No More Learning

] I must desire you to make my excuse to
your lady, if I have been so unfortunate to cause any mistake; and,
withal, to beg the honour of being known to her.

_Rho. _ O, that is but reason. --Hark you, spouse, pray look upon this
gentleman as my friend; whom, to my knowledge, you have never seen
before this hour.

_Dor. _ I am so obedient a wife, sir, that my husband's commands shall
ever be a law to me.

_Enter_ MELANTHA _again, hastily, and runs to embrace_ DORALICE.

_Mel. _ O, my dear, I was just going to pay my devoirs to you; I had
not time this morning, for making my court to the king, and our new
prince. Well, never nation was so happy, and all that, in a young
prince; and he is the kindest person in the world to me, let me die if
he is not.

_Dor. _ He has been bred up far from court, and therefore--

_Mel. _ That imports not: Though he has not seen the _grand monde_, and
all that, let me die but he has the air of the court most absolutely.

_Pala. _ But yet, madam, he--

_Mel. _ O, servant, you can testify that I am in his good graces. Well,
I cannot stay long with you, because I have promised him this
afternoon to--But hark you, my dear, I'll tell you a secret.
[_Whispers to_ DOR.

_Rho. _ The devil's in me, that I must love this woman. [_Aside. _

_Pala. _ The devil's in me, that I must marry this woman. [_Aside. _

_Mel. _ [_Raising her voice. _] So the prince and I--But you must make a
secret of this, my dear; for I would not for the world your husband
should hear it, or my tyrant, there, that must be.

_Pala. _ Well, fair impertinent, your whisper is not lost, we hear you.
[_Aside. _

_Dor. _ I understand then, that--

_Mel. _ I'll tell you, my dear, the prince took me by the hand, and
pressed it _a la derobbée_, because the king was near, made the _doux
yeux_ to me, and, _ensuite_, said a thousand gallantries, or let me
die, my dear.

_Dor. _ Then I am sure you--

_Mel. _ You are mistaken, my dear.

_Dor. _ What, before I speak?

_Mel. _ But I know your meaning. You think, my dear, that I assumed
something of _fierté_ into my countenance, to _rebute_, him; but,
quite contrary, I regarded him,--I know not how to express it in our
dull Sicilian language,--_d'un air enjoüé_; and said nothing but _ad
autre, ad autre,_ and that it was all _grimace_, and would not pass
upon me.

_Enter_ ARTEMIS: MELANTHA _sees her, and runs away from_ DORALICE.

[_To_ ARTEMIS. ] My dear, I must beg your pardon, I was just making a
loose from Doralice, to pay my respects to you. Let me die, if I ever
pass time so agreeably as in your company, and if I would leave it for
any lady's in Sicily.

_Arte. _ The princess Amalthea is coming this way.

_Enter_ AMALTHEA: MELANTHA _runs to her. _

_Mel. _ O, dear madam! I have been at your lodging in my new _galeche_,
so often, to tell you of a new amour, betwixt two persons whom you
would little suspect for it, that, let me die if one of my
coach-horses be not dead, and another quite tired, and sunk under the
fatigue.

_Amal. _ O, Melantha, I can tell you news; the prince is coming this
way.

_Mel. _ The prince? O sweet prince! He and I are to--and I forgot it. --
Your pardon, sweet madam, for my abruptness. --Adieu, my dear
servant,--Rhodophil. --Servant, servant, servant all. [_Exit running. _

_Amal. _ Rhodophil, a word with you. [_Whispers. _

_Dor. _ [_To PALA. _] Why do you not follow your mistress, sir?

_Pala. _ Follow her? Why, at this rate she'll be at the Indies within
this half hour.

_Dor. _ However, if you cannot follow her all day, you will meet her at
night, I hope?

