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_Mem._ Great Lady, How humbly I am bound--
_Who._ You shall not kneel, Sir, Come, I have done you wrong; stand my Souldier, And thus I make amends-- [_Kisses him._
_Eumen._ A Plague confound ye, Is this your state?
_2 Capt._ 'Tis well enough.
_Mem._ O Lady, Your Royal hand, your hand my dearest beauty Is more than I must purchase: here divine one, I dare revenge my wrongs: ha?
_1 Capt._ A d.a.m.n'd foul one.
_Eume._ The Lees of Baudy prewns: mourning Gloves?
All spoil'd by Heaven.
_Mem._ Ha! who art thou?
_2 Capt._ A shame on ye, Ye clawing scabby Wh.o.r.e.
_Mem._ I say, who art thou?
_Eumen._ Why 'tis the Princess, Sir.
_Mem._ The Devil, Sir, 'Tis some Roguey thing.
_Who._ If this abuse be love, Sir, Or I that laid aside my modesty--
_Eumen._ So far thou't never find it.
_Mem._ Do not weep, For if ye be the Princess, I will love ye, Indeed I will, and honour ye, fight for ye, Come, wipe your eyes; by Heaven she stinks; who art thou?
Stinks like a poyson'd Rat behind a hanging?
Woman, who art? like a rotten Cabbage.
_2 Capt._ Y'are much to blame, Sir, 'tis the Princess.
_Mem._ How?
She the Princess?
_Eumen._ And the loving Princess.
_1 Capt._ Indeed the doating Princess.
_Mem._ Come hither once more, The Princess smells like mornings breath, pure Amber, Beyond the courted _Indies_ in her spices.
Still a dead Rat by Heaven; thou a Princess?
_Eumen._ What a dull Wh.o.r.e is this!
_Mem._ I'le tell ye presently, For if she be a Princess, as she may be And yet stink too, and strongly, I shall find her; Fetch the _Numidian_ Lyon I brought over, If she be sprung from the Royal blood, the Lyon, He'l do you reverence, else--
_Who._ I beseech your Lords.h.i.+p--
_Eumen._ He'l tear her all to pieces.
_Who._ I am no Princess, Sir.
_Mem._ Who brought thee hither?
_2 Capt._ If ye confess, we'll hang ye.
_Who._ Good my Lord--
_Mem._ Who art thou then?
_Who._ A poor retaining Wh.o.r.e, Sir, To one of your Lords.h.i.+ps Captains.
_Mem._ Alas poor Wh.o.r.e, Go, be a Wh.o.r.e still, and stink worse: _Ha, ha, ha_. [_Ex._ Cloe.
What fools are these, and c.o.xcombs! [_Exit_ Memnon.
_Eumen._ I am right glad yet, He takes it with such lightness.
_1 Cap._ Me thinks his face too Is not so clouded as it was; how he looks!
_Eume._ Where's your dead Rat?
_2 Cap._ The Devil dine upon her Loins; why what a Medicine had he gotten To try a Wh.o.r.e!
_Enter_ Stremon.
_Stre._ Here's one from _Polydor_ stays to speak with ye.
_Eume._ With whom?
_Stre._ With all; where has the General been?
He's laughing to himself extreamly.
_Eumen._ Come, I'le tell thee how; I am glad yet he's so merry. [_Exeunt._
_Actus Quintus. Scena Prima._
_Enter_ Chilax _and Priestess_, Calis, _Lady and Nun_.
_Chi._ What lights are those that enter there, still nearer?
Plague o' your rotten itch, do you draw me hither Into the Temple to betray me? was there no place To satisfie your sin in? G.o.ds forgive me, Still they come forward.
_Priest._ Peace ye fool, I have found it, 'Tis the young Princess _Calis_.
