She governs her own hours. Noble Ithocles, Else we had waited on you with the first. Ith. How does Penthea now? Pen. You best know, brother, From whom my health and comforts are derived. Bass. [aside.] I like the answer well; 't is sad and modest. There may be tricks yet, tricks.-Have an eye, Grausis ! Cal. Now, Crotolon, the suit we join'd in must not Fall by too long demur. Crot. "Tis granted, princess, For my part. Arm. With condition, that his son Favour the contract. Cal. Such delay is easy. The joys of marriage make thee, Prophilus, And her of thy desert! Pro. Most sweetly gracious! Bass. The joys of marriage are the heaven on earth, Life's paradise, great princess, the soul's quiet, Like to a constant woman!-(but where is she? Such a new monster) [aside.]-I can speak by proof, For I rest in Elysium; 't is my happiness. Crot. Euphranea, how are you resolv'd, speak freely, In your affections to this gentleman? Euph. Nor more, nor less than as his love as sures me: Which (if your liking with my brother's warrants) I cannot but approve in all points worthy. Crot. So, so! I know your answer. [TO PRO. lth. 'T had been pity, To sunder hearts so equally consented. Enter HEMOPHIL. Hem. The king, lord Ithocles, commands your Gron. Where are the lords? all must unto the king Without delay; the prince of Argos Cal. Well, sir? Gron. Is coming to the court, sweet lady. The prince of Argos? Gron. 'T was my fortune, madam, Tenjoy the honour of these happy tidings. Ith. Penthea! Pen. Brother. Ith. Let me an hour hence Meet you alone, within the palace grove; Bass. How's that? Ith. Alone, pray be alone. I am your creature, princess.-On, my lords. [Exeunt all but Bass. Bass. Alone! alone! what means that word alone? Why might not I be there?-hum!-he's her bro ther: Brothers and sisters are but flesh and blood, And this same court-ease is a strong temptation His fine friend Prophilus Re-enter GRONEAS. Gron. My lord, you're called for. Bass. Most heartily I thank you; where's my wife, pray? Gron. Retired among the ladies. Bass. Still I thank you: There's an old waiter with her, saw you her, too? Gron. She sits i' th' presence-lobby fast asleep, sir. Bass. Asleep! asleep, sir! Gron. Is your lordship troubled? You will not to the king? Bass. Your humblest vassal. Gron. Your servant, my good lord. Bass. I wait your footsteps. SCENE III. [Exeunt. The Gardens of the Palace. A Grove. Enter PROPHILUS and PENTHEA. Pro. In this walk, lady, will your brother find you; And, with your favour, give me leave a little I have observ'd of late some kind of slackness And custom took delight in; sadness grows In such a willing silence, that to question The grounds will argue [little] skill in friendship, And less good manners. Pen. Sir, I am not inquisitive Of secrecies, without an invitation. Pro. With pardon, lady, not a syllable Do thy best Enter ORGILUS, as before. To make this lady merry for an hour. Pen. Prithee, leave me, [TO ORG. [Exit PRO. 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, Pen. Your school-terms are too troublesome. Refines mortality from dross of earth, Pen. Set thy wits In a less wild proportion. Org. Time can never 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, ** * the holiest odours, virgins' tears, ** sprinkled, like dews, to feed them And to increase their fervour. Pen. Be not frantic. Org. All pleasures are but mere imagination, And sight of banquet, while the body pines, &c.] It is greatly to be regretted that this apparently fine passage should have been so irreparably mutilated at the press.-GIFFORD. No horror should deface that precious figure Pen. Away! some fury hath bewitch'd thy tongue: The breath of ignorance that flies from thence, Ripens a knowledge in me of afflictions, Above all sufferance.-Thing of talk, begone, Begone, without reply! Org. Be just, Penthea, In thy commands; when thou send'st forth a doom [Throws off his scholar's dress. What is thy sentence next? Pen. Rash man! thou lay'st A blemish on mine honour, with the hazard Examine me, how I could live to say I have been much, much wrong'd. 'Tis for thy sake I put on this imposture; dear Penthea, If thy soft bosom be not turn'd to marble, Pen. Lend your hand; With both of mine I clasp it thus, thus kiss it, Thus kneel before ye. Org. You instruct my duty. [PEN. kneels. [ORG. kneels. Pen. We may stand up.―[They rise.]—Have you aught else to urge Of new demand? as for the old, forget it; "Tis buried in an everlasting silence, And shall be, shall be ever: what more would you? |