Part 2

_Nicus._ It may now be our happiness.

_Enter_ Tibalt _and the rest_.

_Tib._ You shall have Gold: yes, I'll cram it int'ye; You shall be your own carvers; yes, I'll carve ye.

_Morill._ I am sore, I pray hear reason:

_Tib._ I'll hear none. Covetous base minds have no reason; I am hurt my self; but whilst I have a leg left, I will so haunt your gilded souls; how d'ye Captain? Ye bleed apace, curse on the causers on't; Ye do not faint?

_Alb._ No, no; I am not so happy.

_Tib._ D'ye howl, nay, ye deserve it: Base greedy rogues; come, shall we make an end of 'em?

_Alb._ They are our Countrey-men, for heavens sake spare 'em. Alas, they are hurt enough, and they relent now. [Aminta _above_.

_Aminta._ Oh Captain, Captain.

_Alb._ Whose voice is that?

_Tib._ The Ladies.

_Amint._ Look Captain, look; ye are undone: poor Captain, We are all undone, all, all: we are all miserable, Mad wilful men; ye are undone, your Ship, your Ship.

_Alb._ What of her?

_Amint._ She's under sail, and floating; See where she flies: see to your shames, you wretches: These poor starv'd things that shew'd you Gold.

[Lam. _and_ Franvile _goes up to see the Ship_.

_1 Sail._ They have cut the Cables, And got her out; the Tide too has befriended 'em.

_Mast._ Where are the Sailors that kept her?

_Boats._ Here, here [in] the mutiny, to take up money, And left no creature, left the Boat ashore too; This Gold, this damn'd enticing Gold.

_2 Sail._ How the wind drives her, As if it vied to force her from our furies!

_Lam._ Come back good old men:

_Fran._ Good honest men, come back.

_Tib._ The wind's against ye, speak louder.

_Lam._ Ye shall have all your Gold again: they see us.

_Tib._ Hold up your hands, and kneel, And howl ye block-heads; they'll have compassion on ye; Yes, yes, 'tis very likely, ye have deserv'd it, D'ye look like dogs now? Are your mighty courages abated?

_Alb._ I bleed apace _Tibalt_:

_Tib._ Retire Sir: and make the best use of our miseries. They but begin now.

_Enter_ Aminta.

_Amint._ Are ye alive still?

_Alb._ Yes sweet.

_Tib._ Help him off Lady; And wrap him warm in your arms, Here's something that's comfortable; off with him handsomely, I'll come to ye straight; but vex these rascals a little.

[_Exit_ Albert, Aminta.

_Fran._ Oh, I am hungry, and hurt, and I am weary.

_Tib._ Here's a Pestle of a _Portigue_, Sir; 'Tis excellent meat, with sour sauce; And here's two Chains, suppose 'em Sausages; Then there wants Mustard; But the fearful Surgeon will supply ye presently:

_Lam._ Oh for that Surgeon, I shall die else.

_Tib._ Faith there he lies in the same pickle too.

_Surg._ My Salves, and all my Instruments are lost; And I am hurt and starv'd; Good Sir, seek for some herbs.

_Tib._ Here's Herb-graceless, will that serve? Gentlemen will ye go to supper?

_All._ Where's the meat?

_Tib._ Where's the meat? what a Veal voice is there?

_Fran._ Would we had it Sir, or any thing else.

_Tib._ I would now cut your throat you dog, But that I wo'not doe you such a courtesie; To take you from the benefit of starving, Oh! what a comfort will your worship have some three days hence! Ye things beneath pitty, Famine shall be your harbinger; You must not look for Down-beds here, Nor Hangings; though I could wish ye strong ones; Yet there be many lightsome cool Star-chambers, Open to every sweet air, I'll assure ye, Ready provided for ye, and so I'll leave ye; Your first course is serv'd, expect the second. [_Exit._

_Fran._ A vengeance on these Jewels.

_Lam._ Oh! this cursed Gold. [_Exeunt._

_Actus Secundus. Scæna Prima._

_Enter_ Albert, Aminta.

_Alb._ Alas dear soul ye faint.

_Amint._ You speak the language Which I should use to you, heaven knows, my weakness Is not for what I suffer in my self, But to imagine what you endure, and to what fate Your cruel Stars reserve ye.

_Alb._ Do not add to my afflictions By your tender pitties; sure we have chang'd Sexes; You bear calamity with a fortitude Would become a man; I like a weak girl, suffer.

