Mount. Hence, find the Blackamore that waits upon her,
Bring her unto me, she doth love me yet,
And I must her now, at least seem to do:
Cupid, thy brands that glow thus in my veins,
I will with blood extinguish—ar't not gone?
Shall my desires, like beggars wait at dore
Whil'st any others revel in her breast?
Sweat on my spirits: know thou trickt up toy,
My love's a violent flood, where art thou faln,
Playing with which tide thou'dst been gently toss'd,
But crossing it, thou art or'whelm'd, and lost.
Enter Astorius and Castriot.
Cast. Monsieur, good day.
Ast. Good morrow valiant Knight,
What, are you for this great solemnity
This morn intended?
Mount. What solemnity?
Ast. The investing of the Martial Spaniard,
Peter Gomera, with our Christian Badge.
Cast. And young Miranda the Italian,
Both which with wondrous prowess, and great luck
Have dar'd and done for Malta, such high feats,
That not one Fort in it, but rings their names
As loud as any mans.
Mount. As any mans?
Why, we have fought for Malta.
Ast. Yes Mountferrat.
No bold Knight ever past you, but we wear
The dignity of Christians on our breasts,
And have a long time triumph'd for our conquests;
These conquer'd a long time, not triumph'd yet.
Mount. Astoris, you are a most indulgent Knight,
Detracting from your self, to add to others,
You know this title is the period
To all our labors, the extremity
Of that tall pyramid, where hon[ou]r hangs,
Which we with sweat and agony have reach'd,
And should not then so easily impart
So bright a wreath to every cheap desert.