No More Learning

Still less and less my boiling spirits flow;
And I grow stiff, as cooling metals do.
Farewell, Almeria. [_Dies_.

_Cyd_. He's gone, he's gone,
And leaves poor me defenceless here alone.

_Alm_. You shall not long be so: Prepare to die,
That you may bear your father company.

_Cyd_. O name not death to me! you fright me so,
That with the fear I shall prevent the blow:
I know, your mercy's more than to destroy
A thing so young, so innocent as I.

_Cort_. Whence can proceed thy cruel thirst of blood,
Ah, barbarous woman? Woman! that's too good,
Too mild for thee: There's pity in that name,
But thou hast lost thy pity with thy shame.

_Alm_. Your cruel words have pierced me to the heart;
But on my rival I'll revenge my smart.

_Cort_. Oh stay your hand; and, to redeem my fault,
I'll speak the kindest words--
That tongue e'er uttered, or that heart e'er thought.
Dear--lovely--sweet--

_Alm_. This but offends me more;
You act your kindness on Cydaria's score.

_Cyd_. For his dear sake let me my life receive.

_Alm_. Fool, for his sake alone you must not live:
Revenge is now my joy; he's not for me,
And I'll make sure he ne'er shall be for thee.

_Cyd_. But what's my crime?

_Alm_. 'Tis loving where I love.

_Cyd_. Your own example does my act approve.

_Alm_. 'Tis such a fault I never can forgive.

_Cyd_. How can I mend, unless you let me live?
I yet am tender, young, and full of fear,
And dare not die, but fain would tarry here.

_Cort_. If blood you seek, I will my own resign:
O spare her life, and in exchange take mine!

_Alm_. The love you shew but hastes her death the more.

_Cort_. I'll run, and help to force the inner door.
[_Is going in haste_.

_Alm_. Stay, Spaniard, stay; depart not from my eyes:
That moment that I lose your sight, she dies.
To look on you, I'll grant a short reprieve.

_Cort_. O make your gift more full, and let her live!
I dare not go; and yet how dare I stay! --
Her I would save, I murder either way.

_Cyd_. Can you be so hard-hearted to destroy
My ripening hopes, that are so near to joy?
I just approach to all I would possess:
Death only stands 'twixt me and happiness.

_Alm_. Your father, with his life, has lost his throne:
Your country's freedom and renown is gone.
Honour requires your death; you must obey.

_Cyd_. Do you die first, and shew me then the way.

_Alm_. Should you not follow, my revenge were lost.

_Cyd_. Then rise again, and fright me with your ghost.

_Alm_. I will not trust to that; since death I chuse,
I'll not leave you that life which I refuse:
If death's a pain, it is not less to me;
And if 'tis nothing, 'tis no more to thee.
But hark! the noise increases from behind;
They're near, and may prevent what I designed;
Take there a rival's gift. [_Stabs her_.

_Cort_. Perdition seize thee for so black a deed.

_Alm_. Blame not an act, which did from love proceed:
I'll thus revenge thee with this fatal blow;
[_Stabs herself_.
Stand fair, and let my heart-blood on thee flow.

_Cyd_. Stay, life, and keep me in the cheerful light!
Death is too black, and dwells in too much night.
Thou leav'st me, life, but love supplies thy part,
And keeps me warm, by lingering in my heart:
Yet dying for him, I thy claim remove;
How dear it costs to conquer in my love!
Now strike: That thought, I hope, will arm my breast.

_Alm_. Ah, with what differing passions am I prest!

_Cyd_. Death, when far off, did terrible appear;
But looks less dreadful as he comes more near.

_Alm_. O rival, I have lost the power to kill;
Strength hath forsook my arm, and rage my will:
I must surmount that love which thou hast shown;
Dying for him is due to me alone.
Thy weakness shall not boast the victory,
Now thou shalt live, and dead I'll conquer thee:
Soldiers, assist me down.

[_Exeunt from above, led by Soldiers, and enter both, led by_ CORTEZ.

_Cort_. Is there no danger then? [_To_ CYDARIA.

_Cyd_. You need not fear
My wound; I cannot die when you are near.

_Cort_. You, for my sake, life to Cydaria give;
[_To_ ALM.
And I could die for you, if you might live.