_Amint._ Oh, but your wounds, How fearfully they gape! and every one To me is a Sepulchre: if I lov'd truly, (Wise men affirm, that true love can [doe] wonders,) These bath'd in my warm tears, would soon be cur'd, And leave no orifice behind; pray give me leave To play the Surgeon, and bind 'em up; The raw air rankles 'em.

_Alb._ Sweet, we want means.

_Amint._ Love can supply all wants.

_Alb._ What have ye done Sweet? Oh sacriledge to beauty: there's no hair Of these pure locks, by which the greatest King Would not be gladly bound, and love his Fetters.

_Amint._ Oh _Albert_, I offer this sacrifice of service To the Altar of your staid temperance, and still adore it, When with a violent hand you made me yours, I curs'd the doer: but now I consider, How long I was in your power: and with what honor; You entertain'd me, it being seldom seen, That youth, and heat of bloud, could e'r prescribe Laws to it self; your goodness is the _Lethe_, In which I drown your injuries, and now live Truly to serve ye: how do you Sir? Receive you the least ease from my service? If you do, I am largely recompenc'd.

_Alb._ You good Angels, That are ingag'd, when mans ability fails, To reward goodness: look upon this Lady Though hunger gripes my croaking entrails, Yet when I kiss these Rubies, methinks I'm at a Banquet, a refreshing Banquet; Speak my bless'd one, art not hungry?

_Amint._ Indeed I could eat, to bear you company.

_Alb._ Blush unkind nature, If thou hast power: or being to hear Thy self, and by such innocence accus'd; Must print a thousand kinds of shame, upon Thy various face: canst thou supply a drunkard, And with a prodigal hand reach choice of Wines, Till he cast up thy blessings? or a glutton, That robs the Elements, to sooth his palat, And only eats to beget appetite, Not to be satisfied? and suffer here A Virgin which the Saints would make their guest, To pine for hunger? ha, if my sence [_Horns within._ Deceive me not, these Notes take Being From the breath of men; confirm me my _Aminta_; Again, this way the gentle wind conveys it to us, Hear you nothing?

_Amint._ Yes, it seems free hunters Musick.

_Alb._ Still 'tis louder; and I remember the _Portugals_ Inform'd us, they had often heard such sounds, But ne'r could touch the shore from whence it came; Follow me, my _Aminta_: my good genius, Shew me the way still; still we are directed; When we gain the top of this near rising hill, We shall know further. [_Exit. And Enter above._

_Alb._ Courteous _Zephyrus_, On his dewy wings, carries perfumes to cheer us; The air clears too; And now, we may discern another Island, And questionless, the seat of fortunate men: Oh that we could arrive there.

_Amint._ No _Albert_, 'tis not to be hop'd; This envious Torrent's cruelly interpos'd; We have no vessel that may transport us; Nor hath nature given us wings to flie.

_Alb._ Better try all hazards, Than perish here remediless; I feel New vigor in me, and a spirit that dares More than a man, to serve my fair _Aminta_; These Arms shall be my oars, with which I'll swim; And my zeal to save thy innocent self, Like wings, shall bear me up above the brackish waves.

_Amint._ Will ye then leave me?

_Alb._ Till now I ne'er was wretched. My best _Aminta_, I swear by goodness 'Tis nor hope, nor fear, of my self that invites me To this extream; 'tis to supply thy wants; and believe me Though pleasure met me in most ravishing forms, And happiness courted me to entertain her, I would nor eat nor sleep, till I return'd And crown'd thee with my fortunes.

_Amin._ Oh but your absence.

_Alb._ Suppose it but a dream, and as you may, Endeavour to take rest; and when that sleep Deceives your hunger with imagin'd food, Think you have sent me for discovery Of some most fortunate Continent, yet unknown, Which you are to be Queen of. And now ye Powers, that e'er heard Lovers Prayers, Or cherisht pure affection; look on him That is your Votary; and make it known Against all stops, you can defend your own. [_Exit._

_Enter_ Hippolita, Crocale, Juletta.

_Hip._ How did we lose _Clarinda_?

_Cro._ When we believ'd the Stag was spent, and would take soil, The sight of the black lake which we suppos'd He chose for his last refuge, frighted him more Than we that did pursue him.

_Jul._ That's usual; for, death it self is not so terrible To any beast of chase.

_Hip._ Since we liv'd here, we ne'er could force one to it.

_Cro._ 'Tis so dreadful, Birds that with their pinions cleave the air Dare not flie over it: when the Stag turn'd head, And we, even tir'd with labor, _Clarinda_, as if She were made of Air and Fire, And had no part of earth in her, eagerly pursu'd him; Nor need we fear her safety, this place yields not Fawns nor Satyrs, or more lustful men; Here we live secure, And have among our selves a Common-wealth, Which in our selves begun, with us must end.

