Two new playes ... written by Tho. Middleton, Gent.

Scaen. 1.

Enter Hippolito, and Lady Livia the Widow.

Liv.

A Strange affection (Brother) when I think on't! I wonder how thou cam'st by't.

Hip.

Ev'n as easily, As man comes by destruction, which oft-times He wears in his own bosom.

Liv.

Is the world So populous in Women, and Creation, So prodigal in Beauty, and so various? Yet do's love turn thy point to thine own blood? 'Tis somewhat too unkindly; must thy eye Dwell evilly on the fairness of thy kinred,

And seek not where it should? it is confin'd Now in a narrower prison then was made for't? It is allow'd a stranger, and where bounty Is made the great mans honor, 'tis ill husbandry To spare, and servants shall have small thanks for't. So he Heavens bounty seems to scorn and mock, That spares free means, and spends of his own stock.

Hip.

Never was mans misery so soon sow'd up, Counting how truly.

Liv.

Nay, I love you so, That I shall venture much to keep a change from you So fearful as this grief will bring upon you. Faith it even kills me, when I see you faint Under a reprehension, and I'll leave it, Though I know nothing can be better for you: Prethee (sweet Brother) let not passion waste The goodness of thy time, and of thy fortune: Thou keep'st the treasure of that life I love, As dearly as mine own; and if you think My former words too bitter, which were ministred By truth and zeal; 'tis but a hazarding Of grace and vertue, and I can bring forth As pleasant Fruits, as Sensualitie wishes In all her teeming longings: This I can do.

Hip.

Oh nothing that can make my wishes per∣fect!

Liv.

I would that love of yours were pawn'd to't Brother, And as soon lost that way, as I could win. Sir I could give as shreud a lift to Chastity, As any she that wears a tongue in Florence. Sh'ad need be a good horse-woman, and sit fast, Whom my strong argument could not fling at last. Prethee take courage man; though I should counsel Another to despair, yet I am pitiful

To thy afflictions, and will venture hard; I will not name for what, 'tis not handsom; Finde you the proof, and praise me.

Hip.

Then I fear me, I shall not praise you in haste.

Liv.

This is the comfort, You are not the first (Brother) has attempted Things more forbidden, then this seems to be: I'll minister all Cordials now to you, Because I'll cheer you up Sir.

Hip.

I am past hope.

Liv.

Love, thou shalt see me do a strange cure then, As e'r was wrought on a disease so mortal, And near akin to shame; when shall you see her?

Hip.

Never in comfort more.

Liv.

Y'are so impatient too.

Hip.

Will you believe death, sh'has forsworn my company, And seal'd it with a blush.

Liv.

So, I perceive All lies upon my hands then; well, the more glory When theworks finish'd—How now Sir, the news!

Enter Servant.

Serv.

Madam, your Neece, the vertuous Isabela, Is lighted now to see you.

Liv.

That's great fortune Sir, your Stars bless; you simple, lead her in.

Exit Servant.

Hip.

What's this to me?

Liv.

Your absence gentle Brother, I must bestir my wits for you.

Hip.

I, to great purpose.

Exit Hippolito.

Liv.

Beshrew you, would I lov'd you not so well: I'll go to Bed, and leave this deed undone:

I am the fondest where I once affect; The carefull'st of their healths, and of their ease for∣sooth, That I look still but slenderly to mine own. I take a course to pity him so much now, That I have none left for modesty and my self. This 'tis to grow so liberal; y'have few sisters That love their Brothers ease 'bove their own honesties: But if you question my affections, That will be found my fault. Neece, your love's wel∣come. Alas what draws that paleness to thy cheeks, This inforc'd marriage towards?

Enter Isabella the Neece.

Isab.

It helps good Aunt Amongst some other griefs; but those I'll keep Lock'd up in modest silence; for they'r sorrows Would shame the Tongue, more then they grieve the thought:

Liv.

Indeed the Ward is simple.

Isab.

Simple! that were well: Why one might make good shift with such a hus∣band. But he's a fool entail'd, he halts down-right in't:

Liv.

And knowing this, I hope 'tis at your choice To take or refuse Neece.

Isab.

You see it is not. I loath him more then beauty can hate death Or age her spightful neighbor.

Liv.

Let's appear then.

Isab.

How can I being born with that obedience, That must submit unto a fathers will? If he command, I must of force consent.

Liv.

Alas poor soul! be not offended prethee, If I set by the name of Neece a while, And bring in pity in a stranger fashion: It lies here in this Brest, would cross this match.

Isab.

How, cross it Aunt?

Liv.

I, and give thee more liberty Then thou hast reason yet to apprehend.

Isab.

Sweet Aunt, in goodness keep not hid from me What may befriend my life.

Liv.

Yes, yes, I must, When I return to reputation, And think upon the solemn Vow I made To your dead Mother, my most loving Sister; As long as I have her memory 'twixt mine eye lids, Look for no pity now.

Isab.

Kinde, sweet, dear Aunt.

Liv.

No, 'twas a secret, I have took special care of, Delivered by your Mother on her death bed, That's nine years now, and I'll not part from't yet, Though nev'r was fitter time, nor greater cause for't.

Isab.

As you desire the praises of a Virgin:

Liv.

Good sorrow! I would do thee any kind∣ness, Not wronging Secrecy, or Reputation.

Isab.

Neither of which (as I have hope of frûit∣ness) Shall receive wrong from me.

Liv.

Nay 'twould be your own wrong, As much as any's, should it come to that once.

Isab.

