The Maids Tragedy Part 11

Alas! I am nothing but a mult.i.tude Of walking griefs; yet should I murther you, I might before the world take the excuse Of madness: for compare my injuries, And they will well appear too sad a weight For reason to endure; but fall I first Amongst my sorrows, ere my treacherous hand Touch holy things: but why? I know not what I have to say; why did you choose out me To make thus wretched? there were thousand fools Easie to work on, and of state enough within the Island.

_Evad_. I would not have a fool, it were no credit for me.

_Amint_. Worse and worse!

Thou that dar'st talk unto thy Husband thus, Profess thy self a Wh.o.r.e; and more than so, Resolve to be so still; it is my fate To bear and bow beneath a thousand griefs, To keep that little credit with the World.

But there were wise ones too, you might have ta'ne another.

_King_. No; for I believe thee honest, as thou wert valiant.

_Amint_. All the happiness Bestow'd upon me, turns into disgrace; G.o.ds take your honesty again, for I Am loaden with it; good my Lord the King, be private in it.

_King_. Thou may'st live _Amintor_, Free as thy King, if thou wilt wink at this, And be a means that we may meet in secret.

_Amint_. A Baud! hold my breast, a bitter curse Seize me, if I forget not all respects That are Religious, on another word Sounded like that, and through a Sea of sins Will wade to my revenge, though I should call Pains here, and after life upon my soul.

_King_. Well I am resolute you lay not with her, And so leave you.

[_Exit King_.

_Evad_. You must be prating, and see what follows.

_Amint_. Prethee vex me not.

Leave me, I am afraid some sudden start Will pull a murther on me.

_Evad_. I am gone; I love my life well.

[_Exit Evadne_.

_Amint_. I hate mine as much.

This 'tis to break a troth; I should be glad If all this tide of grief would make me mad.

[_Exit_.

_Enter Melantius_.

_Mel_. I'le know the cause of all _Amintors_ griefs, Or friends.h.i.+p shall be idle.

[_Enter Calianax_.

_Cal_. O _Melantius_, my Daughter will die.

_Mel_. Trust me, I am sorry; would thou hadst ta'ne her room.

_Cal_. Thou art a slave, a cut-throat slave, a b.l.o.o.d.y treacherous slave.

_Melan_. Take heed old man, thou wilt be heard to rave, And lose thine Offices.

_Cal_. I am valiant grown At all these years, and thou art but a slave.

_Mel_. Leave, some company will come, and I respect Thy years, not thee so much, that I could wish To laugh at thee alone.

_Cal_. I'le spoil your mirth, I mean to fight with thee; There lie my Cloak, this was my Fathers Sword, And he durst fight; are you prepar'd?

_Mel_. Why? wilt thou doat thy self out of thy life?

Hence get thee to bed, have careful looking to, and eat warm things, and trouble not me: my head is full of thoughts more weighty than thy life or death can be.

_Cal_. You have a name in War, when you stand safe Amongst a mult.i.tude; but I will try What you dare do unto a weak old man In single fight; you'l ground I fear: Come draw.

_Mel_. I will not draw, unless thou pul'st thy death Upon thee with a stroke; there's no one blow That thou canst give, hath strength enough to kill me.

Tempt me not so far then; the power of earth Shall not redeem thee.

_Cal_. I must let him alone, He's stout and able; and to say the truth, However I may set a face, and talk, I am not valiant: when I was a youth, I kept my credit with a testie trick I had, Amongst cowards, but durst never fight.

_Mel_. I will not promise to preserve your life if you do stay.

_Cal_. I would give half my Land that I durst fight with that proud man a little: if I had men to hold, I would beat him, till he ask me mercy.

_Mel_. Sir, will you be gone?

_Cal_. I dare not stay, but I will go home, and beat my servants all over for this.

[_Exit Calianax_.

_Mel_. This old fellow haunts me, But the distracted carriage of mine _Amintor_ Takes deeply on me, I will find the cause; I fear his Conscience cries, he wrong'd _Aspatia_.

_Enter Amintor_.

_Amint_. Mens eyes are not so subtil to perceive My inward misery; I bear my grief Hid from the World; how art thou wretched then?

For ought I know, all Husbands are like me; And every one I talk with of his Wife, Is but a well dissembler of his woes As I am; would I knew it, for the rareness afflicts me now.

_Mel_. _Amintor_, We have not enjoy'd our friends.h.i.+p of late, for we were wont to charge our souls in talk.

_Amint_. _Melantius_, I can tell thee a good jest of _Strato_ and a Lady the last day.

_Mel_. How wast?

_Amint_. Why such an odd one.

_Mel_. I have long'd to speak with you, not of an idle jest that's forc'd, but of matter you are bound to utter to me.

_Amint_. What is that my friend?

_Mel_. I have observ'd, your words fall from your tongue Wildly; and all your carriage, Like one that strove to shew his merry mood, When he were ill dispos'd: you were not wont To put such scorn into your speech, or wear Upon your face ridiculous jollity: Some sadness sits here, which your cunning would Cover o're with smiles, and 'twill not be. What is it?

_Amint_. A sadness here! what cause Can fate provide for me, to make me so?

Am I not lov'd through all this Isle? the King Rains greatness on me: have I not received A Lady to my bed, that in her eye Keeps mounting fire, and on her tender cheeks Inevitable colour, in her heart A prison for all vertue? are not you, Which is above all joyes, my constant friend?

What sadness can I have? no, I am light, And feel the courses of my blood more warm And stirring than they were; faith marry too, And you will feel so unexprest a joy In chast embraces, that you will indeed appear another.

_Mel_. You may shape, _Amintor_, Causes to cozen the whole world withal, And your self too; but 'tis not like a friend, To hide your soul from me; 'tis not your nature To be thus idle; I have seen you stand As you were blasted; midst of all your mirth, Call thrice aloud, and then start, feigning joy So coldly: World! what do I here? a friend Is nothing, Heaven! I would ha' told that man My secret sins; I'le search an unknown Land, And there plant friends.h.i.+p, all is withered here; Come with a complement, I would have fought, Or told my friend he ly'd, ere sooth'd him so; Out of my bosom.