Mir. To call me Lord, if the hard hand of death
Seize on Gomera first.
Ori. Oh, much too worthy;
How much you undervalue your own price,
To give your unbought self, for a poor woman,
That has been once sold, us'd, and lost her show?
I am a garment worn, a vessel crack'd,
A Zone unti'd, a Lilly trode upon,
A fragrant Flower cropt by another hand,
My colour sully'd, and my odo[r] chang'd,
If when I was new blossom'd, I did fear
My self unworthy of Miranda's spring:
Thus over-blown, and seeded, I am rather
Fit to adorn his Chimney, than his bed.
Mir. Rise miracle: save Malta, with thy virtue,
If words could make me proud, how has she spoke,
Yet I will try her to the very block:
Hard-hearted, and uncivil Oriana,
Ingrateful payer of my Industries,
That with a soft painted hypocrisie
Cozen'st, and jeer'st my perturbation,
Expect a witty, and a fell revenge:
My comfort is, all men will think thee false,
Beside thy Husband having been thus long
(On this occasion) in my Fort, and power.
Enter Nor. Collonna, & Lucinda, with a Child.
I'll hear no more words: Captain, let's away
With all care see to her: and you Lucinda
Attend her diligently: she is a wonder.
Nor. Have you found she was well deliver'd:
What, had she a good Midwife, is all well?
Mir. You are merry Norandine.
Luc. Why weep you, Lady?
Ori. Take the poor Babe along.
Col. Madam, 'tis here.