_Jul._ I, there's the misery.

_Cro._ But being alone, Allow me freedom but to speak my thoughts; The strictness of our Governess, that forbids us, On pain of death, the sight and use of men, Is more than tyranny: for her self, she's past Those youthful heats, and feels not the want Of that which young maids long for: and her daughter The fair _Clarinda_, though in few years Improv'd in height and large proportion, Came here so young, That scarce remembring that she had a father, She never dreams of man; and should she see one, In my opinion, a would appear a strange beast to her.

_Jul._ 'Tis not so with us.

_Hip._ For my part, I confess it, I was not made For this single life; nor do I love hunting so, But that I had rather be the chace my self.

_Cro._ By _Venus_ (out upon me) I should have sworn By _Diana_, I am of thy mind too wench; And though I have ta'en an oath, not alone To detest, but never to think of man, Every hour something tels me I am forsworn; For I confess, imagination helps me sometimes, And that's all is left for us to feed on, We might starve else, for if I have any pleasure In this life, but when I sleep, I am a Pagan; Then from the Courtier to the Countrey-clown, I have strange visions.

_Jul._ Visions _Crocale_?

_Cro._ Yes, and fine visions too; And visions I hope in dreams are harmless, And not forbid by our Canons; the last night (Troth 'tis a foolish one, but I must tell it) As I lay in my Cabin, betwixt sleeping and waking.

_Hip._ Upon your back?

_Cro._ How should a young Maid lie, fool, When she would be intranc'd?

_Hip._ We are instructed; forward I prethee.

_Cro._ Methought a sweet young man In years some twenty, with a downy chin, Promising a future beard, and yet no red one, Stole slylie to my Cabin all unbrac'd, Took me in his arms, and kiss'd me twenty times, Yet still I slept.

_Jul._ Fie; thy lips run over _Crocale_. But to the rest.

_Cro._ Lord, What a man is this thought I, To do this to a Maid! Yet then for my life I could not wake. The youth, a little danted, with a trembling hand Heav'd up the clothes.

_Hip._ Yet still you slept?

_Cro._ Y'faith I did; and when, methoughts, he was warm by my side, Thinking to catch him, I stretcht out both mine armes; And when I felt him not, I shreekt out, And wak'd for anger.

_Hip._ 'Twas a pretty dream.

_Cro._ I, if it had been a true one.

_Enter_ Albert.

_Jul._ But stay, What's here cast o'th' shore?

_Hip._ 'Tis a man; Shall I shoot him?

_Cro._ No, no, 'tis a handsome beast; Would we had more o'th' breed; stand close wenches, And let's hear if he can speak.

_Alb._ Do I yet live? Sure it is ayr I breathe; What place is this? Sure something more than humane keeps residence here, For I have past the _Stygian_ gulph, And touch upon the blessed shore? 'tis so; This is the _Elizian_ shade; these happy spirits, That here enjoy all pleasures.

_Hip._ He makes towards us.

_Jul._ Stand, or I'll shoot.

_Cro._ Hold, he makes no resistance.

_Alb._ Be not offended Goddesses, that I fall Thus prostrate at your feet: or if not such, But Nymphs of _Dian_'s train, that range these groves, Which you forbid to men; vouchsafe to know I am a man, a wicked sinful man; and yet not sold So far to impudence, as to presume To press upon your privacies, or provoke Your Heavenly angers; 'tis not for my self I beg thus poorly, for I am already wounded, Wounded to death, and faint; my last breath Is for a Virgin, comes as near your selves In all perfection, as what's mortal may Resemble things divine. O pitty her, And let your charity free her from that desart, If Heavenly charity can reach to Hell, For sure that place comes near it: and where ere My ghost shall find abode, Eternally I shall powre blessings on ye.

_Hip._ By my life I cannot hurt him.

_Cro._ Though I lose my head for it, nor I. I must pitty him, and will.

_Enter_ Clarinda.

_Jul._ But stay, _Clarinda_?

_Cla._ What new game have ye found here, ha! What beast is this lies wallowing in his gore?

_Cro._ Keep off.

_Cla._ Wherefore, I pray? I ne'er turn'd From a fell Lioness rob'd of her whelps, And, Shall I fear dead carrion?

_Jul._ O but.

_Cla._ But, What is't?

_Hip._ It is infectious.

_Cla._ Has it not a name?

_Cro._ Yes, but such a name from which As from the Devil your Mother commands us flie.

_Cla._ Is't a man?

_Clo._ It is.

