Fifty comedies and tragedies written by Francis Beaumont and John Fletcher, Gentlemen ; all in one volume, published by the authors original copies, the songs to each play being added.

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Title
Fifty comedies and tragedies written by Francis Beaumont and John Fletcher, Gentlemen ; all in one volume, published by the authors original copies, the songs to each play being added.
Author
Beaumont, Francis, 1584-1616.
Publication
London :: Printed by J. Macock, for John Martyn, Henry Herringman, Richard Marriot,
1679.
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Link to this Item
http://name.umdl.umich.edu/A27178.0001.001
Cite this Item
"Fifty comedies and tragedies written by Francis Beaumont and John Fletcher, Gentlemen ; all in one volume, published by the authors original copies, the songs to each play being added." In the digital collection Early English Books Online 2. https://name.umdl.umich.edu/A27178.0001.001. University of Michigan Library Digital Collections. Accessed June 2, 2024.

Pages

SCENE II.
Enter Petesca, and Gentlewoman.
Pet.
Lord, what a coil has here been with these Souldiers! They are cruel fellows.
Wom.
And yet me thought we found 'em Handsome enough; I'll tell thee true, Petesca, Hookt for other manner of dealings from 'em, And had prepar'd my self: but where's my Lady?
Pet.
In her old dumps within: monstrous melancholy; Sure she was mad of this Wench.
Wom.
And she bad been a man, She would have been a great deal madder, I am glad she is shifted.
Pet.
'T was a wicked thing for me to betray her, And yet I must confess she stood in our lights.
Enter Alinda.
What young thing's this?
Alin.
Good morrow beauteous Gentlewomen: Pray ye is the Princess stirring yet?
Wom.
He has her face.
Pet.
Her every tongue, and tone too: her youth upon him.
Alin.
I guess ye to be the Princess Women.
Pet.
Yes, we are, Sir.
Alin.
Pray is there not a Gentlewoman waiting on her Grace, Ye call Alinda?
Pet.
The Devil sure in her shape.
Wom.
I have heard her tell my Lady of a Brother, An only Brother that she had: in travel—
Pet.
'Mass, I remember that: this may be he too: I would this thing would serve her.
Enter Olympia.
Wom.
So would I Wench, We should love him better sure: Sir, here's the Princess, She best can satisfie ye.
Alin.
How I love that presence! O blessed Eyes, how nobly shine your comforts!
Olym.
What Gentleman is that?
Wom.
We know not, Madam: He ask'd us for your Grace: and as we guess it, He is Alinda's Brother.
Olym.
Ha! let me mark him: My grief has almost blinded me: her Brother? By Venus, he has all her sweetness upon him: Two silver drops of dew were never liker.
Alin.
Gracious Lady—
Olym.
That pleasant pipe he has too.
Alin.
Being my happiness to pass by this way, And having as I understand by Letters, A Sister in your vertuous service, Madam—
Olym.
O now my heart, my heart akes.
Alin.
All the comfort My poor youth has, all that my hopes have built me, I thought it my first duty, my best service, Here to arrive first, humbly to thank your Grace For my poor Sister, humbly to thank your Nobleness, That bounteous Goodness in ye.
Olym.
'Tis he certainly.
Alin.
That spring of favour to her; with my life, Madam, If any such most happy means might meet me, To shew my thankfulness.
Olym.
What have I done, Fool!
Alin.
She came a stranger to your Grace, no Courtier; Nor of that curious breed befits your service, Yet one I dare assure my Soul, that lov'd ye Before she saw ye; doted on your Vertues; Before she knew those fair eyes, long'd to read 'em, You only had her prayers, you her wishes; And that one hope to be yours once, preserv'd her.
Olym.
I have done wickedly.
Alin.
A little Beauty, Such as a Cottage breeds, she brought along with her; And yet our Country eyes esteem'd it much too: But for her beauteous mind, forget great Lady, I am her Brother, and let me speak a stranger, Since she was able to beget a thought, 'twas honest. The daily study how to sit your services, Truly to tread that vertuous path you walk in, So sir'd her honest Soul, we thought her Sainted; I presume she is still the same: I would fain see her, For Madam, 'tis no little love I owe her.
Olym.
Sir, such a maid there was, I had—
Alin.
There was, Madam?
Olym.
O my poor Wench: eyes, I will ever curse ye For your Credulity, Alinda.
Alin.
That's her name, Madam.
Olym.
Give me a little leave, Sir, to lament her.
Alin.
Is she dead, Lady?
Olym.
Dead Sir, to my service. She is gone, pray ye ask no further.
Alin.
I obey Madam: Gone? now must I lament too: said ye gone Madam?
Olym.
Gone, gone for ever.
Alin.
That's a cruel saying: Her honour too?
Olym.
Prithee look angry on me,

Page 278

And if thou ever lovedst her, spit upon me; Do something like a Brother, like a friend, And do not only say thou lov'st her—
Al.
Ye amaze me.
Oly.
I ruin'd her, I wrong'd her, I abus'd her; Poo innocent soul, I flung her; sweet Al nda, Thou vertuous maid, my soul now calls thee vertuous. Why do ye not ail now at me?
Al.
For what Lad?
Oly.
Call me base treacherous woman.
Al.
Heaven defend me.
Oly.
Rashly I thought her false, and put her from me, Rastify, and madly I betrai'd her modesty, Put her to wander, heaven knows where: ay, more Sir, Stuck a black brand upon her.
Al.
'Twas not well Lady,
Oly.
'Twas damnable: she loving me so dearly, Never poo wench lov'd so: Sir believe me, 'Twas the most dutrous wench, the best companion, When I was pleas'd, the happiest, and the gladdest, The modestest sweet nature dwelt within her: I saw all this, I know all this, I lov'd it, I doated on it too, and yet I kill'd it: O what have I forsaken? what have I lost?
Al.
Madam, I'le take my leave, since she is wandring, 'Tis sit I know no rest.
Oly.
Will you go too Sir? I have not wrong'd you yet, if you dare trust me, For yet I love Alinda there, I honour her, I love to look upon those eyes that speak her, To read that face again, (modesty keep me,) Alinda, in that shape. ut why should you trust me, 'Twas I betray'd your Sister, I undid her; And believe me, gentle youth, 'tis I weep for her: Appoint what penance you please: but stay then, And see me perform it: ask what honour this place Is able to heap on ye, or what wealth: If following me will like ye, my care of ye, Which for your sisters sake, for your own goodness—
Al.
Not all the honour earth has, now she's gone Lady, Not all the favour; yet if I sought preferment, Under your bounteous Grace I would only take it. Peace rest upon ye: one sad tear every day For poor Alindas sake, 'tis sit ye pay.
Exit.
Oly.
A thousand noble youth, and when I sleep, Even in my silver slumbers still I'le weep.
Exit.
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