_Pala. _ But can you, in charity, suffer me to be so mortified, without
affording me some relief? If it be but to punish that sign of a
husband there, that lazy matrimony, that dull insipid taste, who
leaves such delicious fare at home, to dine abroad on worse meat, and
pay dear for it into the bargain.

_Dor. _ All this is in vain: Assure yourself, I will never admit of any
visit from you in private.

_Pala. _ That is to tell me, in other words, my condition is desperate.

_Dor. _ I think you in so ill a condition, that I am resolved to pray
for you, this very evening, in the close walk behind the terrace; for
that's a private place, and there I am sure nobody will disturb my
devotions. And so, good-night, sir. [_Exit. _

_Pala. _ This is the newest way of making an appointment I ever heard
of. Let women alone to contrive the means; I find we are but dunces to
them. Well, I will not be so prophane a wretch as to interrupt her
devotions; but, to make them more effectual, I'll down upon my knees,
and endeavour to join my own with them. [_Exit. _

_Amal. _ [_To_ RHO. ] I know already they do not love each other; and
that my brother acts but a forced obedience to the king's commands; so
that if a quarrel should arise betwixt the prince and him, I were most
miserable on both sides.

_Rho. _ There shall be nothing wanting in me, madam, to prevent so sad
a consequence.

_Enter the King and_ LEONIDAS; _the King whispers_ AMALTHEA.

[_To himself. _] I begin to hate this Palamede, because he is to marry
my mistress: Yet break with him I dare not, for fear of being quite
excluded from her company. It is a hard case, when a man must go by
his rival to his mistress: But it is, at worst, but using him like a
pair of heavy boots in a dirty journey; after I have fouled him all
day, I'll throw him off at night. [_Exit. _

_Amal. _ [_To the King. _] This honour is too great for me to hope.

_Poly. _ You shall this hour have the assurance of it. --
Leonidas, come hither; you have heard,
I doubt not, that the father of this princess
Was my most faithful friend, while I was yet
A private man; and when I did assume
This crown, he served me in the high attempt.
You see, then, to what gratitude obliges me;
Make your addresses to her.

_Leon. _ Sir, I am yet too young to be a courtier;
I should too much betray my ignorance,
And want of breeding to so fair a lady.

_Amal. _ Your language speaks you not bred up in desarts,
But in the softness of some Asian court,
Where luxury and ease invent kind words,
To cozen tender virgins of their hearts.

_Poly. _ You need not doubt,
But in what words soe'er a prince can offer
His crown and person, they will be received.
You know my pleasure, and you know your duty.

_Leon. _ Yes, sir, I shall obey, in what I can.

_Poly. _ In what you can, Leonidas? Consider,
He's both your king, and father, who commands you.
Besides, what is there hard in my injunction?

_Leon. _ 'Tis hard to have my inclination forced.
I would not marry, sir; and, when I do,
I hope you'll give me freedom in my choice.

_Poly. _ View well this lady,
Whose mind as much transcends her beauteous face,
As that excels all others.

_Amal. _ My beauty, as it ne'er could merit love,
So neither can it beg: And, sir, you may
Believe, that what the king has offered you,
I should refuse, did I not value more
Your person than your crown.

_Leon. _ Think it not pride,
Or my new fortunes swell me to contemn you;
Think less, that I want eyes to see your beauty;
And, least of all, think duty wanting in me
To obey a father's will: But--

_Poly. _ But what, Leonidas?
For I must know your reason; and be sure
It be convincing too.

_Leon. _ Sir, ask the stars,
Which have imposed love on us, like a fate,
Why minds are bent to one, and fly another?
Ask, why all beauties cannot move all hearts?
For though there may
Be made a rule for colour, or for feature,
There can be none for liking.

_Poly. _ Leonidas, you owe me more
Than to oppose your liking to my pleasure.

_Leon. _ I owe you all things, sir; but something, too,
I owe myself.

_Poly. _ You shall dispute no more; I am a king,
And I will be obeyed.

