Enter Alphonso, carried on a Couch by two Fryars.
Would any thing—He comes, let's give him comfort.
Alph. Give me more air, air, more air, blow, blow,
Open thou Eastern Gate, and blow upon me,
Distill thy cold dews, O thou icy Moon,
And Rivers run through my afflicted spirit.
I am all fire, fire, fire, the raging dog star
Reigns in my bloud, Oh which way shall I turn me?
Ætna, and all his flames burn in my head,
Fling me into the Ocean or I perish;
Dig, dig, dig, till the Springs fly up,
The cold, cold Springs, that I may leap into 'em,
And bathe my scorcht Limbs in their purling Pleasures.
Or shoot me up into the higher Region,
Where treasures of delicious Snow are nourisht,
And Banquets of sweet Hail.
Rug. Hold him fast Fryer, O how he burns!
Alph. What will ye sacrifice me?
Upon the Altar lay my willing body,
And pile your Wood up, fling your holy incense;
And as I turn me you shall see all flame,
Consuming flame, stand off me, or you are ashes.
Both. Most miserable wretches.
Alph. Bring hither Charity
And let me hug her, Fryer, they say she's cold,
Infinite cold Devotion cannot warm her;
Draw me a river of false lovers tears
Clean through my breast, they are dull, cold, and forgetful,
And will give ease, let Virgins sigh upon me,
Forsaken souls, the sighs are precious,
Let them all sigh: Oh hell, hell, hell, Oh horror.
Mar. To bed, good Sir.
Alph. My bed will burn about me,
Like Phaeton, in all consuming flashes
I am inclosed, let me fly, let me fly, give room;
Betwixt the cold Bear, and the raging Lyon
Lyes my safe way; O for a cake of Ice now,
To clap unto my heart to comfort me;
Decrepit Winter hang upon my shoulders,
And let me wear thy frozen Isicles
Like Jewels round about my head, to cool me;
My eyes burn out, and sink into their sockets,
And my infected brain like brimstone boils,
I live in Hell, and several furies vex me;
O carry me where no Sun ever shew'd yet
A face of comfort, where the earth is Crystal,
Never to be dissolv'd, where naught inhabits
But night and cold, and nipping frosts, and winds
That cut the stubborn rocks and make them shiver;
Set me there friends.
Rug. Hold fast, he must to bed, Fryer, what scalding sweats he has!