_Cla._ What a brave shape it has in death; How excellent would it appear had it life! Why should it be infectious? I have heard My Mother say, I had a Father, And was not he a Man?

_Cro._ Questionless Madam.

_Cla._ Your fathers too were Men?

_Jul._ Without doubt Lady.

_Cla._ And without such it is impossible We could have been.

_Hip._ A sin against nature to deny it.

_Cla._ Nor can you or I have any hope to be a Mother, Without the help of Men.

_Cro._ Impossible.

_Cla._ Which of you then most barbarous, that knew You from a man had Being, and owe to it The name of parent, durst presume to kill The likeness of that thing by which you are? Whose Arrowes made these wounds? speak, or by _Dian_ Without distinction I'll let fly at ye all.

_Jul._ Not mine.

_Hip._ Nor mine.

_Cro._ 'Tis strange to see her mov'd thus. Restrain your fury Madam; had we kill'd him, We had but perform'd your Mothers command.

_Cla._ But if she command unjust and cruel things, We are not to obey it.

_Cro._ We are innocent; some storm did cast Him shipwrackt on the shore, as you see wounded: Nor durst we be Surgeons to such Your Mother doth appoint for death.

_Cla._ Weak excuse; Where's pity? Where's soft compassion? cruel, and ungrateful Did providence offer to your charity But one poor Subject to express it on, And in't to shew our wants too; and could you So carelessly neglect it?

_Hip._ For ought I know, he's living yet; And may tempt your Mother, by giving him succor.

_Cla._ Ha, come near I charge ye. So, bend his body softly; rub his temples; Nay, that shall be my office: how the red Steales into his pale lips! run and fetch the simples With which my Mother heal'd my arme When last I was wounded by the Bore.

_Cro._ Doe: but remember her to come after ye, That she may behold her daughters charity.

_Cla._ Now he breathes; [_Exit_ Hippolita. The ayr passing through the _Arabian_ groves Yields not so sweet an odour: prethee taste it; Taste it good _Crocale_; yet I envy thee so great a blessing; 'Tis not sin to touch these Rubies, is it?

_Jul._ Not, I think.

_Cla._ Or thus to live _Camelion_ like? I could resign my essence to live ever thus. O welcome; raise him up Gently. Some soft hand Bound up these wounds; a womans hair. What fury For which my ignorance does not know a name, Is crept into my bosome? But I forget.

_Enter_ Hippolita.

My pious work. Now if this juyce hath power, Let it appear; his eyelids ope: Prodigious! Two Suns break from these Orbes.

_Alb._ Ha, Where am I? What new vision's this? To what Goddess do I owe this second life? Sure thou art more than mortal: And any Sacrifice of thanks or duty In poor and wretched man to pay, comes short Of your immortal bounty: but to shew I am not unthankful, th[u]s in humility I kiss the happy ground you have made sacred, By bearing of your weight.

_Cla._ No Goddess, friend: but made Of that same brittle mould as you are; One too acquainted with calamities, And from that apt to pity. Charity ever Finds in the act reward, and needs no Trumpet In the receiver. O forbear this duty; I have a hand to meet with yours, And lips to bid yours welcome.

_Cro._ I see, that by instinct, Though a young Maid hath never seen a Man, Touches have titillations, and inform her.

_Enter_ Rosella.

But here's our Governess; Now I expect a storme.

_Ros._ Child of my flesh, And not of my fair unspotted mind, Un-hand this Monster.

_Cla._ Monster, Mother?

_Ros._ Yes; and every word he speaks, a _Syrens_ note, To drown the careless hearer. Have I not taught thee The falshood and the perjuries of Men? On whom, but for a woman to shew pity, Is to be cruel to her self; the Soveraignty Proud and imperious men usurp upon us, We conferr on our selves, and love those fetters We fasten to our freedomes. Have we, _Clarinda_, Since thy fathers wrack, sought liberty, To lose it un-compel'd? Did fortune guide, Or rather destiny, our Barke, to which We could appoint no Port, to this blest place, Inhabited heretofore by warlike women, That kept men in subjection? Did we then, By their example, after we had lost All we could love in man, here plant our selves, With execrable oaths never to look On man, but as a Monster? and, Wilt thou Be the first president to infringe those vows We made to Heaven?

_Cla._ Hear me; and hear me with justice. And as ye are delighted in the name Of Mother, hear a daughter that would be like you. Should all Women use this obstinate abstinence, You would force upon us; in a few years The whole World would be peopled Onely with Beasts.

_Hip._ We must, and will have Men.

_Cro._ I, or wee'll shake off all obedience.