_Leon. _ You are a king, sir, but you are no god;
Or, if you were, you could not force my will.

_Poly. _ [_Aside. _] But you are just, ye gods; O you are just,
In punishing the crimes of my rebellion
With a rebellious son!
Yet I can punish him, as you do me. --
Leonidas, there is no jesting with
My will: I ne'er had done so much to gain
A crown, but to be absolute in all things.

_Amal. _ O, sir, be not so much a king, as to
Forget you are a father: Soft indulgence
Becomes that name. Tho' nature gives you power
To bind his duty, 'tis with silken bonds:
Command him, then, as you command yourself;
He is as much a part of you, as are
Your appetite and will, and those you force not,
But gently bend, and make them pliant to your reason.

_Poly. _ It may be I have used too rough a way. --
Forgive me, my Leonidas; I know
I lie as open to the gusts of passion,
As the bare shore to every, beating surge:
I will not force thee now; but I entreat thee,
Absolve a father's vow to this fair virgin;
A vow, which hopes of having such a son
First caused.

_Leon. _ Show not my disobedience by your prayers;
For I must still deny you, though I now
Appear more guilty to myself than you:
I have some reasons, which I cannot utter,
That force my disobedience; yet I mourn
To death, that the first thing, you e'er enjoined me,
Should be that only one command in nature,
Which I could not obey.

_Poly. _ I did descend too much below myself,
When I entreated him. --Hence, to thy desart!
Thou'rt not my son, or art not fit to be.

_Amal. _ Great sir, I humbly beg you, make not me [_Kneeling. _
The cause of your displeasure. I absolve
Your vow; far from me be such designs;
So wretched a desire of being great,
By making him unhappy. You may see
Something so noble in the prince's nature,
As grieves him more, not to obey, than you,
That you are not obeyed.

_Poly. _ Then, for your sake,
I'll give him one day longer to consider,
Not to deny; for my resolves are firm
As fate, that cannot change. [_Exeunt King and_ AMAL.

_Leon. _ And so are mine.
This beauteous princess, charming as she is,
Could never make me happy: I must first
Be false to my Palmyra, and then wretched.
But, then, a father's anger!
Suppose he should recede from his own vow,
He never would permit me to keep mine.

_Enter_ PALMYRA; ARGALEON _following her, a little after. _

See, she appears!
I'll think no more of any thing, but her.
Yet I have one good hour ere I am wretched.
But, oh! Argaleon follows her! so night
Treads on the footsteps of a winter's sun,
And stalks all black behind him.

_Palm. _ O, Leonidas,
For I must call you still by that dear name,
Free me from this bad man.

_Leon. _ I hope he dares not be injurious to you.

_Arga. _ I rather was injurious to myself,
Than her.

_Leon. _ That must be judged, when I hear what you said.

_Arga. _ I think you need not give yourself that trouble:
It concerned us alone.

_Leon. _ You answer saucily, and indirectly:
What interest can you pretend in her?

_Arga. _ It may be, sir, I made her some expressions
Which I would not repeat, because they were
Below my rank, to one of hers.

_Leon. _ What did he say, Palmyra?

_Palm. _ I'll tell you all: First, he began to look,
And then he sighed, and then he looked again;
At last, he said, my eyes wounded his heart:
And, after that, he talked of flames and fires,
And such strange words, that I believed he conjured.

_Leon. _ O my heart! --Leave me, Argaleon.

_Arga.
_ Come, sweet Palmyra,
I will instruct you better in my meaning:
You see he would be private.

_Leon. _ Go yourself,
And leave her here.

_Arga. _ Alas, she's ignorant,
And is not fit to entertain a prince.

_Leon. _ First learn what's fit for you; that's to obey.

_Arga. _ I know my duty is to wait on you.
A great king's son, like you, ought to forget
Such mean converse.

_Leon. _ What? a disputing subject?
Hence, or my sword shall do me justice on thee.