_Alm_. Enough, I die content, now you are kind;
Killed in my limbs, reviving in my mind:
Come near, Cydaria, and forgive my crime.
[CYDARIA _starts back_.
You need not fear my rage a second time:
I'll bathe your wounds in tears for my offence.
That hand, which made it, makes this recompence.
[_Ready to join their hands_.
I would have joined you, but my heart's too high:
You will, too soon, possess him when I die.

_Cort_. She faints; O softly set her down.

_Alm_. 'Tis past!
In thy loved bosom let me breathe my last.
Here, in this one short moment that I live,
I have whate'er the longest life could give. [_Dies_.

_Cort_. Farewell, thou generous maid: Even victory,
Glad as it is, must lend some tears to thee;
Many I dare not shed, lest you believe [_To_ CYD.
I joy in you less than for her I grieve.

_Cyd_. But are you sure she's dead?
I must embrace you fast, before I know,
Whether my life be yet secure, or no:
Some other hour I will to tears allow,
But, having you, can shew no sorrow now.

_Enter_ GUYOMAR _and_ ALIBECH _bound, with Soldiers_.

_Cort_. Prince Guyomar in bonds! O friendship's shame!
It makes me blush to own a victor's name.
[_Unbinds him,_ CYDARIA, ALIBECH.

_Cyd_. See, Alibech, Almeria lies there;
But do not think 'twas I that murdered her.

[ALIBECH _kneels, and kisses her dead sister_.

_Cort_. Live, and enjoy more than your conqueror:
[_To_ GUYOMAR.
Take all my love, and share in all my power.

_Guy_. Think me not proudly rude, if I forsake
Those gifts I cannot with my honour take:
I for my country fought, and would again,
Had I yet left a country to maintain:
But since the gods decreed it otherwise,
I never will on its dear ruins rise.

_Alib_. Of all your goodness leaves to our dispose,
Our liberty's the only gift we chuse:
Absence alone can make our sorrows less;
And not to see what we can ne'er redress.

_Guy_. Northward, beyond the mountains, we will go,
Where rocks lie covered with eternal snow,
Thin herbage in the plains and fruitless fields,
The sand no gold, the mine no silver yields:
There love and freedom we'll in peace enjoy;
No Spaniards will that colony destroy.
We to ourselves will all our wishes grant;
And, nothing coveting, can nothing want.

_Cort_. First your great father's funeral pomp provide:
That done, in peace your generous exiles guide;
While I loud thanks pay to the powers above,
Thus doubly blest, with conquest, and with love.
[_Exeunt_.



EPILOGUE

BY A MERCURY.


To all and singular in this full meeting,
Ladies and gallants, Phoebus sends ye greeting.
To all his sons, by whate'er title known,
Whether of court, or coffee-house, or town;
From his most mighty sons, whose confidence
Is placed in lofty sound, and humble sense,
Even to his little infants of the time,
Who write new songs, and trust in tune and rhyme:
Be't known, that Phoebus (being daily grieved
To see good plays condemned, and bad received)
Ordains, your judgment upon every cause,
Henceforth, be limited by wholesome laws.
He first thinks fit no sonnetteer advance
His censure, farther than the song or dance.
Your wit burlesque may one step higher climb,
And in his sphere may judge all doggrel rhyme:
All proves, and moves, and loves, and honours too;
All that appears high sense, and scarce is low.
As for the coffee-wits, he says not much;
Their proper business is to damn the Dutch:
For the great dons of wit--
Phoebus gives them full privilege alone,
To damn all others, and cry up their own.
Last, for the ladies, 'tis Apollo's will,
They should have power to save, but not to kill:
For love and he long since have thought it fit,
Wit live by beauty, beauty reign by wit.





SECRET LOVE;
OR, THE
MAIDEN QUEEN.

_Vitiis nemo sine nascitur; optimus ille
Qui minimis urgetur_. HORAT.



