SCENE III.

_Enter_ Nantolet, La-Castre, De-Gard, Lugier, Mirabel.

_Mir._ Your patience, Gentlemen: why do ye bait me?

_Nan._ Is't not a shame you are so stubborn hearted, So stony and so dull to such a Lady, Of her Perfections, and her Misery?

_Lug._ Does she not love ye? does not her distraction For your sake only, her most pitied lunacie Of all but you, shew ye? does it not compel ye?

_Mir._ Soft and fair, Gentlemen, pray ye proceed temperately.

_Lug._ If ye have any feeling, any sense in ye, The least touch of a noble heart.

_La Cas._ Let him alone; It is his glory that he can kill Beauty, Ye bear my Stamp, but not my Tenderness; Your wild unsavoury Courses set that in ye! For shame, be sorry, though ye cannot cure her, Shew something of a Man, of a fair Nature.

_Mir._ Ye make me mad.

_De-Gard._ Let me pronounce this to ye, You take a strange felicity in slighting And wronging Women, which my poor Sister feels now, Heavens hand be gentle on her: Mark me, Sir, That very hour she dies, there's small hope otherwise, That minute you and I must grapple for it, Either your life or mine.

_Mir._ Be not so hot, Sir, I am not to be wrought on by these policies, In truth I am not; Nor do I fear the tricks, Or the high sounding threats of a _Savoyan_; I glory not in Cruelty, ye wrong me; Nor grow up water'd with the tears of Women; This let me tell ye, howsoe'r I shew to ye, Wild, as ye please to call it, or self-will'd; When I see cause I can both do and suffer, Freely, and feelingly, as a true Gentleman.

_Enter_ Rosalure, _and_ Lilia.

_Ros._ O pity, pity, thousand, thousand pities!

_Lil._ Alas poor Soul! she will dye; she is grown sensless; She will not know, nor speak now.

_Ros._ Dye for love! And love of such a Youth! I would dye for a Dog first, He that kills me I'll give him leave to eat me; I'll know men better ere I sigh for any of 'em.

_Lil._ Ye have done a worthy act, Sir; a most famous; Ye have kill'd a Maid the wrong way, ye are a conqueror.

_Ros._ A Conquerour? a Cobler; hang him Sowter; Go hide thy self for shame, go lose thy memory; Live not 'mongst Men; thou art a Beast, a Monster; A Blatant Beast.

_Lil._ If ye have yet any honesty, Or ever heard of any; take my Counsel; Off with your Garters: and seek out a Bough, A handsom Bough; (for I would have ye hang like a Gentleman;) And write some doleful matter to the World, A Warning to hard hearted men.

_Mir._ Out Kitlings: What Catterwauling's here? what Gibbing? Do you think my heart is softned with a black Santis? Shew me some reason.

_Enter_ Oriana _on a Bed_.

_Ros._ Here then, here is a reason.

_Nant._ Now, if ye be a man, let this sight shake ye.

_La-C._ Alas poor Gentlewoman! do you know me, Lady?

_Lug._ How she looks up, and stares!

_Ori._ I know ye very well; You are my Godfather; and that's the Monsieur.

_De-Gar._ And who am I?

_Ori._ You are _Amadis de Gaul_, Sir. Oh oh, my heart! were ye never in love, sweet Lady? And do you never dream of Flowers and Gardens? I dream of walking Fires; take heed, it comes now; Who's that? pray stand away; I have seen that face sure; How light my head is!

_Ros._ Take some rest.

_Ori._ I cannot, For I must be up to morrow to go to Church, And I must dress me, put my new Gown on, And be as fine to meet my Love: Heigh ho! Will not you tell me where my Love lies buried?

_Mir._ He is not dead: beshrew my heart, she stirs me.

_Ori._ He is dead to me.

_Mir._ Is't possible my Nature Should be so damnable, to let her suffer? Give me your hand.

_Ori._ How soft you feel, how gentle! I'll tell you your fortune, Friend.

_Mir._ How she stares on me!

_Or._ You have a flattering face, but 'tis a fine one; I warrant you may have a hundred Sweet-hearts; Will ye pray for me? I shall dye to morrow, And will ye ring the Bells?

_Mir._ I am most unworthy, I do confess, unhappy; do you know me?

_Ori._ I would I did.

_Mir._ Oh fair tears, how ye take me!

_Ori._ Do you weep too? you have not lost your Lover; You mock me; I'l go home, and pray.

_Mir._ 'Pray ye pardon me: Or if it please ye to consider justly, Scorn me, for I deserve it: Scorn, and shame me: Sweet _Oriana_.

_Lil._ Let her alone, she trembles; Her fits will grow more strong if ye provoke her.

_La Cas._ Certain she knows ye not, yet loves to see ye: How she smiles now!

[_Enter_ Belleur.]

_Bel._ Where are ye? Oh, why do [not] you laugh? come, laugh at me; What a Devil! art thou sad, and such a subject, Such a ridiculous subject as I am Before thy face?

_Mir._ Prithee put off this lightness; This is no time for mirth, nor place; I have us'd too much on't: I have undone my self, and a sweet Lady, By being too indulgent to my foolery, Which truly I repent; look here.

_Bel._ What ails she?

_Mir._ Alas, she's mad.

_Bel._ Mad?

_Mir._ Yes, too sure for me too.

