SCENE III.

A Hall in FLORIO's House.

Gio. Lost! I am lost! my fates have doom'd my death:

The more I strive, I love; the more I love,
The less I hope: I see my ruin certain.
What judgment or endeavours could apply
To my incurable and restless wounds,
I thoroughly have examined, but in vain.
O, that it were not in religion sin

To make our love a god, and worship it!
I have even wearied heaven with pray'rs, dried up
The spring of my continual tears, even starv'd
My veins with daily fasts: what wit or art
Could counsel, I have practised; but, alas!
I find all these but dreams, and old men's tales,
To fright unsteady youth; I am still the same:
Or I must speak, or burst. 'Tis not, I know,
My lust, but 'tis my fate, that leads me on.'
Keep fear and low faint-hearted shame with
slaves!

I'll tell her that I love her, though my heart
Were rated at the price of that attempt.
Oh me! she comes,

3 This is a repetition of the sentiment with which he had taken leave of the Friar-My fate's my god. I would not detain the reader in these scenes, on which Ford has lavished all the charms of his eloquence; but it may be cursorily observed, that characters like Giovanni, desperately abandoned to vice, endeavour to cheat

Enter ANNABELLA and PUTANA.

Ann. Brother!

Giov. If such a thing

As courage dwell in men, ye heavenly powers, Now double all that virtue in my tongue! [Aside. Ann. Why, brother,

Will you not speak to me?

Giov. Yes; how do

you, sister?

Ann. Howe'er I am, methinks you are not well.
Put. Bless us! why are you so sad, sir?
Giov. Let me entreat you, leave us a while,

Putana.

Sister, I would be private with

Ann. Withdraw, Putana.

you.

Put. I will.-If this were any other company for her, I should think my absence an office of some credit; but I will leave them together.

[Aside, and exit. Giov. Come, sister, lend your hand; let's walk together;

I hope you need not blush to walk with me;
Here's none but you and I.

Ann. How's this?

Giov. I'faith,

I mean no harm.

Ann. Harm?

their conscience, by setting up a deity of their own, and pretending to be swayed by his resistless influence. This is the last stage of human depravation, and, in Scripture language, is called “hardening the heart."-See Mass, vol. i. p. 217.

Giov. No, good faith.

How is it with thee?

Ann. I trust he be not frantic

[Aside.

I am very well, brother.

Giov. Trust me, but I am sick; I fear so sick,

"Twill cost my life.

Ann. Mercy forbid it! 'tis not so, I hope.

Giov. I think you love me, sister.

Ann. Yes, you know I do.

Giov. I know it, indeed-you are very fair. Ann. Nay, then I see you have a merry sick

ness.

Giov. That's as it proves. The poets feign, I read,

That Juno for her forehead did exceed

All other goddesses; but I durst swear

Your forehead exceeds her's, as her's did theirs. Ann. "Troth, this is pretty!

Giov. Such a pair of stars

As are thine eyes, would, like Promethean fire, If gently glanced, give life to senseless stones. Ann. Fie upon you!

Giov. The lily and the rose, most sweetly strange,

Upon your dimple cheeks do strive for change: Such lips would tempt a saint; such hands as those

Would make an anchorite lascivious.

Ann. Do you mock me, or flatter me?

Giov. If you would see a beauty more exact Than art can counterfeit, or nature frame,

Look in your glass, and there behold your

own.

Ann. O, you are a trim youth!

Giov. Here!

Ann. What to do?

[Offers his dagger to her.

Giov. And here's my breast; strike home!
Rip up my bosom, there thou shalt behold

A heart, in which is writ the truth I speak-
Why stand you?

Ann. Are you earnest?

Giov. Yes, most earnest. You cannot love?

Ann. Whom?

Giov. Me. My tortured soul

Hath felt affliction in the heat of death.
O, Annabella, I am quite undone !

The love of thee, my sister, and the view
Of thy immortal beauty, have untuned
All harmony both of my rest and life.
Why do you not strike?

Ann. Forbid it, my just fears!

If this be true, 'twere fitter I were dead.

Giov. True! Annabella; 'tis no time to jest. I have too long suppress'd my hidden flames, That almost have consum'd me; I have spent Many a silent night in sighs and groans; Ran over all my thoughts, despised my fate, Reason'd against the reasons of my love, Done all that smooth-cheek'd virtue could advise, But found all bootless: 'tis my destiny That you must either love, or I must die.

Ann. Comes this in sadness* from you?
Giov. Let some mischief

Befall me soon, if I dissemble aught.

Ann. You are my brother Giovanni.
Giov. You

My sister Annabella; I know this,

And could afford you instance why to love
So much the more for this; to which intent
Wise nature first in your creation meant

To make you mine; else't had been sin and foul To share one beauty to a double soul.

Nearness in birth and blood, doth but persuade
A nearer nearness in affection.

I have ask'd counsel of the holy church,
Who tells me I may love you; and, 'tis just,
That, since I may, I should; and will, yes will:
Must I now live, or die?

Ann. Live; thou hast won

The field, and never fought: what thou hast urged,

My captive heart had long ago resolv'd.

I blush to tell thee,-but I'll tell thee now-
For every sigh that thou hast spent for me,
I have sigh'd ten; for every tear, shed twenty:
And not so much for that I loved, as that
I durst not say I loved, nor scarcely think it.
Giov. Let not this music be a dream, ye gods,
For pity's sake, I beg you!

Ann. On my knees,

[She kneels.

→ Comes this in sadness.] i. e. in seriousness.