SCENE III.[4162

_Enter_ PROPHILUS _and_ PENTHEA.

_Pro._ In this walk, lady, will your brother find you: And, with your favour, give me leave a little To work a preparation. In his fashion I have observ’d of late some kind of slackness To such alacrity as nature [once] 5 And custom took delight in; sadness grows Upon his recreations, which he hoards In such a willing silence, that to question The grounds will argue little skill in friendship, And less good manners.

_Pen._ Sir, I ’m not inquisitive 10 Of secrecies without an invitation.

_Pro._ With pardon, lady, not a syllable Of mine implies so rude a sense; the drift— _Enter_ ORGILUS, [_disguised as before_.] [_To_ ORG.] Do thy best To make this lady merry for an hour. _Exit._ 15

_Org._ Your will shall be a law, sir.

_Pen._ Prithee, leave me; I have some private thoughts I would account with; Use thou thine own.

_Org._ Speak on, fair nymph; our souls Can dance as well to music of the spheres As any’s who have feasted with the gods. 20

_Pen._ Your school-terms are too troublesome.

_Org._ What Heaven Refines mortality from dross of earth But such as uncompounded beauty hallows With glorified perfection?

_Pen._ Set thy wits In a less wild proportion.

_Org._ Time can never 25 On the white table of unguilty faith Write counterfeit dishonour; turn those eyes, The arrows of pure love, upon that fire, Which once rose to a flame, perfum’d with vows As sweetly scented as the incense smoking 30 On Vesta’s altars ... [4163] ... the holiest odours, virgin’s tears, ... sprinkled, like dews, to feed ’em And to increase their fervour.

_Pen._ Be not frantic.

_Org._ All pleasures are but mere imagination. Feeding the hungry appetite with steam 36 And sight of banquet, whilst the body pines, Not relishing the real taste of food: Such is the leanness of a heart divided From intercourse of troth-contracted loves; 40 No horror should deface that precious figure Seal’d with the lively stamp of equal souls.

_Pen._ Away! some Fury hath bewitch’d thy tongue, The breath of ignorance, that flies from thence, Ripens a knowledge in me of afflictions 45 Above all suff’rance.—Thing of talk, begone! Begone, without reply!

_Org._ Be just, Penthea, In thy commands; when thou send’st forth a doom Of banishment, know first on whom it lights. Thus I take off the shroud, in which my cares 50 Are folded up from view of common eyes. [_Throws off his_ Scholar’s _dress._] What is thy sentence next?

_Pen._ Rash man! thou layest A blemish on mine honour, with the hazard Of thy too-desperate life: yet I profess, By all the laws of ceremonious wedlock, 55 I have not given admittance to one thought Of female change since cruelty enforc’d Divorce betwixt my body and my heart. Why would you fall from goodness thus?

_Org._ O, rather Examine me, how I could live to say 60 I have been much, much wrong’d. ’T is for thy sake I put on this imposture: dear Penthea, If thy soft bosom be not turn’d to marble, Thou ’lt pity our calamities; my interest Confirms me thou art mine still.

_Pen._ Lend your hand; 65 With both of mine I clasp it thus, thus kiss it, Thus kneel before ye.

_Org._ You instruct my duty.

_Pen._ We may stand up.—Have you aught else to urge Of new demand? As for the old, forget it; ’T is buried in an everlasting silence, 70 And shall be, shall be ever. What more would ye?

_Org._ I would possess my wife; the equity Of very reason bids me.

_Pen._ Is that all?

_Org._ Why, ’t is the all of me, myself.

_Pen._ Remove Your steps some distance from me:—at this space 75 A few words I dare change; but first put on Your borrowed shape.