THE MAIDEN QUEEN

The Maiden Queen is said, by Langbaine, to be founded upon certain
passages in "The Grand Cyrus," and in "Ibrahim, the illustrious
Bassa. " Few readers will probably take the trouble of consulting
these huge volumes, for the purpose of ascertaining the truth of
this charge. Even our duty, as editors, cannot impel us to the task;
satisfied, as we are, that, since these ponderous folios at that time
loaded every toilette, Dryden can hardly have taken more from such
well-known sources, than the mere outline of the story. Indeed, to
a certain degree, the foundation of the plot, upon a story in the
"Cyrus," is admitted by the author. The character of the queen is
admirably drawn, and the catastrophe is brought very artfully forward;
the uncertainty, as to her final decision, continuing till the last
moment. In this, as in all our author's plays, some passages of
beautiful poetry occur in the dialogue; as, for example, the scene in
act 3d betwixt Philocles and Candiope. The characters, excepting that
of the Maiden Queen herself, are lame and uninteresting. Philocles, in
particular, has neither enough of love to make him despise ambition,
nor enough of ambition to make him break the fetters of love. We might
have admired him, had he been constant; or sympathised with him, had
he sinned against his affections, and repented; but there is nothing
interesting in the vacillations of his indecision. The comic part of
the play contains much of what was thought wit in the reign of Charles
II. ; for marriage is railed against, and a male and female rake join
in extolling the pleasures of a single life, even while the usage of
the theatre compels them, at length, to put on the matrimonial
chains. It is surprising, that no venturous author, in that gay age,
concluded, by making such a couple happy in their own way. The novelty
of such a catastrophe would have insured its success; and, unlike to
the termination of the loves of Celadon and Florimel, it would have
been strictly in character.

The Maiden Queen was first acted in 1667; and printed, as the poet has
informed us, by the command of Charles himself, who graced it with the
title of HIS play. Dryden mentions the excellence of the acting, so it
was probably received very favourably.



PREFACE


It has been the ordinary practice of the French poets, to dedicate
their works of this nature to their king; especially when they have
had the least encouragement to it, by his approbation of them on the
stage. But, I confess, I want the confidence to follow their example,
though, perhaps, I have as specious pretences to it, for this piece,
as any they can boast of; it having been owned in so particular a
manner by his majesty, that he has graced it with the title of his
play, and thereby rescued it from the severity (that I may not say
malice) of its enemies. But though a character so high and undeserved
has not raised in me the presumption to offer such a trifle to his
most serious view, yet I will own the vanity to say, that after this
glory which it has received from a sovereign prince, I could not send
it to seek protection from any subject. Be this poem, then, sacred to
him, without the tedious form of a dedication, and without presuming
to interrupt those hours which he is daily giving to the peace and
settlement of his people.

For what else concerns this play, I would tell the reader, that it is
regular, according to the strictest of dramatic laws; but that it is
a commendation which many of our poets now despise, and a beauty which
our common audiences do not easily discern. Neither indeed do I value
myself upon it; because, with all that symmetry of parts, it may want
an air and spirit (which consists in the writing) to set it off. 'Tis
a question variously disputed, whether an author may be allowed as a
competent judge of his own works. As to the fabric and contrivance
of them, certainly he may; for that is properly the employment of
the judgment; which, as a master-builder, he may determine, and that
without deception, whether the work be according to the exactness of
the model; still granting him to have a perfect idea of that pattern
by which he works, and that he keeps himself always constant to the
discourse of his judgment, without admitting self-love, which is
the false surveyor of his fancy, to intermeddle in it. These
qualifications granted (being such as all sound poets are presupposed
to have within them), I think all writers, of what kind soever, may
infallibly judge of the frame and contexture of their works. But
for the ornament of writing, which is greater, more various, and
_bizarre_ in poesy than in any other kind, as it is properly the
child of fancy; so it can receive no measure, or at least but a very
imperfect one, of its own excellences or failures from the judgment.
Self-love (which enters but rarely into the offices of the judgment)
here predominates; and fancy (if I may so speak), judging of itself,
can be no more certain, or demonstrative of its own effects, than two
crooked lines can be the adequate measure of each other. What I
have said on this subject may, perhaps, give me some credit with my
readers, in my opinion of this play, which I have ever valued above
the rest of my follies of this kind; yet not thereby in the least
dissenting from their judgment, who have concluded the writing of this
to be much inferior to my "Indian Emperor. " But the argument of that
was much more noble, not having the allay of comedy to depress it; yet
if this be more perfect, either in its kind, or in the general
notion of a play, it is as much as I desire to have granted for the
vindication of my opinion, and what as nearly touches me, the sentence
of a royal judge. Many have imagined the character of Philocles to
be faulty; some for not discovering the queen's love, others for his
joining in her restraint: But though I am not of their number, who
obstinately defend what they have once said, I may, with modesty, take
up those answers which have been made for me by my friends; namely,
that Philocles, who was but a gentleman of ordinary birth, had no
reason to guess so soon at the queen's passion; she being a person
so much above him, and, by the suffrages of all her people, already
destined to Lysimantes: Besides, that he was prepossessed (as the
queen somewhere hints it to him) with another inclination, which
rendered him less clear-sighted in it, since no man, at the same time,
can distinctly view two different objects; and if this, with any
shew of reason, may be defended, I leave my masters, the critics, to
determine, whether it be not much more conducing to the beauty of my
plot, that Philocles should be long kept ignorant of the queen's love,
than that with one leap he should have entered into the knowledge of
it, and thereby freed himself, to the disgust of the audience, from
that pleasing labyrinth of errors which was prepared for him. As for
that other objection, of his joining in the queen's imprisonment, it
is indisputably that which every man, if he examines himself, would
have done on the like occasion. If they answer, that it takes from
the height of his character to do it; I would enquire of my overwise
censors, who told them I intended him a perfect character, or, indeed,
what necessity was there he should be so, the variety of images being
one great beauty of a play? It was as much as I designed, to shew one
great and absolute pattern of honour in my poem, which I did in the
person of the queen: all the defects of the other parts being set
to shew, the more to recommend that one character of virtue to the
audience. But neither was the fault of Philocles so great, if the
circumstances be considered, which, as moral philosophy assures
us, make the essential differences of good and bad; he himself
best explaining his own intentions in his last act, which was the
restoration of his queen; and even before that, in the honesty of his
expressions, when he was unavoidably led by the impulsions of his love
to do it. That which with more reason was objected as an indecorum,
is the management of the last scene of the play, where Celadon and
Florimel are treating too lightly of their marriage in the presence of
the queen, who likewise seems to stand idle, while the great action of
the drama is still depending. This I cannot otherwise defend, than by
telling you, I so designed it on purpose, to make my play go off more
smartly; that scene being, in the opinion of the best judges, the most
divertising of the whole comedy. But though the artifice succeeded, I
am willing to acknowledge it as a fault, since it pleased his majesty,
the best judge, to think it so.

