The Mad Lover, a Tragi-Comedy / The Works of Francis Beaumont and John Fletcher (3 of 10)

Astorax, King of Paphos. Memnon, the General and the Mad Lover . Polydor, Brother to Memnon, beloved of Calis. Eumenes, } two eminent Souldiers. Polybius, Chilax, an old merry Souldier . Syphax, a Souldier in love with the Princess . Stremon, a Souldier that can sing . Demagoras, Servant to the General . Chirurgion. Fool . Page . Courtiers .
Calis, Sister to the King, and Mistris to Memnon. Cleanthe Sister to Syphax. Lucippe, one of the Princesses Women . Priest of Venus, an old wanton . A Nun. Cloe, a Camp Baggage .
Richard Burbadge. Robert Benfeild. Nathanael Feild. Henry Condel. John Lowin. William Eglestone. Richard Sharpe.

Flourish. Enter Astorax King of Paphos, his Sister Calis , Train, and Cleanthe, Lucippe Gentlewomen, at one door; at the other Eumenes a Souldier.
Enter Memnon , and a train of Courtiers, and Souldiers, two Captains, Chilax.
Enter Fool, and Page.
Enter Memnon, Eumenes , and Captains.
Enter Princess Calis, Lucippe, Cleanthe.
Enter Memnon alone.
Mem. 'Tis but to dye, Dogs do it, Ducks with dabling, Birds sing away their Souls, & Babies sleep 'em, Why do I talk of that is treble vantage? For in the other World she is bound to have me; Her Princely word is past: my great desert too Will draw her to come after presently, 'Tis justice, and the gods must see it done too. Besides, no Brother, Father, Kindred there Can hinder us, all languages are alike too. There love is everlasting, ever young, Free from Diseases, ages, jealousies, Bawds, Beldames, Painters, Purgers: dye? 'tis nothing, Men drown themselves for joy to draw in Juleps When they are hot with Wine: In dreams we do it. And many a handsom Wench that loves the sport well, Gives up her Soul so in her Lovers bosome; But I must be incis'd first, cut and open'd, My heart, and handsomely, ta'n from me; stay there, Dead once, stay, let me think again, who do I know there? For else to wander up and down unwaited on And unregarded in my place and project, Is for a Sowters Soul, not an old Souldiers. My brave old Regiments—I there it goes, That have been kill'd before me, right.—