim_.
_Clariana_, you did what I comanded?
_Cla_. Yes, on my Soule.
_Lady_. But thou art ignorant
Why with such violence I inioyn[e]d thee
To leave thy _Thurstons_ love?
_Cla_. Were I not sure
Theres nought in him that can be titled ill,
I should have thought your circumspective Judgment
Had spide some error in him, and in care
Of me your child forbidden me his love.
But whatsoer's the cause, though your comaund
Was like perdition welcome, my obedience
Fullfild it truly, without questioning
The reason why or the unlimited power
Of you my mother.
_Lady_. You did very well.
Now thou shalt know the reason, which before
I doe relate, afford me leave to weepe,
To save thy teares, which at the hearing of it
Will, like the dew on lillies, pearle thy cheekes.
I have beheld thee with a Rivalls eye
In _Thurstons_ love; my penetrable heart,
Like a moist cloud, has opened and receivd
Loves fine bolt into it. Now thou knowst it,
Methinks I see confusion in thy lookes
Prepard to blast me.
_Cla_. Heaven forbid it I
Should ere conceive the meanest thought of ill
Of you, my parent. Since you love him, here
To heaven and you I give my interest up
And would I could as well commaund his heart
As he might mine, beleive me you should then
Affect you with as true and deare a zeale
As ever I did him: I should be happie
In making you soe.
_Lady_. Charitable girle,
Forgive thy cruell mother, who must yet
Impose a stronger penance on thy duty:
Thou must go to thy _Thurston_, and obtaine
His love.
_Cla_. A little labour will serve for that.
_Lady_. Not for thy selfe but for thy haplesse mother,
Who am, without it, nothing. Woe him for me,
Use the inchanting musicke of thy voice
On my behalfe, who, though thy Rivall, yet
Remember I'm thy mother; nor canst thou
Consigne thy breath to a more holy use
(Though thou shouldst spend it in religious prayers)
Then to redeeme thy parent. Weepe for me,
And in requitall for each drop thou shedst
I'll pay to heaven a Hecatombe of teares
For thy successe. But take good heede, deare child,
While thou art weeping, thou dost not disclose
That face of thine; for, were he mine by vow,
Loves powerfull Retorick uttered [in?] thyne eyes
Would winn from me.
_Enter Thurston and Thorowgood_.
_Cla_. Here comes the Gentleman.
_Lady_. Be earnest, _Clariana_, I shall heare you.
[_Exit_.
_Tho_. Sir, you must iuistifie this.
_Thu_. Feare it not; yonder she goes; I'll tell her of it, sheele not
denie it.
_Cla_. Mr. _Thurston_, whether do you walke soe fast?
_Thu_. O, _Clarianna_, are you there?
_Cla_. Nay, stay, I have a suite to you.
_Thu_. I would
Be loth to offend your eyes; when we last met
You chargd me never to behold you more.
_Cla_. I did indeed, but on mature advice
I have reclaimd that imposition.
You shall behold me dayly, talke with me,
Doe all the acts that love with Innocence
Can suffer, if youle but overrule your will
To graunt me one request.
_Thu_. You wrong my faith
In questioning my graunt of any thing
You can desire wer't to undoe my selfe
Or combate miseries as yet unheard of,
You[r] least breath may expose me to them.
_Cla_. Nay, in this theres no danger; if there be
A real happines on earth, this way
You shall arrive to it.
_Tho_. He were unwise
Would he not graunt it then.
_Thu_. Please you declare it.
_Cla_. There is a lady,
Of such a perfect virtue, grace and sweetnes,
That Nature was to all our sex beside
A niggard, only bountiful to her;
One whose harmonious bewtie may intitule
All hearts its captive: yet she doats on you
With such a masculine fancy that to love her
Is duty in you.
_Thu_. It is herselfe, Ime sure.
_Tho_. It surely is no other.
_Cla_. No, tis one
So farr transcending me, that twere a sinne
Should I deprive you, the most perfect man,
Of her, the perfectest woman. She will weepe
Even at your name; breath miriads of sighes;
Wring her hands thus; demonstrate all the signes
Of a destracted lover; that in pitty,
Though I did love you well, I have transferd
My right to her, and charge you by all ties
That you affect her with the same true zeale
Which you did me, and ift be possible,
Purer and better.
_Tho_. This is the strangest madnes I ere heard of.
_Thu_. Is it you, _Clariana_, that speake all this?
_Cla_. You know and heare it is.
_Thu_. But I doe scarce
Credit my hearing, or conceive I am
Mortall, for surely, had I bin, your words
Like the decree of heaven had struck me dead.
What strong temptation lay you on my faith!