I have only to add, that the play is founded on a story in the
"Cyrus," which he calls the Queen of Corinth; in whose character,
as it has been affirmed to me, he represents that of the famous
Christina, queen of Sweden. This is what I thought convenient to write
by way of preface to "The Maiden Queen;" in the reading of which I
fear you will not meet with that satisfaction, which you have had in
seeing it on the stage; the chief parts of it, both serious and comic,
being performed to that height of excellence, that nothing but a
command, which I could not handsomely disobey, could have given me the
courage to have made it public.



PROLOGUE.


I.

He who writ this, not without pains and thought,
From French and English theatres has brought
The exactest rules, by which a play is wrought.

II.

The unities of action, place, and time;
The scenes unbroken; and a mingled chime
Of Jonson's humour, with Corneille's rhyme.

III.

But while dead colours he with care did lay,
He fears his wit, or plot, he did not weigh,
Which are the living beauties of a play.

IV.

Plays are like towns, which, howe'er fortified
By engineers, have still some weaker side,
By the o'er-seen defendant unespied.

V.

And with that art you make approaches now;
Such skilful fury in assaults you show,
That every poet without shame may bow.

VI.

Ours, therefore, humbly would attend your doom,
If, soldier-like, he may have terms to come,
With flying colours, and with beat of drum.

_The Prologue goes out, and stays while a tune is played, after
which he returns again_.



SECOND PROLOGUE.


I had forgot one half, I do protest,
And now am sent again to speak the rest.
He bows to every great and noble wit;
But to the little Hectors of the pit
Our poet's sturdy, and will not submit.
He'll be beforehand with 'em, and not stay
To see each peevish critic stab his play;
Each puny censor, who, his skill to boast,
Is cheaply witty on the poet's cost.
No critic's verdict should, of right, stand good,
They are excepted all, as men of blood;
And the same law shall shield him from their fury,
Which has excluded butchers from a jury.
You'd all be wits--
But writing's tedious, and that way may fail;
The most compendious method is to rail:
Which you so like, you think yourselves ill used,
When in smart prologues you are not abused.
A civil prologue is approved by no man;
You hate it, as you do a civil woman:
Your fancy's palled, and liberally you pay
To have it quickened ere you see a play;
Just as old sinners, worn from their delight,
Give money to be whipped to appetite.
But what a pox keep I so much ado
To save our poet? He is one of you;
A brother judgment, and, as I hear say,
A cursed critic as e'er damned a play.
Good savage gentlemen, your own kind spare;
He is, like you, a very wolf or bear;
Yet think not he'll your ancient rights invade,
Or stop the course of your free damning trade;
For he (he vows) at no friend's play can sit,
But he must needs find fault, to shew his wit:
Then, for his sake, ne'er stint your own delight;
Throw boldly, for he sits to all that write;
With such he ventures on an even lay,
For they bring ready money into play.
Those who write not, and yet all writers nick,
Are bankrupt gamesters, for they damn on tick.



