ACT II. SCENE I.

_The same. A Room in_ ARCHIDAMUS'_s House_.

_Enter_ ARCHIDAMUS, TIMAGORAS, LEOSTHENES, _with gorgets; and_ MARULLO.

_Archid._ So, so, 'tis well: how do I look?

_Mar._ Most sprightfully.

_Archid._ I shrink not in the shoulders; though I'm old I'm tough, steel to the back; I have not wasted My stock of strength in featherbeds: here's an arm too; There's stuff in 't, and I hope will use a sword As well as any beardless boy of you all.

_Timag._ I'm glad to see you, sir, so well prepared To endure the travail of the war.

_Archid._ Go to, sirrah! I shall endure, when some of you keep your cabins, For all your flaunting feathers; nay, Leosthenes, You are welcome too[105], all friends and fellows now.

_Leost._ Your servant, sir.

_Archid._ Pish! leave these compliments, They stink in a soldier's mouth; I could be merry, For, now my gown's off, farewell gravity[106]! I fear ye, when you come to the test.--Old stories tell us, There's a month call'd October[107], which brings in Cold weather; there are trenches too, 'tis rumour'd, In which to stand all night to the knees in water, In gallants breeds the toothach; there's a sport too, Named _lying perdue_, do you mark me? 'tis a game Which you must learn to play at: now in these seasons, And choice variety of exercises, (Nay, I come to you,) and fasts, not for devotion, Your rambling youngster feels strange alterations; And in a frosty morning.----O welcome! welcome!

_Enter_ DIPHILUS _and_ CLEORA.

You have cut off my discourse; but I will perfect My lecture in the camp.

_Diph._ Come, we are stay'd for; The general's afire for a remove, And longs to be in action.

_Archid._ 'Tis my wish too. We must part--nay, no tears, my best Cleora; I shall melt too, and that were ominous. Millions of blessings on thee! All that's mine I give up to thy charge; and, sirrah, look [_To_ MARULLO. You with that care and reverence observe her, Which you would pay to me.--A kiss; farewell, girl!

_Diph._ Peace wait upon you, fair one! [_Exeunt_ ARCHIDAMUS, DIPHILUS, _and_ MARULLO.

_Timag._ 'Twere impertinence To wish you to be careful of your honour, That ever keep in pay a guard about you Of faithful virtues: farewell!--Friend, I leave you To wipe our kisses off; I know that lovers Part with more circumstance and ceremony: Which I give way to. [_Exit._

_Leost._ 'Tis a noble favour, For which I ever owe you. We are alone; But how I should begin, or in what language Speak the unwilling word of parting from you, I am yet to learn.

_Cleo._ And still continue ignorant; For I must be most cruel to myself, If I should teach you.

_Leost._ Yet it must be spoken, Or you will chide my slackness. You have fired me With the heat of noble action to deserve you; And the least spark of honour that took life From your sweet breath, still fann'd by it and cherish'd, Must mount up in a glorious flame, or I Am much unworthy.

_Cleo._ May it not burn here[108], And, as a seamark, serve to guide true lovers Safe from the rocks of passion to the harbour Of pure affection? rising up an example Which aftertimes shall witness, to our glory, First took from us beginning.

_Leost._ 'Tis a happiness My duty to my country, and mine honour Cannot consent to; besides, add to these, It was your pleasure, fortified by persuasion, And strength of reason, for the general good, That I should go.

_Cleo._ Alas! I then was witty To plead against myself; and mine eye, fix'd Upon the hill of honour, ne'er descended To look into the vale of certain dangers, Through which you were to cut your passage to it.

_Leost._ I'll stay at home, then.

_Cleo._ No, that must not be; For so, to serve my own ends, and to gain A petty wreath myself, I rob you of A certain triumph, which must fall upon you, Or Virtue's turn'd a handmaid to blind Fortune. How is my soul divided! to confirm you In the opinion of the world, most worthy To be beloved, (with me you're at the height, And can advance no further,) I must send you To court the goddess of stern war, who, if She see you with my eyes, will ne'er return you, But grow enamour'd of you.

_Leost._ Sweet, take comfort! And what I offer you, you must vouchsafe me, Or I am wretched. All the dangers that I can encounter in the war are trifles; My enemies abroad to be contemn'd: The dreadful foes, that have the power to hurt me, I leave at home with you.

_Cleo._ With me!

_Leost._ Nay, in you, In every part about you, they are arm'd To fight against me.

_Cleo._ Where?

_Leost._ There's no perfection That you are mistress of, but musters up A legion against me, and all sworn To my destruction.

_Cleo._ This is strange!

_Leost._ But true, sweet; Excess of love can work such miracles! Upon this ivory forehead are intrench'd Ten thousand rivals, and these suns command Supplies from all the world, on pain to forfeit Their comfortable beams; these ruby lips, A rich exchequer to assure their pay: This hand, Sibylla's golden bough to guard them Through hell, and horror, to the Elysian springs; Which who'll not venture for? and, should I name Such as the virtues of your mind invite, Their numbers would be infinite.