_Arga. _ Yet I may find a time-- [_Going. _

_Leon. _ What's that you mutter, [_Going after him. _
To find a time? --

_Arga. _ To wait on you again--
In the mean while I'll watch you. [_Softly. _
[_Exit, and watches during the scene. _

_Leon. _ How precious are the hours of love in courts!
In cottages, where love has all the day,
Full, and at ease, he throws it half away.
Time gives himself, and is not valued, there;
But sells at mighty rates, each minute, here:
There, he is lazy, unemployed, and slow;
Here, he's more swift; and yet has more to do.
So many of his hours in public move,
That few are left for privacy and love.

_Palm. _ The sun, methinks, shines faint and dimly, here;
Light is not half so long, nor half so clear:
But, oh! when every day was yours and mine,
How early up! what haste he made to shine!

_Leon. _ Such golden days no prince must hope to see,
Whose every subject is more blessed than he.

_Palm. _ Do you remember, when their tasks were done,
How all the youth did to our cottage run?
While winter-winds were whistling loud without,
Our cheerful hearth was circled round about:
With strokes in ashes, maids their lovers drew;
And still you fell to me, and I to you.

_Leon. _ When love did of my heart possession take,
I was so young, my soul was scarce awake:
I cannot tell when first I thought you fair;
But sucked in love, insensibly as air.

_Palm. _ I know too well when, first my love began,
When at our wake you for the chaplet ran:
Then I was made the lady of the May,
And, with the garland, at the goal did stay:
Still, as you ran, I kept you full in view;
I hoped, and wished, and ran, methought, for you.
As you came near, I hastily did rise,
And stretched my arm outright, that held the prize.
The custom was to kiss whom I should crown;
You kneeled, and in my lap your head laid down:
I blushed, and blushed, and did the kiss delay;
At last my subjects forced me to obey:
But, when I gave the crown, and then the kiss,
I scarce had breath to say, Take that,--and this.

_Leon. _ I felt, the while, a pleasing kind of smart;
That kiss went, tingling, to my very heart.
When it was gone, the sense of it did stay;
The sweetness clinged upon my lips all day,
Like drops of honey, loth to fall away.

_Palm. _ Life, like a prodigal, gave all his store
To my first youth, and now can give no more.
You are a prince; and, in that high degree,
No longer must converse with humble me.

_Leon. _ 'Twas to my loss the gods that title gave;
A tyrant's son is doubly born a slave:
He gives a crown; but, to prevent my life
From being happy, loads it with a wife.

_Palm. _ Speak quickly; what have you resolved to do?

_Leon. _ To keep my faith inviolate to you.
He threatens me with exile, and with shame,
To lose my birthright, and a prince's name;
But there's a blessing which he did not mean,
To send me back to love and you again.

_Palm. _ Why was not I a princess for your sake?
But heaven no more such miracles can make:
And, since that cannot, this must never be;
You shall not lose a crown for love of me.
Live happy, and a nobler choice pursue;
I shall complain of fate, but not of you.

_Leon. _ Can you so easily without me live?
Or could you take the counsel, which you give?
Were you a princess, would you not be true?

_Palm. _ I would; but cannot merit it from you.

_Leon. _ Did you not merit, as you do, my heart,
Love gives esteem, and then it gives desert.
But if I basely could forget my vow,
Poor helpless innocence, what would you do?

_Palm. _ In woods, and plains, where first my love began,
There would I live, retired from faithless man:
I'd sit all day within some lonely shade,
Or that close arbour which your hands have made:
I'd search the groves, and every tree, to find
Where you had carved our names upon the rind:
Your hook, your scrip, all that was yours, I'd keep,
And lay them by me when I went to sleep.
Thus would I live: And maidens, when I die,
Upon my hearse white true-love-knots should tie;
And thus my tomb should be inscribed above,
_Here the forsaken Virgin rests from love. _

_Leon. _ Think not that time or fate shall e'er divide
Those hearts, which love and mutual vows have tied.
But we must part; farewell, my love.

