Evan. O my Valerio!
Be witness my pure mind, 'tis thee I grieve for.
Queen. But shew it not, I would so crucifie him
With an innocent neglect of what he can do,
A brave strong pious scorn, that I would shake him;
Put all the wanton Cupids in thine eyes,
And all the graces on that nature gave thee,
Make up thy beauty to that height of excellence,
I'll help thee, and forgive thee, as if Venus
Were now again to catch the god of War,
In his most rugged anger, when thou hast him,
(As 'tis impossible he should resist thee)
And kneeling at thy conquering feet for mercy,
Then shew thy Vertue, then again despise him,
And all his power, then with a look of honour
Mingled with noble chastity, strike him dead.
Evan. Good Madam dress me,
You arm me bravely.
Queen. Make him know his cruelty
Begins with him first, he must suffer for it,
And that thy sentence is so welcome to thee,
And to thy noble Lord, you long to meet it.
Stamp such a deep impression of thy Beauty
Into his soul, and of thy worthiness,
That when Valerio and Evanthe sleep
In one rich earth, hung round about with blessings,
He may run mad, and curse his act; be lusty,
I'll teach thee how to dye too, if thou fear'st it.
Ev. I thank your Grace, you have prepar'd me strongly,
And my weak mind.
Queen. Death is unwelcome never,
Unless it be to tortur'd minds and sick souls,
That make their own Hells; 'tis such a benefit
When it comes crown'd with honour, shews so sweet too!
Though they paint it ugly, that's but to restrain us,
For every living thing would love it else,
Fly boldly to their peace ere Nature call'd 'em;
The Rest we have from labour, and from trouble
Is some Incitement, every thing alike,
The poor Slave that lies private has his liberty,
As amply as his Master, in that Tomb
The Earth as light upon him, and the flowers
That grow about him, smell as sweet, and flourish.
But when we love with honour to our ends,
When Memory and Vertue are our Mourners;
What pleasure's there! they are infinite, Evanthe;
Only, my vertuous Wench, we want our senses,
That benefit we are barr'd, 'twould make us proud else,
And lazy to look up to happier life,
The Blessings of the people would so swell us.
Evan. Good Madam, dress me, you have drest my soul,
The merriest Bride I'll be for all this misery,
The proudest to some Eyes too.
Queen. 'Twill do better, come, shrink no more.
Evan. I am too confident. [Exeunt.
Enter Frederick, and Sorano.