Playes written by the thrice noble, illustrious and excellent princess, the Lady Marchioness of Newcastle.

ACT V.

Scene 38.

Enter Monsieur Profession, and Madamosel Solid.

PRofession.

Dear Mistress, you are the only She that is fit to be crown'd; the sole Empresse of the World.

Solid.

Let me tell you, Sir? I had rather be a single Shepheardesse, than the sole Empress of the World; for I would not be a Mistress of so much power, to be as a Servant to so much trouble.

Profession.

But, put the case Alexander were alive, and would crown you Empress of the World, you would not refuse that honour, but accept of it, for the sake of renown.

Solid.

Yes, I should refuse it, for if I could not get renown by my own merits, I should wish to dye in Oblivion, for I care not; Nay, I despise such

honours and renowns, as comes by derivations, as being deriv'd from another, and not inherent in my self, and it is a poor, and mean renown, that is gain'd or got, only by receiving a gift from a fellow-creature, who gives out of pas∣sion, appetite, partiality, vain-glory, or fear, and not for merit or worth∣sake; wherefore, no gifts but those that comes from the Gods, or Nature, are to be esteem'd, or received with thanks, but were to be refused, had man the power to chose, or to deny.

Profession.

Sweet Mistress, nature hath crown'd you with beauty and wit, and the Gods hath given you a noble soul.

Solid.

I wish they had, for the Gods gifts are not like to mans, and natures crown is beyond the golden crown of Art, which are greater glories, than Power, Wealth, Title or Birth, or all the outward honours gain'd on Earth; but I desire the Gods may crown my soul with reason and understanding; Heaven crown my mind with Temperance and Fortitude; Nature crown my body with Health and Strength, time crown my life with comely and discreet age; Death crown my separation with peace and rest; and Fame crown my memory with an everlasting renown; thus may my creation be to a happy end.

Profession.

Gods, Fortune and Fates hath joyned to make me happy in your love, and that which will make me absolutely happy, is, that I shall marry you, and imbrace you as my wife.

Solid.

The absolute happiness is, when the Gods imbraces man with mer∣cy, and kisses him with love.

Ex.

Scene 39.

Enter Madamosel Caprisia.

CApris.

Hay, ho! who can love, and be wise? but why do I say so? For reason loves wisely; 'tis only the mistaken senses that loves foolishly; indeed, the sense doth not love, but sondly, and foolishly affects, for it, 'tis an humoursome and inconstant appetite that proceeds from the body, and not that noble passion of true love which proceeds from the soul: But O! what a ridiculous humour am I fallen into, from a cholerick humour, into an amorous humour; Oh! I could tear my soul from my body, for having such whining thoughts, and such a mean, submissive, croaching, feigning, flattering humour, and idle mind; a cholerick humour, is noble to this, for it is commanding, and seems of an heroick spirit, but to be amorous, is base, beastly, and of an inconstant nature.

Oh! How apt is busie life to go amisse, What foolish humours in mans mind there is: But O! The soul is far beyond the mind, As much as man is from the beastly kind.

Ex.

Scene 40.

Enter Madamosel Volante, and Doctor Freedom.

DOctor.

Are you weary of, your life? that you send me; for you said, you would not send for me, untill you had a desire to dye.

Volante.

True, Doctor, and if you cannot cure me, kill me.

Doctor.

In my conscience, you have sent for me to play the wanton.

Volante.

Why, Doctor? If I do not infringe the rules and laws of mo∣desty, or civility, I cannot commit wanton faults,

Doctor.

Yes faith, your tongue may play the wanton,

Volante.

Indeed, Doctor, I had rather tell a wanton truth, than a mo∣dest lye.

Doctor.

Well, what is your disease?

Volante.

Nay, that you must guesse, I can only tell my pains.

Doctor.

Where is your pain?

Volante.

In my heart and head.

Doctor.

Those be dangerous parts, but after what manner are your pains?

Volante.

On my heart there lyes a weight, as heavy as the World on Atlas shoulders; and from my melancholly mind, arises such damps of doubts, as almost quenches out the fire of life, did not some hope, though weak, which blows with fainting breath, keep it alive, or rather puffs than blows, which intermitting motions, makes my pulse unequal, and my bloud to ebbe and flow, as from my heart, unto my face; and from my face, unto my heart again; as for my head, it feels drousie, and my spirits are dull; my thoughts uneasily doth run, crossing, and striving to throw each other down; this causes broken sleeps, and frightfull dreams, and when I awake at every noyse, I start with fears, my limbs doth shake.

Doctor.

VVhy, this disease is love, wherefore I cannot cure you; for love no more than wit, can neither be temper'd, nor yet be rul'd, for love and wit, keeps neither moderate bounds, nor spares diet, but dyes most commonly of a surfeit.

Volante.

O yes, discretion can cure both.

Doctor.

Then send for Monsieur Discretion, and hear what he sayes to you, for your disease is past my skil.

Volante.

By your industry, Doctor, help may be found, in giving directi∣ons, and ordering the cordial.

Doctor.

So I understand you would have my counsel what you should do, and my industry to order, and get a meeting between Monsieur Discretion and you, and to make the match betwixt you.

Volante.

You understand me right.

Doctor.