_Org._ You are obey’d; ’t is done. [_He resumes his disguise._]

_Pen._ How, Orgilus, by promise I was thine The heavens do witness: they can witness too A rape done on my truth: how I do love thee 80 Yet, Orgilus, and yet, must best appear In tendering thy freedom; for I find The constant preservation of thy merit, By thy not daring to attempt my fame With injury of any loose conceit, 85 Which might give deeper wounds to discontents. Continue this fair race:[4164] then, though I cannot Add to thy comfort, yet I shall more often Remember from what fortune I am fallen, 89 And pity mine own ruin.—Live, live happy,— Happy in thy next choice, that thou mayst people This barren age with virtues in thy issue! And O, when thou art married, think on me With mercy, not contempt! I hope thy wife, Hearing my story, will not scorn my fall.— 95 Now let us part.

_Org._ Part! yet advise thee better: Penthea is the wife to Orgilus, And ever shall be.

_Pen._ Never shall nor will.

_Org._ How!

_Pen._ Hear me; in a word I ’ll tell thee why. The virgin-dowry which my birth bestow’d 100 Is ravish’d by another; my true love Abhors to think that Orgilus deserv’d No better favours than a second bed.

_Org._ I must not take this reason.

_Pen._ To confirm it Should I outlive my bondage, let me meet 105 Another worse than this and less desir’d, If, of all men alive, thou shouldst but touch My lip or hand again!

_Org._ Penthea, now I tell ye, you grow wanton in my sufferance: Come, sweet, th’ art mine.

_Pen._ Uncivil sir, forbear! 110 Or I can turn affection into vengeance; Your reputation, if you value any, Lies bleeding at my feet. Unworthy man, If ever henceforth thou appear in language, Message, or letter, to betray my frailty, 115 I ’ll call thy former protestations lust, And curse my stars for forfeit of my judgment. Go thou, fit only for disguise, and walks,[4165] To hide thy shame: this once I spare thy life. I laugh at mine own confidence; my sorrows By thee are made inferior to my fortunes. 121 If ever thou didst harbour worthy love, Dare not to answer. My good genius guide me, That I may never see thee more!—Go from me!

_Org._ I ’ll tear my veil of politic French off, And stand up like a man resolv’d to do: 126 Action, not words, shall show me.—O Penthea! _Exit._

_Pen._ ’A sighed my name, sure, as he parted from me: I fear I was too rough. Alas, poor gentleman ’A look’d not like the ruins of his youth, 130 But like the ruins of those ruins. Honour, How much we fight with weakness to preserve thee! [_Walks aside._]

_Enter_ BASSANES _and_ GRAUSIS.

_Bass._ Fie on thee! damn thee, rotten maggot, damn thee! Sleep? sleep at court? and now? Aches,[4166] convulsions, Imposthumes, rheums, gouts, palsies, clog thy bones 135 A dozen years more yet!

_Grau._ Now y’ are in humours.

_Bass._ She ’s by herself, there ’s hope of that; she ’s sad too; She ’s in strong contemplation; yes, and fixt: The signs are wholesome.

_Grau._ Very wholesome, truly.

_Bass._ Hold your chops,[4167] nightmare!—Lady, come; your brother 140 Is carried to his closet; you must thither.

_Pen._ Not well, my lord?

_Bass._ A sudden fit; ’t will off! Some surfeit or disorder.—How dost, dearest?

_Pen._ Your news is none o’ the best.

_Re-enter_ PROPHILUS.

_Pro._ The chief of men, The excellentest Ithocles, desires 145 Your presence, madam.

_Bass._ We are hasting to him.

_Pen._ In vain we labour in this course of life To piece our journey out at length, or crave Respite of breath: our home is in the grave.

_Bass._ Perfect philosophy!

[_Pen._] Then let us care 150 To live so, that our reckonings may fall even When we ’re to make account.

_Pro._ He cannot fear Who builds on noble grounds: sickness or pain Is the deserver’s exercise;[4168] and such Your virtuous brother to the world is known. Speak comfort to him, lady; be all gentle: 156 Stars fall but in the grossness of our sight; A good man dying, th’ earth doth lose a light. _Exeunt omnes._