_Bel._ Dost thou wonder at that? by this [good] light they are all so; They are coz'ning mad, they are brawling mad, they are proud mad: They are all, all mad; I came from a World of mad Women. Mad as _March_-Hares; get 'em in Chains, then deal with 'em. There's one that's mad; she seems well, but she is dog-mad. Is she dead dost' think?

_Mi[r]._ Dead! Heaven forbid.

_Bel._ Heaven further it; For till they be key cold dead, there's no trusting of 'em, Whate'r they seem, or howsoe'r they carry it, Till they be chap-faln, and their Tongues at peace, Nail'd in their Coffins sure, I'll ne'r believe 'em, Shall I talk with her?

_Mir._ No, dear friend, be quiet, And be at peace a while.

_Bel._ I'll walk aside, And come again anon: but take heed to her, You say she is a Woman?

_Mir._ Yes.

_Bel._ Take great heed: For if she do not cozen thee, then hang me. Let her be mad, or what she will, she'll cheat thee. [_Exit._

_Mir._ Away, wild Fool: how vile this shews in him now! Now take my faith, before ye all I speak it, And with it, my repentant love.

_La-C._ This seems well.

_Mir._ Were but this Lady clear again, whose sorrows My very heart melts for; were she but perfect (For thus to marry her would be two miseries,) Before the richest and the noblest Beauty, _France_, or the World could shew me; I would take her As she is now, my Tears and Prayers shall wed her.

_De-Gar._ This makes some small amends.

_Ros._ She beckons to ye, To us too, to go off.

_Nant._ Let's draw aside all.

_Ori._ Oh my best friend; I would fain.

_Mir._ What? she speaks well, And with another voice.

_Ori._ But I am fearful, And shame a little stops my tongue.

_Mir._ Speak boldly.

_Ori._ Tell ye, I am well, I am perfect well: 'pray ye mock not; And that I did this to provoke your Nature, Out of my infinite and restless love, To win your pity; pardon me.

_Mir._ Go forward; Who set ye on?

_Ori._ None, as I live, no Creature; Not any knew, or ever dream'd what I meant; Will ye be mine?

_Mir._ 'Tis true, I pity ye: But when I marry ye, ye must be wiser: Nothing but Tricks? Devices?

_Ori._ Will ye shame me?

_Mir._ Yes, marry will I: Come near, come near, a miracle; The Woman's well; she was only mad for Marriage, Stark mad to be ston'd to death; give her good counsel, Will this world never mend? are ye caught, Damsel?

_Enter_ Belleur, La-Castre, Lugier, Nantolet, De Gard, Rosalure, _and_ Bianca.

_Bel._ How goes it now?

_Mir._ Thou art a kind of Prophet, The Woman's well again, and would have gull'd me; Well, excellent well: and not a taint upon her.

_Bel._ Did not I tell ye? Let 'em be what can be; Saints, Devils, any thing, they will abuse us; Thou wert an Ass to believe her so long, a Coxcomb; Give 'em a minute they'll abuse whole millions.

_Mir._ And am not I a rare Physician, Gentlemen, That can cure desperate mad minds?

_De Gar._ Be not insolent.

_Mir._ Well, go thy waies: from this hour, I disclaim thee, Unless thou hast a trick above this: then I'le love thee. Ye owe me for your Cure; pray have a care of her, For fear she fall into Relapse: come _Belleur_ We'll set up Bills, to Cure Diseased Virgins.

_Bel._ Shall we be merry?

_Mir._ Yes.

_Bel._ But I'le no more projects; If we could make 'em mad, it were some mastery. [_Exeunt._

_Lil._ I am glad she is well again.

_Ros._ So am I, certain, Be not ashamed.

_Oria._ I shall never see a man more.

_De Gar._ Come ye are a fool: had ye but told me this trick, He should not have gloried thus.

_Lug._ He shall not long neither.

_La-C._ Be rul'd, and be at peace: ye have my consent, And what power I can work with.

_Nant._ Come, leave blushing; We are your friends; an honest way compell'd ye; Heaven will not see so true a love unrecompenc'd; Come in, and slight him too.

_Lug._ The next shall hit him. [_Exeunt._

_Actus Quintus. Scena Prima._

_Enter_ De Gard, _and_ Lugier.

_De G._ 'T will be discover'd.

_Lug._ That's the worst can happen: If there be any way to reach, and work upon him; Upon his nature suddenly, and catch him: that he loves, Though he dissemble it, and would shew contrary, And will at length relent, I'le lay my Fortune, Nay more, my life.

_De G._ Is she won?

_Lug._ Yes, and ready, And my designments set.

_De G._ They are now for Travel, All for that Game again: they have forgot wooing.

_Lug._ Let 'em; we'll travel with 'em.

_De G._ Where's his Father?

_Lug._ Within; he knows my mind too and allows it; Pities your Sisters Fortune most sincerely; And has appointed, for our more assistance, Some of his secret Friends.

_De G._ 'Speed the Plough.

_Lug._ Well said; And be you serious too.

_De G._ I shall be diligent.

_Lug._ Let's break the Ice for one, the rest will drink too (Believe me, Sir) of the same Cup; my young Gentlewomen Wait but who sets the game a foot; though they seem stubborn, Reserv'd, and proud now, yet I know their hearts, Their Pulses how they beat, and for what cause, Sir; And how they long to venture their Abilities In a true Quarrel; Husbands they must, and will have, Or Nunneries, and thin Collations To cool their bloods; let's all about our business, And if this fail, let Nature work.

_De G._ Ye have arm'd me. [_Exeunt._