I need no better means to work perswasion then.

Liv.

Let it suffice, you may refuse this fool, Or you may take him, as you see occasion For your advantage; the best wits will do't;

Y'have liberty enough in your own will, You cannot be inforc'd; there grows the flowre If you could pick it out, makes whole life sweet to you. That which you call your Fathers command's no∣thing; Then your obedience must needs be as little. If you can make shift here to taste your happiness, Or pick out ought that likes you, much good do you: You see your cheer, I'll make you no set dinner.

Isab.

And trust me, I may starve for all the good I can finde yet in this: Sweet Aunt, deal plainlier.

Liv.

Say I should trust you now upon an oath, And give you in a secret that would start you, How am I sure of you, in faith and silence?

Isab.

Equal assurance may I finde in mercy, As you for that in me.

Liv.

It shall suffice. Then know, how ever custom h'as made good For reputations sake, the names of Neece And Aunt, 'twixt you and I, w'are nothing less.

Isab.

How's that?

Liv.

I told you I should start your blood. You are no more alli'd to any of us, Save what the curtesie of opinion casts Upon your Mothers memory, and your name, Then the meer'st stranger is, or one begot At Naples, when the husband lies at Rome; There's so much oddes betwixt us. Since your know∣ledge Wish'd more instruction, and I have your oath In pledge for silence; it makes me talk the freelier. Did never the report of that fam'd Spaniard, Marquess of Coria, since your time was ripe For understanding, fill your ear with wonder?

Isab.

Yes, what of him? I have heard his deeds of honor Often related when we liv'd in Naples.

Liv.

You heard the praises of your Father then.

Isab.

My Father!

Liv.

That was he: But all the business So carefully and so discreetly carried, That Fame receiv'd no spot by't, not a blemish; Your Mother was so wary to her end, None knew it, but her Conscience, and her friend, Till penitent confession made it mine, And now my pity, yours: It had been long else, And I hope care and love alike in you, Made good by oath, will see it take no wrong now: How weak his commands now, whom you call Fa∣ther? How vain all his inforcements, your obedience? And what a largeness in your will and liberty, To take, or to reject, or to do both? For fools will serve to father wisemens children: All this y'have time to think on. O my Wench! Nothing o'rthrows our Sex but indiscretion, We might do well else of a brittle people, As any under the great Canopy: I pray forget not but to call me Aunt still; Take heed of that, it may be mark'd in time else, But keep your thoughts to your self, from all the world, Kinred, or dearest friend, nay, I entreat you, From him that all this while you have call'd Uncle; And though you love him dearly, as I know His deserts claim as much ev'n from a stranger, Yet let not him know this, I prethee do not, As ever thou hast hope of second pity, If thou shouldst stand in need on't, do not do't.

Isab.

Believe my oath, I will not.

Liv.

Why well said: Who shows more craft t'undo a Maidenhead, I'll resign my part to her; she's thine own, go.

Exit.

Enter Hippolito.

Hip.

Alas, fair flattery cannot cure my sorrows:

Isab.

Have I past so much time in ignorance, And never had the means to know my self Till this blest hour? Thanks to her vertuous pity That brought it now to light; would I had known it But one day sooner, he had then receiv'd In favors, what (poor Gentleman) he took In bitter words; a slight and ha•••••• reward For one of his deserts.

Hip.

There seems to me now More anger and distraction in her looks. I'm gone, I'll not endure a second storm; The memory of the first, is not past yet.

Isab.

Are you return'd, you comforts of my life? In this mans presence, I will keep you fast now, And sooner part eternally from the world, Then my good joys in you: Pret hee forgive me, I did but chide in jest; the best loves use it Sometimes, it sets an edge upon affection. When we invite our best friends to a feast, 'Tis not all sweet-meats that we set before them, There's somewhat sharp and salt, both to whet Ap∣petite, And make 'em taste their Wine well: So me thinks After a friendly, sharpe and favory chiding, A kiss tastes wondrous well; and full o'th' Grape. How think'st thou, dost not?

Hip.

'Tis so excellent,

I know not how to praise it, what to say too't:

Isab.

This marriage shall go forward.

Hip.

With the Ward, Are you in earnest?

Isab.

'Twould be ill for us else

Hip.

For us? how means she that?

Isab.

Troth I begin To be so well me thinks, within this hour, For all this match able to kill ones heart. Nothing can pull me down now; should my Father Provide a worse fool yet (which I should think Were a hard thing to compass) I'd have him either; The worse the better, none can come amiss now, If he want wit enough: So Discretion love me, Desert and Judgment, I have content sufficient. She that comes once to be a house-keeper, Must not look every day to fare well Sir, Like a yong waiting Gentlewoman in service, For she feeds commonly as her Lady does; No good bit passes her, but she gets a taste on't; But when she comes to keep house for her self, She's glad of some choice Cates then once a week, Or twice at most, and glad if she can get 'em: So must Affection learn to fare with thankfulness. Pray make your Love no stranger Sir; that's all, Though you be, one your self, and know not on't, And I have sworn you must not.

Exit.

Hip.

This is beyond me! Never came joys so unexpectedly To meet desires in man; how came she thus? What has she done to her can any tell? 'Tis beyond Sorcery this, Drugs, or Love-powders; Some Art that has no name sure, strange to me Of all the wonders I ere met withal Throughout my ten years travels, but I'm thankful for't.

This marriage now must of necessity forward; It is the onely vail Wit can devise To keep our acts hid from sin-peircing eyes.

Exit.