The guardian, a comedie acted before Prince Charls, His Highness at Trinity-Colledg in Cambridge, upon the twelfth of March, 1641
Cowley, Abraham, 1618-1667.

Act. 3. Scaen. 9.

Truman fil. Lucia weeping.
Tru.
How precious were those tears, if they were true ones!
How much more worth then all the Oceans Jewels!
But they are onely false and empty bubbles;
Fair to the sight, but hollow as her heart:
There's nothing, nothing in 'um: he that weighs 'um,
Shall finde 'um lighter then a mad mans dreams,
Or womens resolutions.
Luc.
I never did that fellow any wrong.
Why should he pay so dearly for the loss
Of my poor honour, as to sell his soul for't?
Tru.
O she confesses, now, sh'has lost her honour.
Luc.
They triumph in the ruine of us wo∣men,
And wooe our beauties onely, or our dow∣ries;
Which when they miss of, they resolve to take
Revenge of their unworthiness on us;
Stealing away all that makes rich our dowry,
And beauty fair, our Name. But 'tis no matter,
Since heaven and Truman know my chastity.
Ha! he's here still! How do you, Sir?
Tru.
Well, well.
Luc.
You look ill.
Tru.
No, no, no.
Luc.
Indeed you do: your are not well, Im sure.
Tru.
I am. Will you be gone?
Luc.
How, Sir! You do not know me, sure.
Tru.
I would I never had.
Luc.
What do you mean?
Tru.
To see thy face no more.
Luc.
You said you could not live without the sight on't.
Page  [unnumbered]
Tru.
It was a good one then.
Luc.
Has one day spoil'd it?
Tru.
O yes, more then an hundred yeers of time,
Made as much more by a continual sorrow,
Could e'er ha' done.
Luc.
I do not think my glass will say so.
Tru.
That's
A false as you, perhaps; but 'tis not half
So brittle. Dares your husband trust me alone
With you so long?
Luc▪
My husband?
Tru
I cry you mercy;
The man you sin withal. You scorn to use Pretences.
Luc.
Yes, I do, Sir:
For she that scorns th' offence, needs no ex∣cuse
Have you so little confidence in that
Which you have seem'd to praise so oft, my Vertues?
Or did you flatter onely? Sure you did not:
For I remember I have heard you swear
You spoke your thoughts. Are Oathes but complements?
'Tis done unkindly, very unkindly, Truman;
And were 't not your self, I should be angry.
Had a bright Angel come to me, and said
That you were false, I should have sworn t had ly'd,
And thought that rather false then you. No∣thing
Could ever move th' opinion of thy con∣stancy
But thine own self; and thee I must believe.
Tru
And I'll believe my self in what I saw.
I know thou canst speak prettily; but thy words
Are not what Nature meant 'um, thy mindes picture.
The Bee has left his honey in thy tongue,
But in thy heart his sting.
Luc.
O do not say so:
My heart is honest still, unless thou spoildst it
When it receiv'd thee in. 'T had but three corners.
And thou hadst two, at least. Would thou couldst see
How little room I've left my self there in it.
Tru.
Yes; for 'tis crouded up with many guests;
So many guests, that they excluded me:
And now I freeze without; but never more,
Never will enter: 'twas a Palace once,
But now tis turn'd a Dungeon.
Luc
Will you leave me?
I will not call you fickle nor unconstant;
But sure you are too blame: you will not find
A woman that will love you half so well.
Tru.
I do not mean to try.
Luc.
Yes, prithee do.
But when y'have talk'd, and lov'd and vow'd, and sworn
A little while, take heed of using her
As you do me. No, may your love to her
Be such as mine to you; it can't be better,
What e'er you think; I'm sure it cannot, Truman.
May she be worthier of your bed then I,
And bring forth many little selves to you:
And when the happie course of divers yeers
Makes you seem old to all besides your wife,
May you in the fair glass of your blest issue,
See your own youth again. But I would have 'um
True in their loves, and kill no innocent maids.
For me it is no matter: when I'm dead,
My busie soul shall slutter still about you;
'Twill not be else in heaven: it shall watch
Over your sleeps, and drive away all dreams
That flie not with a soft and downy wing.
If any dangers threaten, it shall becken,
And call your spirit away till they be past;
And be more diligent then your Guardian-Angel.
Onely sometimes, when your best leasure serves,
(For I'd not trouble you more dead then living)
Bestow ne thought on Lucia, and then sigh,
And (if you will) drop down a tear or two.
But that's a task Ill not enjoyn you to:
And if you do't, spend not too many on me;
One will suffice: then onely say, That maid
Deserv'd more of me. And again t'your business.
For my wrongd vertue and forsaken truth,
Page  [unnumbered]I ask no more. So, dear False-man, farewel.
Exit.
Tru.
Farewel? That word has charms and poisons int;
It makes my frighted soul start back and tremble.
'Tis but an aery word. D'ye hear me, Lucia?
Luc.
(within)
Who calls?
Tru.
Farewel, Lucia, farewel; that's all: farewel
Repent, and meet me in heav'n—
Why did rash Nature quarrel with her self,
In making one so excellently bad?
She is more fair then Mays new painted blossoms,
But falser then the smiles of faithless April:
And this I know, and yet me thinks I love her.
O she has kill'd my Reason: I have lost
That and my self for ever.
Exit.