Asca. He has a daughter too, the greatest scorner,
And most insulter upon misery.
Vir. For those, they are toys to laugh at, not to lead men:
A womans mirth or anger, like a meteor
Glides and is gone, and leaves no crack behind it;
Our miseries would seem like masters to us,
And shake our manly spirits into feavers,
If we respected those; the more they glory.
And raise insulting Trophies on our ruines;
The more our virtues shine in patience.
Sweet Prince, the name of death was never terrible
To him that knew to live; nor the loud torrent
Of all afflictions, singing as they swim,
A gall of heart, but to a guilty conscience:
Whilst we stand fair, though by a two-edg'd storm,
We find untimely falls, like early Roses;
Bent to the earth, we bear our native sweetness.
Asca. Good Sir go on.
Vir. When we are little children,
And cry and fret for every toy comes cross us;
How sweetly do we shew, when sleep steals on us!
When we grow great, but our affections greater,
And struggle with this stubborn twin, born with us;
And tug and pull, yet still we find a Giant:
Had we not then the priviledge to sleep,
Our everlasting sleep? he would make us idiots;
The memory and monuments of good men
Are more than lives, and though their tombs want tongues,
Yet have they eies that daily sweat their losses;
And such a tear from stone, no time can value.
To die both young and good, are natures curses
As the world saies; ask truth, they are bounteous blessings:
For then we reach at Heaven, in our full virtues,
And fix our selves new Stars, crown'd with our goodness.
Asc. You have double arm'd me. [Strange Musick within, Hooys.
Hark what noise is this?
What horrid noise is the Sea pleas'd to sing.
A hideous Dirge to our deliverance?
Vir. Stand fast now.
[Within strange cries, horrid noise, Trumpets.
Asc. I am fixt.
Vir. We fear ye not. [Enter Martia.
Let death appear in all shapes, we smile on him.
Asc. The Lady now.