_Cleo._ Can you think I may be tempted?

_Leost._ You were never proved[109]. For me, I have conversed with you no further Than would become a brother. I ne'er tuned Loose notes to your chaste ears; or brought rich presents For my artillery, to batter down The fortress of your honour; I never practised The cunning and corrupting arts they study, That wander in the wild maze of desire; Honest simplicity and truth were all The agents I employ'd; and when I came To see you, it was with that reverence As I beheld the altars of the gods: And Love, that came along with me, was taught To leave his arrows and his torch behind, Quench'd in my fear to give offence.

_Cleo._ And 'twas That modesty that took me, and preserves me, Like a fresh rose, in mine own natural sweetness; Which, sullied with the touch of impure hands, Loses both scent and beauty.

_Leost._ But, Cleora, When I am absent, as I must go from you, (Such is the cruelty of my fate,) and leave you, Unguarded, to the violent assaults Of loose temptations; when the memory Of my so many years of love and service Is lost in other objects; when you are courted By such as keep a catalogue of their conquests, Won upon credulous virgins; when nor father Is here to owe[110] you, brother to advise you, Nor your poor servant by, to keep such off, By love instructed how to undermine, And blow your constancy up; when your weak senses, At once assaulted, shall conspire against you, And play the traitors to your soul, your virtue; How can you stand? 'Faith, though you fall, and I The judge, before whom you then stood accused, I should acquit you.

_Cleo._ Will you then confirm That love and jealousy, though of different natures, Must of necessity be twins; the younger Created only to defeat the elder, And spoil him of his birthright[111]? 'tis not well. But being to part, I will not chide, I will not; Nor with one syllable or tear, express How deeply I am wounded with the arrows Of your distrust: but when that you shall hear, At your return, how I have borne myself, And what an austere penance I take on me, To satisfy your doubts; when, like a vestal, I show you, to your shame, the fire still burning, Committed to my charge by true affection, The people joining with you in the wonder; When, by the glorious splendour of my sufferings, The prying eyes of jealousy are struck blind, The monster too that feeds on fears e'en starved For want of seeming matter to accuse me; Expect, Leosthenes, a sharp reproof From my just anger.

_Leost._ What will you do?

_Cleo._ Obey me, Or from this minute you are a stranger to me; And do 't without reply. All-seeing sun, Thou witness of my innocence, thus I close Mine eyes against thy comfortable light, 'Till the return of this distrustful man! Now bind them sure;--nay, do 't: [_He binds her eyes with her scarf._] If, uncompell'd, I loose this knot, until the hands that made it Be pleased to untie it, may consuming plagues Fall heavy on me! pray you guide me to your lips. This kiss, when you come back, shall be a virgin To bid you welcome; nay, I have not done yet: I will continue dumb, and, you once gone, No accent shall come from me. Now to my chamber, My tomb, if you miscarry: there I'll spend My hours in silent mourning, and thus much Shall be reported of me to my glory, And you confess it, whether I live or die, My constancy triumphs o'er your jealousy. [_Exeunt._

FOOTNOTES:

[105] ------------_nay, Leosthenes, You are welcome too_, &c.] It should be remembered that Archidamus is, with great judgment, represented in the first scene as averse to the marriage of Leosthenes with his daughter.--GIFFORD.

[106] _For, now my gown's off, farewell gravity!_] This is said to have been a frequent expression with the great but playful Sir Thomas More, who was never so happy as when he shook off the pomp of office. Fuller tells a similar story of Lord Burleigh.--GIFFORD.

[107] _There's a month call'd_ October, &c.] This pleasant old man forgets that he is talking of Sicily, where October is the most delightful month of the year. All our old poets loved and thought only of their country. Whatever region was the subject, England was the real theme: their habits, customs, peculiarities were all derived from thence. This, though it must condemn them as historians, may save them as patriots: and, indeed, it is not much to be regretted that they should overlook manners, with which they were very imperfectly acquainted, in favour of those with which they were hourly conversant--at least it would be ungrateful in us, who profit so much by their minute descriptions, to be offended at their disregard of "the proper _costumi_."--GIFFORD.

[108] _Here_,] i. e. _in Syracuse_.

[109] Leost. _You were never proved._] The whole of this scene is eminently beautiful; yet I cannot avoid recommending to the reader's particular notice the speech which follows. Its rhythm is so perfect, that it drops on the ear like the sweetest melody.--GIFFORD.

[110] _Owe_,] i. e. _own_.

[111] _And spoil him of his birthright?_] This is a happy allusion to the history of Jacob and Esau. It is the more so, for being void of all profaneness; to which, indeed, Massinger had no tendency.--GIFFORD.