O, _Clariana_, let me but decline
Passion, and tell you seriously that this
Is cruel in you, first to scorne my love,
Next to admitt a scruple of beleife,
Though you can be perfidious to your selfe,
That I can be soe. Noe; since you are lost,
Ile like the solitary turtle mourne
Cause I must live without you. But, pray, tell me
What is she you would have me love?
_Cla_. My Mother.
_Thu_. Ha, your Mother!
_Tho_. Ist possible, lady? you much doe wrong
Your innocence in laboring to enforce
That upon him which is my interest. Heaven
Smild at the contract twixt us; quiers of Saints
Receivd our mutuall vowes, and though your Mother
May in her passion seeme to have forgott
Her pretious faith, yet when I shall awake
Her sleeping reason with the memory
Of that has past betwixt us, my strong hope
Tells me I shall induce her to the spheare
Which she has movd from.
_Cla_. Would heaven you could! How coldly in this cause
Doe I perswade! when I would speake, my heart
Checks its bold orator, my tongue, and tells it
Tis traitorous to its Mr.--Noble Sir, [_kneele_
I doe conceit you infinitly good,
So pittiful that mercy is in you
Even naturally superlative, (forgive me,
If I offend) you doe in this transgresse
Humanity, to let a lady love you
Without requitall. But I must professe
To heaven and you, that here Ile fix to earth,
Weepe till I am a statue, but Ile gaine
Your pitie for her: pray consider ont.
_Thu_. Consider ont? wonder has soe engrossd
To its wild use all corners of my heart
That there remaines scarce one poore concave left
To hold consideration. I must either
Love her I hate or see her whome I love
Wilfully perish. See, shee kneeles and weeps,
Prays as she meant to expiate all the sinns
Earth ere committed. One of those pure drops
Does (as my lives blood in a soddaine trance)
Surround my heart. You have prevaild, arise:
At your request I will performe an act,
Which may no story hold least all who love
Hereafter curse the president,--Ile love her.
That deathfull word comes from my torturd soule
As a consent doth from a timorous maid
For an enforcing ravisher.
_Tho_. You are not mad, sir? what doe you meane?
_Cla_. I thanke you.
But love her dearely, _Thurston_, sheele deserv't:
I doe remember, when my Father livd,
How he would praise her goodnes. Think on me
As one that lovd you well, but neer like her;
And, if you please, bestow each day a kisse
Uppon her in my memory. Soe, farewell.--
Sorrows flow high: one griefe succeed another;
I die in piety to redeeme my Mother. [_Exit_.
_Tho_. But, harke you, sir, do you intend to love her.
_Thu_. Good sir, torment me not.
_Enter Grimes_.
_Grimes_. By your leave, gentlemen: good Mr.
_Thorowgood_, a word or two in private.
_Thu_. Compeld to love my enemy! what man,
That had but so much spiritt as a mule,
Could suffer this! Lay nice prescriptions,
Ambiguous bookmen, on submissive slaves;
Affright with terror of a wilfull death
Those whom black murders of inhumane sin
Has living damnd; Ime yet in my owne heart
White as a babe, as Innocent as light
From any mortall guilt; and were my soule
Drawn fro this mew[119] of flesh twould quickly streatch
Like a swift Falkon her aspiring wings
And soare at heaven. Nature instructs us Death
Is due to all: how can't be then a Sinn
To die, or he more guilty of offense
That kills himselfe or [than?] he who in his bed
Some shivoring ague murders? Ime resol[v']d;
Ile rather chuse to immolate my life
In Martirdome to virtue then reserve't
Till it be staind with mischiefes.
_Enter Lady_.
_Lady_. How doe you, sir?
_Thu_. Oh, oh, my head, my head!
Stand further of, good nightcrow: if thou comst
As a presaging harbinger of death,
Howlt in thy direfulst and most horrid notes,
And ['t] will be wellcome as choyse musick to me
And Ile adore thee fort, with teares of ioy
Make thy black feathers white.
_Lady_. Good sir, mistake me not, I am your friend.
_Thu_. I cry you mercy, lady; you are shee
Whom I had vowd to love;--a wild conceite
Had seasd my fancy. Pardon me, I must
Proclaim to heaven and to the world a truth
Which I should study to forget: you are
A Creature so suparlatively bad
That, were the earth as absolute from sinn
As in its first creation, youre sole crimes
Would pull a curse upon it. I should tell you
The specialties wherein you're foule, but dare not
Breath in the same ayre with you; I begin
To feel infection:--fare you well. [_Exit_.
_Lady_. Contemnd againe! deprive me of the name
And soule of woman! render me a scorne
To the most base of our revengefull sex!
