SCENE II.
Enter Archas, Honora, and Viola.
Ar. No more, it must be so; do you think I would send ye,
Your father and your friend—
Viol. Pray Sir, be good to us,
Alas, we know no Court, nor seek that knowledge;
We are content with harmless things at home,
Children of your content, bred up in quiet,
Only to know our selves, to seek a Wisedome
From that we understand, easie and honest;
To make our actions worthy of your Honour,
Their ends as innocent as we begot 'em;
What shall we look for Sir, what shall we learn there,
That this more private sweetness cannot teach us?
Vertue was never built upon ambition,
Nor the Souls Beauties bred out of Bravery:
What a terrible Father would you seem to us,
Now you have moulded us, and wrought our tempers
To easie and obedient ways, uncrooked,
Where the fair mind can never lose nor loiter,
Now to divert our Natures, now to stem us
Roughly against the tide of all this treasure?
Would ye have us proud? 'tis sooner bred than buried;
Wickedly proud? for such things dwell at Court, Sir.
Hon. Would ye have your Children learn to forget their father,
And when he dies dance on his Monument?
Shall we seek Vertue in a Sattin Gown;
Embroider'd Vertue? Faith in a well-curl'd Feather?
And set our Credits to the tune of green sleeves?
This may be done; and if you like, it shall be.
You should have sent us thither when we were younger,
Our maiden-heads at a higher rate; our Innocence
Able to make a Mart indeed: we are now too old, Sir,
Perhaps they'll think too cunning too, and slight us;
Besides, we are altogether unprovided,
Unfurnisht utterly of the rules should guide us:
This Lord comes, licks his hand, and protests to me;
Compares my Beauty to a thousand fine things;
Mountains, and Fountains, Trees, and Stars, and Goblins;
Now have not I the faith for to believe him;
He offers me the honourable courtesie,
To lye with me all night, what a misery is this?
I am bred up so foolishly, alas, I dare not,
And how madly these things will shew there.
Arc. I send ye not,
Like parts infected, to draw more corruption;
Like Spiders to grow great, with growing evil:
With your own Vertues season'd, and my prayers,
The Card of goodness in your minds, that shows ye
When ye sail false; the needle toucht with honour,
That through the blackest storms, still points at happiness;
Your Bodies the tall barks, rib'd round with goodness,
Your Heavenly Souls the Pilots, thus I send you;
Thus I prepare your Voyage; sound before ye,
And ever as you sail through this Worlds Vanity,
Discover Sholes, Rocks, Quicksands, cry out to ye,
Like a good Master tack about for Honour:
The Court is Vertue's School, at least it should be;
Nearer the Sun the Mine lies, the metal's purer:
Be it granted, if the spring be once infected,
Those Branches that flow from him must run muddy;
Say you find some Sins there, and those no small ones,
And they like lazie fits begin to shake ye:
Say they affect your strengths, my happy Children,
Great things through greatest hazards are atchiev'd still,
And then they shine, then goodness has his glory,
His Crown fast rivetted, then time moves under,
Where, through the mist of errors, like the Sun,
Through thick and pitchy Clouds, he breaks out nobly.
Hon. I thank you Sir, you have made me half a Souldier,
I will to Court most willingly, most fondly.
And if there be such stirring things amongst 'em,
Such Travellers into Virginia
As Fame reports, if they can win me, take me;
I think I have a close Ward, and a sure one;
An honest mind I hope, 'tis petticoat-proof,
Chain-proof, and Jewel-proof; I know 'tis Gold-proof,
A Coach and four Horses cannot draw me from it:
As for your handsome Faces, and filed Tongues,
Curl'd Millers heads, I have another word for them,
And yet I'll flatter too, as fast as they do,
And lye, but not as lewdly; Come, be valiant, Sister,
She that dares not stand the push o'th' Court, dares nothing,
And yet come off ungraced: Sir, like you,
We both affect great dangers now, and the World shall see
All glory lies not in Mans Victorie.