_Palm. _ Till when?

_Leon. _ Till the next age of hours we meet again.
Meantime, we may,
When near each other we in public stand,
Contrive to catch a look, or steal a hand:
Fancy will every touch and glance improve;
And draw the most spirituous parts of love.
Our souls sit close, and silently within,
And their own web from their own entrails spin;
And when eyes meet far off, our sense is such,
That, spider-like, we feel the tenderest touch. [_Exeunt. _


ACT III. SCENE I.

_Enter_ RHODOPHIL, _meeting_ DORALICE _and_ ARTEMIS; RHODOPHIL _and_
DORALICE _embrace. _

_Rho. _ My own dear heart!

_Dor. _ My own true love! [_She starts back. _] I had forgot myself to
be so kind; indeed, I am very angry with you, dear; you are come home
an hour after you appointed: if you had staid a minute longer, I was
just considering whether I should stab, hang, or drown myself.
[_Embracing him. _

_Rho. _ Nothing but the king's business could have hindered me; and I
was so vexed, that I was just laying down my commission, rather than
have failed my dear. [_Kisses her hand. _

_Arte. _ Why, this is love as it should be betwixt man and wife: such
another couple would bring marriage into fashion again. But is it
always thus betwixt you?

_Rho. _ Always thus! this is nothing. I tell you, there is not such a
pair of turtles in Sicily; there is such an eternal cooing and kissing
betwixt us, that indeed it is scandalous before civil company.

_Dor. _ Well, if I had imagined I should have been this fond fool, I
would never have married the man I loved: I married to be happy, and
have made myself miserable by over-loving. Nay, and now my case is
desperate; for I have been married above these two years, and find
myself every day worse and worse in love: nothing but madness can be
the end on't.

_Arte. _ Doat on, to the extremity, and you are happy.

_Dor. _ He deserves so infinitely much, that, the truth is, there can
be no doating in the matter; but, to love well, I confess, is a work
that pays itself: 'Tis telling gold, and, after, taking it for one's
pains.

_Rho. _ By that I should be a very covetous person; for I am ever
pulling out my money, and putting it into my pocket again.

_Dor. _ O dear Rhodophil!

_Rho. _ O sweet Doralice! [_Embracing each other. _

_Arte. _ [_Aside. _] Nay, I am resolved, I'll never interrupt lovers:
I'll leave them as happy as I found them. [_Steals away. _

_Rho. _ What, is she gone? [_Looking up. _

_Dor. _ Yes; and without taking leave.

_Rho. _ Then there's enough for this time. [_Parting from her. _

_Dor. _ Yes, sure, the scene is done, I take it.

_They walk contrary ways on the stage; he, with his hands in his
pockets, whistling; she singing a dull melancholy tune. _

_Rho. _ Pox o'your dull tune, a man can't think for you.

_Dor. _ Pox o'your damned whistling; you can neither be company to me
yourself, nor leave me to the freedom of my own fancy.

_Rho. _ Well, thou art the most provoking wife!

_Dor. _ Well, thou art the dullest husband, thou art never to be
provoked.

_Rho. _ I was never thought dull till I married thee; and now thou hast
made an old knife of me; thou hast whetted me so long, till I have no
edge left.

_Dor. _ I see you are in the husband's fashion; you reserve all your
good humours for your mistresses, and keep your ill for your wives.

_Rho. _ Prythee leave me to my own cogitations; I am thinking over all
my sins, to find for which of them it was I married thee.

_Dor. _ Whatever your sin was, mine's the punishment.

_Rho. _ My comfort is, thou art not immortal; and, when that blessed,
that divine day comes of thy departure, I'm resolved I'll make one
holiday more in the almanack for thy sake.

_Dor. _ Ay, you had need make a holiday for me, for I am sure you have
made me a martyr.