If I beare this while there be knives or swords,
Poyson or ought left to extinguish life
That womans spleene can compasse--
_Alexander_! within there!
_Enter Alexander_.
Goe to my sonn; inioyne him by all rights
Of naturall duty to accomplish that
Which in youre hearing I comanded him.
Beare him this Jewell and this gold, that when
Tis don he may escape; be carefull,
As you expect my favour.
_Alex_. I shall inculcate your desires unto him.
--Her favour! goe to, theres comfort.
[_Exit_.
_Enter Thorowgood_.
_Tho_. Madam, theres one brings a sad message to you.
_Lady_. From whome, I pray you.
_Tho_. From two friends of yours
Your cruelty has murdred,
_Lady_. My cruelty
Never extended to that horrid height,
Not to my foes. Who are they?
_Tho_. Your daughter,
The innocent _Belisia_, and my friend,
Her worthy suiter, _Bonvill_.
_Lady_. Your freind and my daughter dead and by my meanes!
This cannot be; my daughters sure in the house.
Good sir, unfould this ridle, it begetts
Wonder and terror in me.
_Tho_. Madam, you know with what a cruel messuage
You sent me to my friend, which provd as false
As your faire daughter virtuous. Why you did it
I will not question, nor upbraid you with
This violation of your faith.
_Lady_. This story
Conduces nothing to the deathes you talkd of.
_Tho_. Yes, since then
A iust mistrust that you would crosse their match
Causd them last night privatly to steale hence
With an intention to have reacht the house
Where _Bonvills_ mother lives; but see the fates
How they dispose of men! crossing the River
That runns beneath your orchard, and ith darke,
Their headstrong horses missing the ford overthrew them
And, which I cannot without true griefe utter,
There drownd them both.
Was it not soe, _Grimes_?
_Grimes_. Tis too sad a truth; and I,
After all meanes to save their life was past,
Lookd to my owne and got the shore: their bodies
I feare the violence of the tide has carried
Into the Sea by this time.
_Lady_. Enough, good friend; no more.
Had a rude _Scythian_, ignorant of teares,
Unlesse the wind enforcd them from his eyes,
Heard this relation, sure he would have wept;
And yet I cannot. I have lost all sense
Of pitty with my womanhood, and now
That once essentiall Mistress of my soule,
Warme charity, no more inflames my brest
Than does the glowewormes ineffectual fire
The ha[n]d that touches it. Good sir, desist
The agravation of your sad report; [_Weepe_
Ive to much greife already.
_Tho_. It becomes you:
You do appeare more glorious in these t[ears]
Then the red morne when she adornes her cheeks
With _Nabathean_ pearls: in such a posture
Stand _Phaetons_ sisters when they doe distill
Their much prisd amber. Madam, but resume
Your banishd reason to you, and consider
How many Iliads of preposterous mischeife
From your intemperate breach of faith to me
Fetch their loathed essence; thinke but on the love,
The holy love I bore you, that we two
--Had you bin constant--might have taught the wor[ld]
Affections primitive purenes; when, from
Your abrogation of it, Bonvills death,
Your daughter['s] losse have luc[k]lessly insu'd.
The streame that, like a Crocodile, did weepe
Ore them whom with an over ravenous kisse
Its moyst lips stifled, will record your fault
In watery characters as lastingly
As iff twere cut in marble. Heaven, forgive you;
Ile pray for you; repent.
[_Exeunt Thorowgood and Grimes_.
_Grimes_. O, my deare Master!
_Lady_. Repent! should I but spend
The weakest accent of my breath in sighes
Or vaine compunction, I should feare I sinnd
Against my will, then which I doe confes
Noe other diety. Passions[120] doe surround
My intellectual powers; only my heart,
Like to a Rocky Island, does advance
Above the foming violence of the waves
Its unmovd head, bids me my fate outdare.
Ills sure prevention is a swift despaire.
[_Exit_.
([SCENE] 2.)
_Enter Alexander and Young Marlowe_.
_Alex_. Thinke, sir, to whome the Iniury was don,--go to--your Lady
Mother, a vertuous lady, I say and I sayt agen, a very vertuous lady.
Had I but youth and strength as you have, in what cause should I sooner
hazard both then in this?
_Y. M_. Murder, my friend!
_Alex_. Noe, tis doing sacrifice to slaunderd goodnes.
_Y. M_. Rob my beloved Sister of a husband!
_Alex_. Yes, to redeeme to your mother her lost honour.
_Y. M_. Art not a Divell?
_Alex_. Ha!
_Y. M_. Thy breath has blasted me.
