[Exeunt Lisander, Clarinda.
Lan. Send me out the Dairy-maid
To play at trump with me, and keep me waking,
My fellow horse and I must now discourse
Like two learned Almanack-Makers, of the Stars,
And tell what a plentiful year 'twill prove of Drunkards.
If I had but a pottle of Sack, like a sharp prickle,
To knock my Nose against when I am nodding,
I should sing like a Nightingale, but I must
Keep watch without it, I am apt to dance,
Good fortune guide me from the Faries Circles. [Exit.
Enter Clarinda with a Taper, and Lisander with a Pistol, two Chairs set out.
Clar. Come near, [Calista sitting behind a Curtain.
I'll leave ye now, draw but that Curtain,
And have your wish; now, Leon, I am for thee;
We that are servants must make use of stoln hours,
And be glad of snatch'd occasions. [Exit.
Lis. She is asleep,
Fierce Love hath clos'd his lights, I may look on her,
Within her eyes 'has lockt the graces up,
I may behold and live; how sweet she breaths!
The orient morning breaking out in odours
Is not so full of perfumes, as her breath is;
She is the abstract of all Excellence, and scorns a Parallel.
Cal. Who's there?
Lis. Your servant, your most obedient slave (adored Lady)
That comes but to behold those eyes again,
And pay some Vows I have to sacred Beauty,
And so pass by; I am blind as ignorance,
And know not where I wander, how I live,
Till I receive from their bright influence
Light to direct me, for Devotions sake,
You are the Saint I tread these holy steps to,
And holy Saints are all relenting sweetness,
Be not enrag'd, nor be not angry with me;
The greatest attribute of Heaven is mercy;
And 'tis the Crown of Justice, and the glory
Where it may kill with right, to save with pity.
Cal. Why do you kneel? I know you come to mock me,
T'upbraid me with the benefits you have giv'n me,
Which are too many, and too mighty, Sir,
For my return; and I confess 'tis justice,
That for my cruelty you should despise me,
And I expect however you are calm now,
A foyl you strive to set your cause upon,
It will break out; Calista is unworthy,
Coy, proud, disdainful, I acknowledge all,
Colder of Comfort than the frozen North is,
And more a stranger to Lisanders worth,
His youth and faith, than it becomes her gratitude,
I blush to grant it, yet take this along,
A soveraign medicine to allay displeasure,
May be an argument to bring me off too;
She is married, and she is chaste; how sweet that sounds!
How it perfumes all air 'tis spoken in!
O dear Lisander! would you break this union?
Lis. No, I adore it; let me kiss your hand,
And seal the fair faith of a Gentleman on it.
Cal. You are truly valiant, would it not afflict ye
To have the horrid name of Coward touch you?
Such is the Whore to me.