_Rho. _ Then, setting my victorious foot upon thy head, in the first
hour of thy silence, (that is, the first hour thou art dead, for I
despair of it before) I will swear by thy ghost,--an oath as terrible
to me as Styx is to the gods,--never more to be in danger of the banes
of matrimony.

_Dor. _ And I am resolved to marry the very same day thou diest, if it
be but to show how little I'm concerned for thee.

_Rho. _ Pray thee, Doralice, why do we quarrel thus a-days? ha! this is
but a kind of heathenish life, and does not answer the ends of
marriage. If I have erred, propound what reasonable atonement may be
made before we sleep, and I will not be refractory; but withal
consider, I have been married these three years, and be not too
tyrannical.

_Dor. _ What should you talk of a peace a-bed, when you can give no
security for performance of articles?

_Rho. _ Then, since we must live together, and both of us stand upon
our terms, as to matters of dying first, let us make ourselves as
merry as we can with our misfortunes. Why, there's the devil on't! if
thou could'st make my enjoying thee but a little easy, or a little
more unlawful, thou should'st see what a termagant lover I would
prove. I have taken such pains to enjoy thee, Doralice, that I have
fancied thee all the fine women of the town--to help me out: But now
there's none left for me to think on, my imagination is quite jaded.
Thou art a wife, and thou wilt be a wife, and I can make thee another
no longer. [_Exit_ RHO.

_Dor. _ Well, since thou art a husband, and wilt be a husband, I'll try
if I can find out another. 'Tis a pretty time we women have on't, to
be made widows while we are married. Our husbands think it reasonable
to complain, that we are the same, and the same to them, when we have
more reason to complain, that they are not the same to us. Because
they cannot feed on one dish, therefore we must be starved. 'Tis
enough that they have a sufficient ordinary provided, and a table
ready spread for them: If they cannot fall too, and eat heartily, the
fault is theirs; and 'tis pity, methinks, that the good creature
should be lost, when many a poor sinner would be glad on't.

_Enter_ MELANTHA _and_ ARTEMIS _to her. _

_Mel. _ Dear, my dear, pity me, I am so _chagrin_ to day, and have had
the most signal affront at court! I went this afternoon to do my
devoir to princess Amalthea, found her, conversed with her, and helped
to make her court some half an hour; after which, she went to take the
air, chose out two ladies to go with her, that came in after me, and
left me most barbarously behind her.

_Arte. _ You are the less to be pitied, Melantha, because you subject
yourself to these affronts, by coming perpetually to court, where you
have no business nor employment.

_Mel. _ I declare, I had rather of the two be rallied nay, _mal
traitée_ at court, than be deified in the town; for, assuredly,
nothing can be so _ridicule_ as a mere town lady.

_Dor. _ Especially at court. How I have seen them crowd and sweat in
the drawing-room on a holiday-night! For that's their time to swarm
and invade the presence. O, how they catch at a bow, or any little
salute from a courtier, to make show of their acquaintance! and,
rather than be thought to be quite unknown, they court'sy to one
another; but they take true pains to come near the circle, and press
and peep upon the princess, to write letters into the country how she
was dressed, while the ladies, that stand about, make their court to
her with abusing them.

_Arte. _ These are sad truths, Melantha; and therefore I would e'en
advise you to quit the court, and live either wholly in the town, or,
if you like not that, in the country.

_Dor. _ In the country! nay, that's to fall beneath the town, for they
live upon our offals here. Their entertainment of wit is only the
remembrance of what they had when they were last in town;--they live
this year upon the last year's knowledge, as their cattle do all
night, by chewing the cud of what they eat in the afternoon.

_Mel. _ And they tell, for news, such unlikely stories! A letter from
one of us is such a present to them, that the poor souls wait for the
carrier's-day with such devotion, that they cannot sleep the night
before.

_Arte. _ No more than I can, the night before I am to go a journey.

_Dor.