But he must bind himself in chains to 't? worse ! MORE DISSEMBLERS BESIDES WOMEN: A COMEDY, BY THOMAS MIDDLETON. Death. when the heart's above, the body walks here But like an idle serving-man below, Gaping and waiting for his master's coming. That stays here for a friend: when death comes, then Loving a Woman. of all the frenzies That follow flesh and blood, The most ridiculous is to fawn on women; There's no excuse for that: 'tis such a madness, 'Twas all in vain, when they first loved, themselves, Widow's Vow. Lord Cardinal. Increase of health and a redoubled courage To chastity's great soldier: what, so sad, madam ? The memory of her seven years deceased lord Duch. Religious sir, You heard the last words of my dying lord. Your goodness but to speak 'em over to me, Lord Card. What's your meaning In this, most virtuous madam ? Duch. 'Tis a courtesy I stand in need of, sir, at this time especially; Lord Card. I wonder; yet I'll spare to question farther: Duch. I thank you, sir: A blessing come along with it. Lord Card. [repeats] "You see, my lords, what all earth's glory is, Rightly defined in me, uncertain breath; A dream of threescore years to the long sleeper, To most not half the time. Beware ambition; Heaven is not reach'd with pride, but with submission. "Twould come more calm than an evening's peace, Unto the man, that ever should enjoy thee. Duch. "My loved lord, Let your confirm'd opinion of my life, To draw my affections to a second liking." Duch." Then here I vow, never Lord Card. Why, madam Duch. I can go no further. Lord Card. What, have you forgot your vow? Duch. I have, too certainly. Lord Card. Your vow? that cannot be; it follows now, Just where I left. Duch. My frailty gets before it; Nothing prevails but ill. Lord Card. What ail you, madam ? Duch. Sir, I'm in love. NO WIT LIKE A WOMAN'S: A COMEDY, BY THOMAS HELP MIDDLETON. Virtuous Poverty. 'Life, had he not his answer? what strange impudence Governs in man, when lust is lord of him! And live eternal beggar ? he shall pardon me: -husband, Wake, wake, and let not patience keep thee poor; Good and Ill Fortune. O my blessing! Out of a world of waters, and now sets me And scarce can feed himself: the streams of fortune, 'Gainst which he tugs in vain, still beat him down, And will not suffer him (past hand to mouth) To lift his arm to his posterities' blessing. I see a careful sweat run in a ring About his temples, but all will not do: For till some happy means relieve his state, Parting in Amity. Let our parting Be full as charitable as our meeting was; That the pale envious world, glad of the food And nuptial strifes, may not feed fat with ours. O my reviving joy! thy quickening presence Mother's Forgiveness. Mother. Why do your words start back ? are they afraid Of her that ever loved them? Philip. I have a suit to you, madam. Mother. You have told me that already; pray, what is 't? If 't be so great, my present state refuse it, I shall be abler, then command and use it. Whatever 't be, let me have warning to provide for 't. Philip. Provide forgiveness then, for that's the want My conscience feels. O, my wild youth has led me Into unnatural wrongs against your freedom once. I spent the ransom which my father sent, To set my pleasures free; while you lay captive. Mother. And is this all now? You use me like a stranger: pray, stand up. Philip. Rather fall flat: I shall deserve yet worse. Mother. Whate'er your faults are, esteem me still a friend; Or else you wrong me more in asking pardon Than when you did the wrong you ask❜d it for: And since you have prepared me to forgive you, Pray let me know for what; the first fault 's nothing. Philip. Here comes the wrong then that drives home the rest. I saw a face at Antwerp, that quite drew me From conscience and obedience: in that fray I lost my heart, I must needs lose my way. There went the ransom, to redeem my mind; 'Stead of the money, I brought over her; And to cast mists before my father's eyes, Told him it was my sister (lost so long) And that yourself was dead. You see the wrong. Mother. This is but youthful still— I forgive thee As freely as thou didst it. For, alas! This may be call'd good dealing, to some parts THE WITCH: A TRAGI-COMEDY, BY THOMAS MIDDLETON. HECATE, and the other Witches, at their Charms. Hec. Titty and Tiffin, Suckin And Pidgen, Liard, and Robin! |