DRAMATIS PERSONAE


LYSIMANTES, _first Prince of the Blood_.
PHILOCLES, _the Queen's favourite_.
CELADON, _a courtier_.

_Queen of Sicily_.
CANDIOPE, _Princess of the Blood_.
ASTERIA, _the Queen's confident_.
FLORIMEL, _a maid of honour_.
FLAVIA, _another maid of honour_.
OLINDA, SABINA, _Sisters_.
MELISSA, _mother to_ OLINDA _and_ SABINA.

_Guards, Pages of Honour, Soldiers_.


SCENE--_Sicily_.



SECRET LOVE
OR THE
MAIDEN QUEEN.

ACT I.

SCENE I. --_Walks near the Court_.

_Enter_ CELADON _and_ ASTERIA, _meeting each other, he in
a riding habit; they embrace_.


_Cel_. Dear Asteria! --

_Ast_. My dear brother, welcome! A thousand welcomes! Methinks,
this year, you have been absent, has been so tedious:--I hope, as you
have made a pleasant voyage, so you have brought your good humour back
again to court?

_Cel_. I never yet knew any company I could not be merry in,
except it were an old woman's.

_Ast_. Or at a funeral.

_Cel_. Nay, for that you shall excuse me; for I was never merrier
than I was at a creditor's of mine, whose book perished with him.
But what new beauties have you at court? How do Melissa's two fair
daughters?

_Ast_. When you tell me which of them you are in love with, I'll
answer you.

_Cel_. Which of them, naughty sister! what a question's there?
With both of them; with each and singular of them.

_Ast_. Bless me! --You are not serious?

_Cel_. You look, as if it were a wonder to see a man in love. Are
they not handsome?

_Ast_. Ay; but both together--

_Cel_. Ay, and both asunder; why, I hope there are but two of
them; the tall singing and dancing one, and the little innocent one?

_Ast_. But you cannot marry both?

_Cel_. No, nor either of them, I trust in Heaven: but I can keep
them company; I can sing and dance with them, and treat them; and
that, I take it, is somewhat better than musty marrying them. Marriage
is poor folks' pleasure, that cannot go to the cost of variety; but I
am out of danger of that with these two, for I love them so equally, I
can never make choice between them. Had I but one mistress, I might go
to her to be merry, and she, perhaps, be out of humour; there were a
visit lost: But here, if one of them frown upon me, the other will be
the more obliging, on purpose to recommend her own gaiety; besides a
thousand things that I could name.

_Ast_. And none of them to any purpose.

_Cel_. Well, if you will not be cruel to a poor lover, you might
oblige me, by carrying me to their lodgings.

_Ast_. You know I am always busy about the queen.

_Cel_. But once or twice only; 'till I am a little flushed in my
acquaintance with other ladies, and have learned to prey for myself. I
promise you I'll make all the haste I can to end the trouble, by being
in love somewhere else.

_Ast_. You would think it hard to be denied now?

_Cel_. And reason good. Many a man hangs himself for the loss of
one mistress: How do you think, then, I should bear the loss of two;
especially in a court, where, I think, beauty is but thin sown?

_Ast_. There's one Florimel, the queen's ward, a new beauty, as
wild as you, and a vast fortune.

_Cel_. I am for her before the world. Bring me to her, and I'll
release you of your promise for the other two.

_Enter a Page_.

_Page_. Madam, the queen expects you.

_Cel_. I see you hold her favour; adieu, sister:--you have a
little emissary there, otherwise I would offer you my service.

_Ast_. Farewell, brother; think upon Florimel.

_Cel_. You may trust my memory for a handsome woman: I'll think
upon her, and the rest too; I'll forget none of them. [_Exit_
ASTERIA.


SCENE II.

_Enter a Gentleman walking over the stage hastily; After him_
FLORIMEL _and_ FLAVIA _masked_.


_Fla_. Phormio! Phormio! you will not leave us?

_Gent_. In faith, I have a little business.

[_Exit Gent_.

_Cel_. Cannot I serve you in the gentleman's room, ladies?

