The loyal subject, or, The faithful general a play acted at the Theatre-Royal by Her Majesties servants / the authors, Mr. Beaumont and Mr. Fletcher ; with a preface.

Scene II.

Enter Olimpia, and two Gentlewomen.

Olim.

Is't not a handsom Wench?

2 Wom.

She is well enough, Madam: I have seen a better Face, and a straiter Body, And yet she is a pretty Gentlewoman.

Olim.

What think'st thou, Petesca?

Petes.

Alass, Madam, I have no skill, she has a black Eye, Which is of the least too, and the dullest Water, And when her Mouth was made, for certain, Madam, Nature intended her a right good Stomach.

Olim.

She has a good hand.

2 Wom.

'Tis good enough to hold fast. And strong enough to strangle the neck of a Lute.

Olim.

What think ye of her Colour?

Petes.

If it be her own,

'Tis good black Blood; right Weather-proof, I warrant it.

2 Wom.

What a strange pace she'as got!

Olim.

That's but her Breeding.

Petes.

And what a manly Body? Methinks she looks As though she would pitch the Bar, or go to Buffets.

2 Wom.

Yet her behaviour's utterly against it, For me thinks she is too bashful.

Olim.

Is that hurtful?

2 Wom.

Even equal to too bold; either of 'em, Madam, May do her Injury when time shall serve her.

Olim.

You discourse learnedly, call in the Wench.

Ex. Gent.

What envious Fools are you? Is the Rule general, That Women can speak handsomly of none, But those they are bred withall?

Petes.

Scarce well of those, Madam, If they believe they may out-shine 'em any way: Our natures are like Oyl, compound us with any thing, Yet still we strive to swim o'th' top; Suppose there were here now, Now in this Court of Mosco, a strange Princess, Of Blood and Beauty equal to your Excellence, As many Eyes and Services stuck on her; What would you think?

Olim.

I would think she might deserve it.

Petes.

Your Grace shall give me leave not to believe ye; I know you are a Woman, and so humour'd; I'le tell ye, Madam, I could then get more Gowns on ye, More Caps and Feathers, more Scarfs, and more silk Stockings, With rocking you a-sleep with nightly railings Upon that Woman, then if I had nine lives I could wear out; by this hand ye' would scratch her Eyes out.

Olim.

Thou art deceiv'd, Fool;

Enter Gentlewomen and Alinda.

Now let your own Eyes mock ye. Come hither, Girl; hang me, and she be not a handsom one.

Petes.

I fear it will prove, indeed, so.

Olim.

Did you ever serve yet In any place of Worth?

Alin.

No, Royal Lady.

Petes.

Hold up your Head; fie.

Olim.

Let her alone, stand from her.

Alin.

It shall be now, Of all the Blessings my poor youth has pray'd for,

The greatest and the happiest to serve you; And might my promise carry but that Credit To be believ'd, because I am yet a stranger, Excellent Lady, when I fall from Duty, From all the Service that my Life can lend me, May ever-lasting misery then find me.

Olim.

What think ye now? I do believe, and thank ye; And sure I shall not be so far forgetful, To see that honest Faith die unrewarded: What must I call your Name?

Alin.

Alinda, Madam.

Olim.

Can ye Sing?

Al.

A little, when my Grief will give me leave, Lady.

Olim.

What Grief can'st thou have, Wench? Thou art not in Love?

Al.

If I be, Madam, 'tis only with your Goodness; For yet I never saw that Man I sigh'd for.

Olim.

Of what Years are you?

Al.

My Mother oft has told me, That very day and hour this Land was blest With your most happy Birth, I first saluted This World's fair light: Nature was then so busy, And all the Graces, to adorn your Goodness, I stole into the World poor and neglected

Olim.

Something there was, when I first look'd upon thee, Made me both like and love thee; now I know it; And you shall find that Knowledge shall not hurt you: I hope ye are a Maid?

Al.

I hope so too, Madam; I am sure for any Man; and were I otherwise, Of all the services my hopes could point at, I durst not Touch at yours.

Flourish. Enter Duke, Burris and Gent.

Pet.

The great Duke, Madam.

Duk.

Good morrow, Sister.

Olim.

A good day to your Highness.

Duk.

I am come to pray you use no more Persuasions For this old stubborn Man; nay, to Command ye; His Sail is swell'd too full; he is grown too insolent, Too Self-affected, proud, those poor slight Services He has done my Father, and my self, has blown him To such a pitch, he flies to stoop our favours.

Olim.

I am sorry, Sir; I ever thought those Services Both Great and Noble.

Bur.

However, may it please ye But to consider 'em a true Heart's Servants, Done out of Faith to you, and not self-fame: But to consider, Royal Sir, the dangers; When you have slept secure, the mid-night Tempests, That as he marcht, sung through his aged Locks; When you have fed at full, the Wants and Famines; The Fires of Heaven, when you have found all temperate, Death with his thousand Doors—

Duk.

I have considered; No more; and that I will have, shall be.

Olim.

For the best, I hope, all still.

Duk.

What handsom Wench is that there?

Olim.

My Servant, Sir.

Duk.

Prethee, observe her, Burris. Is she not wondrous handsom? Speak thy freedom.

Bur.

She appears no less to me, Sir.

Duk.

Of whence is she?

Ol.

Her Father I am told is a good Gentleman, But far off dwelling; her desires to serve me Brought her to the Court, and her Friends have left her.

Duk.

She may find better Friends: Ye are welcome, fair One, I have not seen a sweeter: By your Ladies leave: Nay, stand up sweet, we'll have no superstition: You have got a Servant; you may use him kindly, And he may honour ye: Good morrow, Sister.

Exit Duke and Burris.

Ol.

Good morrow to pour Grace. How the Wench blushes? How like an Angel now she looks?

1 Wom.

At first Jump, Jump into the Duke's Arms? We must look to you, Indeed, we must, the next jump we are Journey-men.

Pet.

I see the ruin of our hopes already, Would she were at home again, milking her Father's Cows.

1 Wo.

I fear she'll milk all the great Courtiers first.

Olim.

This has not made ye proud?

Al.

No, certain Madam.

Ol.

It was the Duke that kiss'd ye.

Al.

'Twas your Brother, And therefore nothing can be meant but Honour.

Ol.

But say he love ye?

Al.

That he may with safety: A Prince's love extends to all his Subjects.

Ol.

But say in more particular?

Al.

Pray, fear not; For Vertue's sake deliver me from doubts, Lady: 'Tis not the name of King, nor all his Promises, His Glories, and his Greatness stuck about me, Can make me prove a Traitor to your service; You are my Mistriss, and my noble Master, Your Vertues my ambition, and your favour The end of all my Love, and all my Fortune; And when I fail in that faith—

Ol.

I believe thee, Come wipe your Eyes; I do: Take you example—

Petes.

I would her Eyes were out.

1 Wom.

If the Wind stand in this door, We shall have but cold Custom; some Trick or other, And speedily.

Petes.

Let me alone to think on't.

Ol.

Come, be you near me still.

Al.

With all my duty.

Exeunt.