ACTUS V. SCENA II.
Enter Lewis, Brisac, Angelli[n]a, Sylvia, Officers.
Lew. I'm deaf to all perswasions.
Bri. I use none, nor doubt I, though a while my innocence suffers, but when the King shall understand how false your malice hath inform'd him, he in justice must set me right again.
Ang. Sir, let not passion so far transport you, as to think in reason, this violent course repairs, but ruins it; that honour you would build up, you destroy; what you would seem to nourish, if respect of my preferment or my pattern may challenge your paternal love and care, why do you, now good fortune has provided a better Husband for me than your hopes could ever fancy, strive to rob me of him? In what is my Lord Charles defective, Sir? unless deep Learning be a blemish in him, or well proportion'd limbs be mulcts in nature, or, what you only aim'd at, large Revenues, are, on the sudden, grown distasteful to you. Of what can you accuse him?
Lew. Of a Rape done to Honour, which thy ravenous lust made thee consent to.
Syl. Her lust! you are her Father.
Lew. And you her Bawd.
Syl. Were you ten Lords, 'tis false; the pureness of her chaste thoughts entertains not such spotted instruments.
Ang. As I have a Soul, Sir.
Lew. I am not to be alter'd; to sit down with this disgrace, would argue me a Peasant, and not born Noble: all rigour that the Law, and that increase of power by favour yields, shall be with all severity inflicted; you have the King's hand for't, no Bail will serve, and therefore at your perils, Officers, away with 'em.
Bri. This is madness.
Lew. Tell me so in open Court, and there I'le answer you.
Enter Miramont, Charles, Eustace, Andrew.
Mir. Well overtaken.
Char. Ill if they dare resist.
Eust. He that advances but one step forward dies.
Lew. Shew the King's Writ.
Mir. Shew your discretion, 'twill become you better.
Char. Y'are once more in my power, and if again I part with you, let me for ever lose thee.
Eust. Force will not do't, nor threats; accept this service from your despair'd of Eustace.
And. And beware your Reverend Worship never more attempt to search my Lilly pot, you see what follows.
Lew. Is the King's power contemn'd?
Mir. No, but the torrent o' your wilful folly stopp'd. And for you, good Sir, if you would but be sensible, what can you wish, but the satisfaction of an obstinate will, that is not endear'd to you? rather than be cross'd in what you purpos'd, you'll undo your Daughter's fame, the credit of your judgment, and your old foolish Neighbour; make your Estates, and in a Suit not worth a Cardecue, a prey to Advocates, and their buckram Scribes, and after they have plum'd ye, return home like a couple of naked Fowles without a feather.
Char. This is a most strong truth, Sir.
Mir. No, no, Monsieur, let us be right Frenchmen, violent to charge; but when our follies are repell'd by reason, 'tis fit that we retreat, and ne'er come on more: Observe my learned Charles, he'll get thee a Nephew on Angellina shall dispute in her belly, and suck the Nurse by Logick: and here's Eustace, he was an Ass, but now is grown an Amadis; nor shall he want a Wife, if all my Land, for a Joynture, can effect: Y'are a good Lord, and of a gentle nature, in your looks I see a kind consent, and it shews lovely: and do you hear, old Fool? but I'le not chide, hereafter, like me, ever doat on Learning, the meer belief is excellent, 'twill save you; and next love Valour, though you dare not fight your self, or fright a foolish Officer, young Eustace can do it to a hair. And, to conclude, let Andrew's farm b' encreas'd, that is your penance, you know for what, and see you rut no more; you understand me. So embrace on all sides.
I'le pay those Bilmen, and make large amends, Provided we preserve you still our Friends— [Exeunt.
* * * * *
Prologue.
But that it would take from our modesty
To praise the Writer, or the Comedy,
Till your fair suffrage crown it, I should say,
Y'are all most welcome to no vulgar Play;
And so far w'are confident: And if he
That made it, still lives in your memorie,
You will expect what we present to night,
Should be judged worthy of your ears and sight.
You shall hear Fletcher in it, his true strain,
And neat expressions; living he did gain
Your good opinions; but now dead commends
This Orphan to the care of Noble Friends;
And may it raise in you content and mirth,
And be received for a legitimate birth.
Your grace erects new Trophies to his fame,
And shall, to after-times, preserve his name.
Epilogue.
'Tis not the hands, or smiles, or common way
Of approbation to a well lik'd Play,
We only hope; but that you freely would
To th' Author's memory so far unfold,
And shew your loves and liking to his Wit,
Not in your praise, but often seeing it;
That being the grand assurance that can give
The Poet and the Player means to live.