Del. Thou hast full need of blessing.
'Twas I, that at thy great Inauguration,
Hung in the air unseen: 'twas I that honour'd thee
With various Musicks, and sweet sounding airs:
'Twas I inspir'd the Souldiers heart with wonder,
And made him throw himself, with love and duty,
Low at thy feet: 'twas I that fix'd him to thee,
But why did I all this? To keep thy honestie,
Thy vow and faith; that once forgot and slighted
Aurelia in regard, the Marriage ready,
The Priest and all the Ceremonies present,
'Twas I that thundred loud; 'twas I that threatned;
'Twas I that cast a dark face over heaven,
And smote ye all with terrour.
Dru. Yet consider,
As ye are noble, as I have deserv'd ye;
For yet ye are free: if neither faith nor promise,
The deeds of elder times may be remembred,
Let these new-dropping tears; for I still love ye,
These hands held up to heaven.
Dio. I must not pity ye;
'Tis not wise in me.
Del. How? not wise?
Dio. Nor honourable.
A Princess is my Love, and doats upon me:
A fair and lovely Princess is my Mistris.
I am an Emperour: consider, Prophetess,
Now my embraces are for Queens and Princesses,
For Ladies of high mark, for divine beauties:
To look so low as this cheap common sweetness,
Would speak me base, my names and glories nothing.
I grant I made a vow; what was I then?
As she is now, of no sort, (hope made me promise)
But now I am; to keep this vow, were monstrous,
A madness, and a low inglorious fondness.
Del. Take heed, proud man.
Drus. Princes may love with Titles,
But I with Truth.
Del. Take heed; here stands thy destinie;
Thy Fate here follows.
Dio. Thou doating Sorceress,
Wouldst have me love this thing, that is not worthy
To kneel unto my Saint? to kiss her shadow?
Great Princes are her slaves; selected beauties
Bow at her beck: the mighty Persian's Daughter
(Bright as the breaking East, as mid-day glorious)
Waits her commands, and grows proud in her pleasures.
I'le see her honour'd: some Match I shall think of,
That shall advance ye both; mean time I'll favour ye. [Exit.
Del. Mean time I'le haunt thee. Cry not (wench) be confident,
E're long, thou shalt more pity him (observe me)
And pity him in truth, than now thou seek'st him:
My art and I are yet companions. Come, Girl. [Exeunt.