_Alex_. I must confes indeed I have eaten garlicke.
_Y. M_. All pious thoughts that lately fild this spheare
Are scatterd with the winds that issu'd from thee,
Which, like the infectious yawning of a hill,
Belching forth death inevitable,
Has distroyd freindship and nature in me.
Thou canst not poyson worse: I can feed now,
Feed and nere burst with mallice. Sing, Syren, sing
And swell me with revenge sweet as the straines
Falls from the _Thrasian_ lyre; charme each sence
With musick of Revenge, let Innocence
In softest tunes like the expiring Swann
Dy singing her owne Epitaph.
_Alex_. What meane you, sir? are you mad? goe to and goe to; you doe not
use me well; I say and I say, you do not. Have I this for my love to you
and your good Mother? Why, I might be your Father by my age, which is
falne on me in my old Mrs service; he would have used me better.
_Y. M_. Dost weepe, old Crocodile? looke dost see this sword.
_Alex_. Oh, I beseech you, sir; goe to; what meane you?
_Y. M_. No harme to thee; this was my Fathers once,
My honord Father; this did never view
The glaring Sunn but in a noble cause,
And then returnd home blushing with red spoyles,
Which sung his fame and conquest. Goe, intreat
My Mother be as pleasant as she was
That night my Father got me. I am going, say,
Most cheerfully to finish her comaund.
_Alex_. Heaven prosper you. Ha!
_Enter Thurston_.
_Thu_. Freind, I was looking for you.
_Y. M_. And you have found me, Villaine.
_Thu_. What meane you?
_Y. M_. If thou darst follow me I will conduct thee
Unto the seate of death.
_Thu_. Dare! Ile goe with thee, hand in hand; goe on.
[_Exeunt ambo_.
_Alex_. Goe, goe to and goe to, I say and I sait; here wilbe some
revenge. If the Gent[leman] fall my lady has promist me a farme of
100 pounds a yeare; goe to, then. Now, if her sonn be slayne, heres
then this purse of gold and this rich Jewell which she sent to him.
By this wee see, whoever has the worst,
The fox fares well, but better when hees curst.[121]
Goe to and goe to then.
[_Exit_.
_Actus Quintus_.
(SCENE 1.)
_Enter Lady Marlowe sola_.
_Lady_. Twas[122] here about; these are the poplars, this
The yewe he named. How prettily thees trees
Bow, as each meant to Consecrate a branch
To the drownd lovers! and, methinks, the streame
Pitt[y]ing their herse should want all funerall rights,
Snatches the virgin lillies from his bankes
To strow their watry sepulcher. Who would
Desire an easier wafting to their death
Then through this River? what a pleasing sound
Its liquid fingers, harping on the stones,
Yeilds to th'admiring eare!
_Enter Thorowgood, Clariana, and Magdalen_.
_Mag_. This way she went, Ime sure. She has deliv[er']d
So many strang distractions that I feare
Sheele act some wilfull violence on her selfe
If we prevent it not.
_Cla_. Yonder is somebody among the Trees
Hard by the River: alasse, tis shee!
_Tho_. Come softly; if she heare our footing, her disp[aire
May] anticipate our diligence.
_Lady_. Tempt me not, frailty: I disdaine revolt
From ought the awfull violence of my will
Has once[123] determind. Dost thou tremble, flesh?
Ile cure thy ague instantly: I shall,
Like some insatiate drunkard of the age,
But take a cup to much and next day sleepe
An hower more then ordinary.
_Tho_. Heaven and good Angells guard you!
_Cla_. My deare Mother!
_Mag_. My gratious Lady!
_Lady_. What inhumaine creatures
Are you that rob me of the priviledge
Of wellcome death, which I will run to meet
Spight of your malice!
_Tho_. Oh decline those thoughts;
Let not the lucid tapers of your soule,
Bright grace and reason, fondly be extinct.
Essentiall virtue, whether art thou fled,
To what unknowne place? wert thou hid mongst ro[cks]
Or horid grots where comfortable light
Hates to dispence its luster, yet my search
Should find thee out, reduce thee to this brest
Once[124] thy lovd Paradice. Pray, madam, pray:
From those faire eyes one penetentiall teare
Would force whole legions of heavens brightest Sa[ints]
If they have power to intercede for earth
To beg for mercy for you.
_Lady_. These are toyes
Forgd to delude mortality: let me die
And afterwards my uncontroled Ghost
Shall visitt you. I only goe and aske
How my _Belisia_ does enioy her health
Since she exchangd her native ayre of earth
For those dull regions. If I find the clime
Does to our constitutions promise life,
Ile come to you and in those happy shades
Will live in peace eternally.