SCENE III.[3610

_Enter_ NANTOLET, LA CASTRE, DE GARD, LUGIER, _and_ MIRABEL.

_Mir._ Your patience, gentlemen; why do ye bait me?

_Nant._ 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 5 For your sake only, her most pitied lunacy Of all but you, show 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—— 10

_La Cast._ Let him alone: It is his glory that he can kill beauty.— Ye bear my stamp, but not my tenderness; Your wild unsavoury courses let[3611] that in ye! For shame, be sorry, though ye cannot cure her; 15 Show 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; 20 Heaven’s 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, 25 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’er I show to ye, 30 Wild, as you 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_ ROSALURA _and_ LILLIA BIANCA.

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

_Lil._ Alas, poor soul, she will die! She is grown senseless; 35 She will not know nor speak now.

_Ros._ Die for love! And love of such a youth! I would die 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._ You have done a worthy act, sir, a most famous; 40 Ye have kill’d a maid the wrong way; ye are a conqueror.

_Ros._ A conqueror? A cobbler! Hang him, sowter![3612]— Go hide thyself, 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, 45 Or ever heard of any, take my counsel: Off with your garters, and seek out a bough,— A handsome 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! 50 What caterwauling ’s here! What gibbing![3613] Do you think my heart is soft’ned with a black santis?[3614] Show 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 Cast._ Alas, poor gentlewoman!—Do ye know me, lady? 55

_Lug._ How she looks up, and stares!

_Ori._ I know ye very well; You are my godfather: and that’s the monsieur.

_De Gard._ And who am I?

_Ori._ You are Amadis de Gaul, sir.— Oh, oh, my heart!—Were you never in love, sweet lady? And do you never dream of flowers and gardens? 60 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! 66 Will you not tell me where my love lies buried?

_Mir._ He is not dead.—[_Aside._] Beshrew my heart, she stirs me!

_Ori._ He is dead to me.

_Mir._ [_Aside._] Is ’t possible my nature Should be so damnable to let her suffer?— 70 Give me your hand.

_Ori._ How soft ye feel, how gentle! I ’ll tell you your fortune, friend.

_Mir._ How she stares on me!

_Ori._ You have a flattering face, but ’t is a fine one; I warrant you may have a hundred sweethearts. Will ye pray for me? I shall die to-morrow; 75 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[3615] me!

_Ori._ Do you weep too? You have not lost your lover? You mock me: I ’ll go home and pray.

_Mir._ Pray ye, pardon me; 80 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 Cast._ Certain she knows ye not, yet loves to see ye. 85 How she smiles now!

_Enter_ BELLEUR.

_Bel._ Where are ye? Oh, why do not ye laugh? Come, laugh at me: Why 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; 90 This is no time for mirth, nor place; I have us’d too much on ’t. I have undone myself 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. 95

_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. 100 Is she dead, dost think?

_Mir._ Dead! Heaven forbid!

_Bel._ Heaven further it! For, till they be key-cold dead, there’s no trusting of ’em: Whate’er they seem, or howsoe’er they carry it, Till they be chap-fallen, and their tongues at peace, Nail’d in their coffins sure, I’ll ne’er believe ’em. 105 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: 110 Let her be mad, or what she will, she ’ll cheat thee! _Exit._

_Mir._ Away, wild fool!—How vild this shows in him now!— Now take my faith, (before ye all I speak it,) And with it my repentant love.

_La Cast._ This seems well.

_Mir._ Were but this lady clear again, whose sorrows 115 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 show me, I would take her. As she is now, my tears and prayers shall wed her. 120

_De Gard._ This makes some small amends.

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

_Nant._ Let’s draw aside all.

[_Exeunt all except_ ORIANA _and_ MIRABEL.]

_Ori._ Oh, my best friend! I would fain——

_Mir._ [_Aside._] What, she speaks well, And with another voice.

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

_Mir._ Speak boldly. 125

_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; 130 Not any knew or ever dream’d what I meant. Will ye be mine?

_Mir._ ’T is 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! 135 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, NANTOLET, LA CASTRE, DE GARD, LUGIER, ROSALURA, _and_ LILLIA BIANCA.

_Bel._ How goes it now?

_Mir._ Thou art a kind of prophet; The woman’s well again, and would have gull’d me; 140 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. 145

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

_De Gard._ Be not insolent.

_Mir._ Well, go thy ways: from this hour I disclaim thee, Unless thou hast a trick above this; then I ’ll love thee. Ye owe me for your cure.—Pray, have a care of her, 150 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 ’ll no more projects: If we could make ’em mad, it were some mastery.

_Exeunt_ [MIRABEL _and_ BELLEUR].

_Lil._ I am glad she is well again.

_Ros._ So am I, certain.— 155 Be not ashamed.

_Ori._ I shall never see a man more.

_De Gard._ 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 Cast._ Be rul’d, and be at peace. Ye have my consent, 159 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 unrecompens’d. Come in, and slight him too.

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