Arc. Mine own Honora.
Viol. I am very fearful,
Would I were stronger built: you would have me honest?
Arc. Or not at all my Viola.
Viol. I'll think on't,
For 'tis no easie promise, and live there:
Do you think we shall do well?
Hon. Why, what should aile us?
Viol. Certain they'll tempt us strongly; beside the glory
Which Women may affect, they are handsom Gentlemen,
Every part speaks: nor is it one denial,
Nor two, nor ten; from every look we give 'em,
They'll frame a hope; even from our prayers, promises.
Hon. Let 'em feed so, and be fat; there is no fear, wench,
I[f] thou beest fast to thy self.
Viol. I hope I shall be;
And your example will work more.
Enter Theodore.
Hon. Thou shalt not want it.
The. How do you, Sir? can you lend a man an Angel?
I hear you let out money.
Arc. Very well, Sir,
You are pleasantly dispos'd: I am glad to see it.
Can you lend me your patience, and be rul'd by me?
The. Is't come to patience now?
Arc. Is't not a Vertue?
The. I know not: I ne'r found it so.
Arc. That's because
Thy anger ever knows, and not thy judgment.
The. I know you have been rifl'd.
Arc. Nothing less, Boy;
Lord, what opinions these vain People publish!
Rifl'd of what?
The. Study your Vertue, Patience,
It may get Mustard to your Meat. Why in such haste, Sir,
Sent ye for me?
Arc. For this end only, Theodore,
To wait upon your Sisters to the Court;
I am commanded they live there.
The. To th' Court, Sir?
Arc. To th' Court I say.
The. And must I wait upon 'em?
Arc. Yes, 'tis most fit you should, you are their Brother.
The. Is this the business? I had thought your mind, Sir,
Had been set forward on some noble action,
Something had truly stir'd ye. To th' Court with these?
Why, they are your Daughters, Sir.
Arc. All this I know, Sir.
The. The good old Woman on a Bed he threw:
To th' Court?
Arc. Thou art mad.
The. Nor drunk as you are:
Drunk with your duty, Sir: do you call it duty?
A pox of duty, what can these do there?
What should they do? Can ye look Babies, Sisters,
In the young Gallants eyes, and twirl their Band-strings?
Can ye ride out to air your selves? Pray Sir,
Be serious with me, do you speak this truly?
Arc. Why, didst thou never hear of Women
Yet at Court, Boy?
The. Yes, and good Women too, very good Women,
Excellent honest Women: but are you sure, Sir,
That these will prove so?
Hon. There's the danger, Brother.
The. God-a-mercy Wench, thou hast a grudging of it.
Arc. Now be you serious, Sir, and observe what I say,
Do it, and do it handsomly; go with 'em.
The. With all my heart, Sir; I am in no fault now;
If they be thought Whores for being in my Company;
Pray write upon their Backs, they are my Sisters,
And where I shall deliver 'em.
Arc. Ye are wondrous jocund,
But prithee tell me, art thou so lewd a Fellow?
I never knew thee fail a truth.
The. I am a Souldier,
And spell you what that means.
Arc. A Souldier?
What dost thou make of me?
The. Your Palate's down, Sir.
Arc. I thank ye, Sir.
The. Come, shall we to this matter?
You will to Court?
Hon. If you will please to honour us.
The. I'll honour ye, I warrant; I'll set ye off
With such a lustre, Wenches; alas poor Viola,
Thou art a fool, thou criest for eating white bread:
Be a good Huswife of thy tears, and save 'em,
Thou wilt have time enough to shed 'em, Sister.
Do you weep too? nay, then I'll fool no more.
Come worthy Sisters, since it must be so,
And since he thinks it fit to try your Vertues,
Be you as strong to truth, as I to guard ye,
And this old Gentleman shall have joy of ye. [Exeunt.