_Ros._ Are ye mad? Can no perswasion alter ye? suppose You had my suffrage to your sute; Can this Shipwrackt wretch supply them all?

_Alb._ Hear me great Lady! I have fellowes in my misery, not far hence, Divided only by this hellish River, There live a company of wretched Men, Such as your charity may make your slaves; Imagine all the miseries mankind May suffer under: and they groan beneath 'em.

_Cla._ But are they like to you?

_Jul._ Speak they your Language?

_Cro._ Are they able, lusty men?

_Alb._ They were good, Ladies; And in their May of youth of gentle blood, And such as may deserve ye; now cold and hunger Hath lessen'd their perfection: but restor'd To what they were, I doubt not they'll appear Worthy your favors.

_Jul._ This is a blessing We durst not hope for.

_Cla._ Dear Mother, be not obdurate.

_Ros._ Hear then my resolution: and labor not To add to what I'll grant, for 'twill be fruitless, You shall appear as good Angels to these wretched Men; In a small Boat wee'll pass o'er to 'em; And bring 'em comfort: if you like their persons, And they approve of yours: for wee'll force nothing; And since we want ceremonies, Each one shall choose a husband, and injoy His company a Month, but that expir'd, You shall no more come near 'em; if you prove fruitful, The Males ye shall return to them, the Females We will reserve our selves: this is the utmost, Ye shall e'er obtain: as ye think fit; Ye may dismiss this stranger, And prepare to morrow for the journey. [_Exit._

_Cla._ Come, Sir, Will ye walk? We will shew ye our pleasant Bowers, And something ye shall find to cheer your heart.

_Alb._ Excellent Lady; Though 'twill appear a wonder one near starv'd Should refuse rest and meat, I must not take Your noble offer: I left in yonder desart A Virgin almost pin'd.

_Cla._ Shee's not your Wife?

_Alb._ No Lady, but my Sister ('tis now dangerous To speak truth) To her I deeply vow'd Not to tast food, or rest, if fortune brought it me, Till I bless'd her with my return: now if you please To afford me an easie passage to her, And some meat for her recovery, I shall live your slave: and thankfully She shall ever acknowledge her life at your service.

_Cla._ You plead so well, I can deny ye nothing; I my self will see you furnisht; And with the next Sun visit and relieve thee.

_Alb._ Ye are all goodness-- [_Exit._

_Actus Tertius. Scæna Prima._

_Enter severally_, Lamure, Franvile, Morillat.

_Lam._ Oh! What a tempest have I in my stomach! How my empty guts cry out! my wounds ake, Would they would bleed again, that I might get Something to quench my thirst.

_Fran._ O _Lamure_, the happiness my dogs had When I kept house at home! they had a storehouse, A storehouse of most blessed bones and crusts, Happy crusts: Oh! how sharp hunger pinches me! [_Exit_ Franvile.

_Mor._ O my importunate belly, I have nothing To satisfie thee; I have sought, As far as my weak legs would carry me, Yet can find nothing: neither meat nor water; Nor any thing that's nourishing, My bellies grown together like an empty sachel.

_Enter_ Franvile.

_Lam._ How now, What news?

_Mor._ Hast any meat yet?

_Fran._ Not a bit that I can see; Here be goodly quarries, but they be cruel hard To gnaw: I ha got some mud, we'll eat it with spoons, Very good thick mud: but it stinks damnably; There's old rotten trunks of Trees too, But not a leafe nor blossome in all the Island.

_Lam._ How it looks!

_Mor._ It stinks too.

_Lam._ It may be poyson.

_Fran._ Let it be any thing; So I can get it down: Why Man, Poyson's a Princely dish.

_Mor._ Hast thou no Bisket? No crumbs left in thy pocket: here's my dublet, Give me but three small crumbes.

_Fran._ Not for three Kingdoms, If I were master of 'em: Oh _Lamure_, But one poor joynt of Mutton: we ha scorn'd (Man).

_Lam._ Thou speak'st of Paradis.

[_Fran._] Or but the snuffes of those healths, We have lewdly at midnight flang away.

_Mor._ Ah! but to lick the Glasses.

_Enter_ Surgeon.

_Fran._ Here comes the Surgeon: What Hast thou discover'd? smile, smile, and comfort us.

_Sur._ I am expiring; Smile they that can: I can find nothing Gentlemen, Here's nothing can be meat, without a miracle. Oh that I had my boxes, and my lints now, My stupes, my tents, and those sweet helps of nature, What dainty dishes could I make of 'em.

_Mor._ Hast ne'er an old suppository?

_Sur._ Oh would I had Sir.