Amin. This cannot be !

Evad. I do not kneel to live; I dare not hope it;
The wrongs I did are greater. Look upon me,
Though I appear with all my faults.

Amin. Stand up.

This is no new way to beget more sorrow :
Heaven knows I have too many. Do not mock me :
Though I am tame, and bred up with my wrongs,
Which are my foster-brothers, I may leap,

Like a hand-wolf, into my natural wilderness,
And do an outrage: prithee, do not mock me.
Evad. My whole life is so leprous, it infects
All my repentance. I would buy your pardon,
Though at the highest set, even with my life:
That slight contrition, that 's no sacrifice
For what I have committed.

Amin. Sure, I dazzle:

There cannot be a faith in that foul woman, That knows no god more mighty than her mischiefs.

Thou dost still worse, still number on thy faults,
To press my poor heart thus. Can I believe
There's any seed of virtue in that woman
Left to shoot up, that dares go on in sin
Known, and so known as thine is? Oh, Evadne,
Would there were any safety in thy sex,
That I might put a thousand sorrows off,
And credit thy repentance! but I must not :
Thou hast brought me to the dull calamity,
To that strange misbelief of all the world
And all things that are in it, that I fear
I shall fall like a tree, and find my grave,
Only remembering that I grieve.
Evad. My lord,

Give me your griefs: you are an innocent,
A soul as white as heaven: let not my sins
Perish your noble youth. I do not fall here

To shadow my dissembling with my tears,
(As all say women can,) or to make less
What my hot will has done, which Heaven and you
Know to be tougher than the hand of time

Can cut from man's remembrance; no, I do not;
I do appear the same, the same Evadne,

Dress'd in the shames I liv'd in, the same monster.
But these are names of honour to what I am;
I do present myself the foulest creature,

Most poisonous, dangerous, and despis'd of men,
Lerna e'er bred or Nilus. I am hell,

Till you, my dear lord, shoot your light into me,
The beams of your forgiveness; I am soul-sick,
And wither with the fear of one condemn'd,
Till I have got your pardon.

Amin. Rise, Evadne.

Those heavenly powers that
Grant a continuance of it!
Make thyself worthy of it;

put this good into thee
I forgive thee:
and take heed,

Take heed, Evadne, this be serious.

Mock not the powers above, that can and dare
Give thee a great example of their justice
To all ensuing ages, if thou playest
With thy repentance, the best sacrifice.

Evad. I have done nothing good to win belief,
My life hath been so faithless.

All the creatures,

Made for Heaven's honours, have their ends, and good ones,

All but the cozening crocodiles, false women: They reign here like those plagues, those killing

sores,

Men pray against; and when they die, like tales
Ill-told and unbeliev'd, they pass away,
And go to dust forgotten. But, my lord,
Those short days I shall number to my rest
(As many must not see me) shall, though too late,
Though in my evening, yet perceive a will,

Since I can do no good, because a woman,
Reach constantly at something that is near it :
I will redeem one minute of my age,

Or, like another Niobe, I'll weep,

Till I am water.

Amin. I am now dissolv'd;

My frozen soul melts. May each sin thou hast,
Find a new mercy! Rise; I am at peace.
Hadst thou been thus, thus excellently good,
Before that devil-king tempted thy frailty,
Sure thou hadst made a star. Give me thy hand :
From this time I will know thee; and, as far
As honour gives me leave, be thy Amintor.
When we meet next, I will salute thee fairly,
And pray the gods to give thee happy days:
My charity shall go along with thee,

Though my embraces must be far from thee.

Men's Natures more hard and subtile than Women's.

How stubbornly this fellow answer'd me!
There is a vile dishonest trick in man,
More than in women. All the men I meet
Appear thus to me, are harsh and rude,

And have a subtility in everything,

Which love could never know; but we fond women Harbour the easiest and smoothest thoughts,

And think all shall

go so. It is unjust

That men and women should be match'd together.

CUPID'S

REVENGE, A TRAGEDY:

BY THE SAME AUTHORS.

LEUCIPPUS, the King's Son, takes to mistress BACHA, a Widow; but being questioned by his Father, to preserve her honour, swears that she is chaste. The old King admires her, and on the credit of that oath, while his Son is absent, marries her. LEUCIPPUS, when he discovers the dreadful consequences of the deceit which he had used to his Father, counsels his friend ISMENUS never to speak a falsehood in any case.

Leu. My sin, Ismenus, has wrought all this ill :
And I beseech thee to be warn'd by me,

And do not lie! if any man should ask thee
But how thou dost, or what o'clock 'tis

now,
Be sure thou do not lie; make no excuse

For him that is most near thee; never let
The most officious falsehood 'scape thy tongue;
For they above (that are entirely truth)

Will make that seed which thou hast sown of lies
Yield miseries a thousand fold

Upon thine head, as they have done on mine.

LEUCIPPUS and his wicked Mother-in-law, BACHA, are left alone together for the first time after her marriage with the King, his father. Bach. He stands

As if he grew there, with his eyes on earth-
Sir, you and I, when we were last together,
Kept not this distance, as we were afraid
Of blasting by ourselves.

Leu. Madam, 'tis true;

Heaven pardon it!

Bach. Amen, sir. You may think

That I have done you wrong in this strange

marriage.

Leu. 'Tis past now.

Bach. But it was no fault of mine:

The world had call'd me mad, had I refus'd
The king; nor laid I any train to catch him,
It was your own oaths did it.

X.

81

F

Leu. "Tis a truth,

That takes my sleep away: but would to Heaven,
If it had so been pleas'd, you had refus'd him,
Though I had gratified that courtesy

With having you myself! But since 'tis thus,
I do beseech you that you will be honest
From henceforth; and not abuse his credulous age,
Which you may easily do. As for myself,
What I can say, you know, alas, too well,
Is tied within me! here it will sit like lead,
But shall offend no other; it will pluck me
Back from my entrance into any mirth,
As if a servant came, and whisper'd with me
Of some friend's death. But I will bear myself
Το
you with all the due obedience

A son owes to a mother: more than this

Is not in me; but I must leave the rest

To the just gods, who in their blessed time,
When they have given me punishment enough
For my rash sin, will mercifully find

As unexpected means to ease my grief

As they did now to bring it.

Bach. Grown so godly!

This must not be ! [Aside.]—And I will be to you

No other than a natural mother ought;

And for my honesty, so you will swear

Never to urge me, I shall keep it safe

From any other.

Leu. Bless me! I should urge you!

Bach. Nay, but swear, then, that I may be at peace;
For I do feel a weakness in myself,

That can deny you nothing: if you tempt me,
I shall embrace sin, as it were a friend,

And run to meet it.

Leu. If you knew how far

It were from me, you would not urge an oath ;
But for your satisfaction, when I tempt you—