_Fla_. Which of us would you serve?

_Cel_. Either of you, or both of you.

_Fla_. Why, could you not be constant to one?

_Cel_. Constant to one! --I have been a courtier, a soldier, and a
traveller, to good purpose, if I must be constant to one: Give me some
twenty, some forty, some a hundred mistresses! I have more love than
any woman can turn her to.

_Flo_. Bless us! let us be gone, cousin: We two are nothing in
his hands.

_Cel_. Yet, for my part, I can live with as few mistresses as any
man. I desire no superfluities; only for necessary change or so, as I
shift my linen.

_Flo_. A pretty odd kind of fellow this; he fits my humour
rarely. [_Aside_.

_Fla_. You are as inconstant as the moon.

_Flo_. You wrong him, he's as constant as the sun; he would see
all the world in twenty-four hours.

_Cel_. 'Tis very true, madam; but, like him, I would visit, and
away.

_Flo_. For what an unreasonable thing it were, to stay long, be
troublesome, and hinder a lady of a fresh lover.

_Cel_. A rare creature this! [_Aside_]--Besides, madam, how
like a fool a man looks, when, after all his eagerness of two minutes
before, he shrinks into a faint kiss, and a cold compliment. --Ladies
both, into your hands I commit myself; share me betwixt you.

_Fla_. I'll have nothing to do with you, since you cannot be
constant to one.

_Cel_. Nay, rather than lose either of you, I'll do more; I'll be
constant to an hundred of you. Or, if you will needs fetter me to one,
agree the matter between yourselves; and the most handsome take me.

_Flo_. Though I am not she, yet since my mask is down, and you
cannot convince me, have a good faith of my beauty, and for once I
take you for my servant.

_Cel_. And for once I'll make a blind bargain with you. Strike
hands; is't a match, mistress?

_Flo_. Done, servant.

_Cel_. Now I am sure I have the worst on't: For you see the worst
of me, and that I do not of you, 'till you shew your face. --Yet, now I
think on't, you must be handsome.

_Flo_. What kind of beauty do you like?

_Cel_. Just such a one as yours.

_Flo_. What's that?

_Cel_. Such an oval face, clear skin, hazel eyes, thick brown
eye-brows, and hair as you have, for all the world.

_Fla_. But I can assure you, she has nothing of all this.

_Cel_. Hold thy peace, envy; nay, I can be constant an I set
on't.

_Flo_. 'Tis true she tells you.

_Cel_. Ay, ay, you may slander yourself as you please: Then you
have,--let me see.

_Flo_. Ill swear, you shall not see.

_Cel_. A turned up nose, that gives an air to your face:--Oh,
I find I am more and more in love with you! --a full nether lip, an
out-mouth, that makes mine water at it; the bottom of your cheeks a
little blub, and two dimples when you smile: For your stature, 'tis
well; and for your wit, 'twas given you by one that knew it had been
thrown away upon an ill face. --Come, you're handsome, there's no
denying it.

_Flo_. Can you settle your spirits to see an ugly face, and not
be frighted? I could find in my heart to lift up my mask, and disabuse
you.

_Cel_. I defy your mask:--Would you would try the experiment!

_Flo_. No, I won't; for your ignorance is the mother of your
devotion to me.

_Cel_. Since you will not take the pains to convert me, I'll make
bold to keep my faith. A miserable man, I am sure, you have made me.

_Fla_. This is pleasant.

_Cel_. It may be so to you, but it is not to me; for aught I see,
I am going to be the most constant Maudlin,--

_Flo_. 'Tis very well, Celadon; you can be constant to one you
have never seen, and have forsaken all you have seen?

_Cel_. It seems, you know me then:--Well, if thou should'st
prove one of my cast mistresses, I would use thee most damnably, for
offering to make me love thee twice.

_Flo_. You are i'the right: An old mistress, or servant, is an
old tune; the pleasure on't is past, when we have once learned it.

_Fla_. But what woman in the world would you wish her like?

_Cel_. I have heard of one Florimel, the queen's ward; would she
were as like her for beauty, as she is for humour!

_Fla_. Do you hear that, cousin? [_To_ FLOR. _aside_.

_Flo_. Florimel's not handsome: Besides she's inconstant; and
only loves for some few days.

_Cel_. If she loves for shorter time than I, she must love by
winter days and summer nights, i'faith.

_Flo_. When you see us together, you shall judge. In the mean
time, adieu, sweet servant.