VVell, I will study the means, and trye if I can procure thee a man.

Volante.

Good fortune be your guide.

Doctor.

And Monsieur Discretion, your Husband,

Ex.

Scene 41.

Enter Madamosel Caprisia, alone.

CApris.

Thoughts be at rest, for since my love is honest, and the person I love worthy, I may love honourably, for he is not only learned with study, experienced with time and practice, but he is natures favourite, she hath endued his soul with uncontrouled reason, his mind with noble thoughts, his heart with heroick generosity, and his brain with a supream wit; Besides, she hath presented his judgement and understanding, with such a clear Pro∣spective-glasse of speculations, and such a Multiplying-glass of conception, as he seeth farther, and discerns more into natures works, than any man she hath made before him.

She slops a little time, then speaks.

But let me consider? I have us'd this worthy Gentleman uncivilly, nay rudely, I have dispised him; wherefore he cannot love me, for nature ab∣hors neglect, and if he cannot love me in honesty, he ought not to marry me, and if I be not his wife, for certain I shall dye for love, or live a most un∣happy life, which is far worse than death. Hay ho!

Enter Madam la Mere her Mother.

Mere.

What, Daughter, sick with love?

Capris.

O, Mother? love is a Tyrant, which never lets the mind be at rest, and the thoughts are the torments, and when the mind is tormented, the bo∣dy is seldom in health.

Mere.

Well, to ease you, I will go to this Lord Generosity, and pray him to give you a visit.

Capris.

By no means, Mother, for I had rather dye with love, than live to be despised with scorn, for he will refuse your desires, or if he should come, it would be but to express his hate, or proudly triumph on my unhappy state.

Madamosel Caprisia goes out.

Madamosel Mere alone.

Mere.

She is most desperately in love, but I will endeavour to settle her mind.

Ex.

Scene 42.

Enter Doctor Freedom, and Madamosel Volante.

DOctor.

Am not I a good Doctor now, that hath got you a good Hus∣band?

Volante.

Nay, Doctor, he is but a Suiter, as yet.

Doctor.

Why do not you woe upon the Stage, as the rest of your Como∣rades doth?

Volante.

O fye, Doctor Discretion never whines our love in publick.

Doctor.

So you love to be in private?

Volante.

Why, Doctor, the purest love is most conceal'd, it lyes in the heart; and it warms it self by its own fire.

Doctor.

Take heed, for if you keep it too tenderly, and close, it may chance to catch cold when it comes abroad.

Volante.

True love ought to keep home, and not to gossip abroad.

Enter a Servant-maid.

Servant-maid.

Madam Monsieur Discretion is come to visit you.

Volante.

Come, Doctor, be a witnesse of our contract?

Doctor.

I had rather stay with your maid.

Volante.

She hath not wit to entertain you.

Doctor.

Nor none to anger me.

Volante.

Pray come away, for no wise man is angry with wit.

Doctor.

I perceive, if I do not go with you, that you will call me fool.

Ex.

Scene 43.

Enter Monsieur Comorade, and Monsieur Bon Compaignon.

BOn Compaignon.

Comorade, what cause makes you so fine to day?

Comorade.

I am going to two weddings to day.

Bon Compaignon.

Faith, one had been enough; but how can you divide yourself betwixt two Bridals?

Comorade.

I shall not need to divide my self, since the Bridals keeps toge∣ther; for they are marryed both in one Church, and by one Priest, and they feast in one house.

Bon Compaignon.

And will they lye in one bed?

Comorade.

No surely, they will have two beds, for fear each Bride-groom should mistake his Bride.

Bon Compaignon.

VVell, I wish the Bride-grooms, and their Brides joy, and their Guests, good chear.

Comorade.

VVill not you be one of the Guests?

Bon Compaignon.

No, for a Bon Compaignon shuns Hymens Court, neither will Hymen entertain him: But who are the Brides and Bride-grooms?

Comorade.

Monsieur Nobilissimo, and Madamosel Doltche, and Monsieur Perfection; and Madamosel Solid.

Bon Compaignon.

Is Monsieur Profession a Guest there.

Comorade.

No, for he swears now, that he hates marriage, as he hates death.

Bon Compaignon.

But he loves a Mistress, as he loves life.

Ex.

Scene 44.

Enter Monsieur Generosity, and Madamosel Caprisia; he follow∣ing her.

GEnerosity.

Lady, why do you shun my company, in going from me, praystay, and give my visit a civil entertainment; for though I am not worthy of your affection, yet my love deserves you civility.

Capris.

I know you are come to laugh at me, which is ignobly done; for heroick, generous spirits, doth not triumph on the weak effeminate Sex.

Generosity.

Pray believe I am a Gentleman, for if I loved you not, yet I would never be rude, to be uncivil to you, or your Sex; But I love you so well, as when I leave to serve you with my life, may nature leave to nourish me, fortune leave to favour me, and Heaven leave to blesse me, and then let death cast me into Hell, there to be tormented.

Capris.

I am more obliged to your generous affections, than to my own merits.

Generosity.

The ill opinion of your self doth not lessen your vertues, and if you think me worthy to be your Husband, and will agree, we will go strait to Church, and be marryed.

Capri.

I shall not refuse you.

Ex.