Enter Quisara.
Quisan. We thank you Sir for your good mirth,
You are a good companion.
Here comes the Princess now, attend your business.
Quisar. Is there no remedy, no hopes can help me?
No wit to set me free? whose there hoe?
Quisan. Troubled? her looks are almost wild:
What ails the Princess?
I know nothing she wants.
Quisar. Who's that there with you?
Oh Signior Pyniero? you are most welcome:
How does your noble Uncle?
Pin. Sad as you are Madam:
But he commends his service, and this Letter.
Quisar. Go off, attend within—Fair Sir, I thank ye,
Pray be no stranger, for indeed you are welcome;
For your own virtues welcome.
Quisan. We are mistaken,
This is some brave fellow sure.
Pan. I'm sure he's a bold fellow:
But if she hold him so, we must believe it. [Exit.
Quisar. Do you know of this, fair Sir?
[P[i]n.] I ghess it Madam,
And whether it intends: I had not brought it else.
Quis. It is a business of no common reckoning.
Pin. The handsomer for him that goes about it;
Slight actions are rewarded with slight thanks:
Give me a matter of some weight to wade in.
Quisar. And can you love your Uncle so directly,
So seriously, and so full, to undertake this?
Can there be such a faith?
Pin. Dare you say I to it,
And set me on? 'tis no matter for my Uncle,
Or what I owe to him, dare you but wish it.
Quisar. I wou'd fain—
Pyn. Have it done; say but so Lady.
Quisan. Conceive it so.
Pyn. I will, 'tis that I am bound to:
Your Will that must command me, and your Pleasure,
The fair aspects of those eyes that must direct me:
I am no Uncles Agent, I am mine own, Lady;
I scorn my able youth should plough for others,
Or my ambition serve for pay; I aim,
Although I never hit, as high as any man,
And the reward I reach at, shall be equal,
And what love spurs me on to, this desire,
Makes me forget an honest man, a brave man,
A valiant, and a virtuous man, my countrey-man, Armusia,
The delight of all the Minions,
[This love] of you, doting upon your beauty, the admiration of your excellence;
Make me but servant to the poorest smile,
Or the least grace you have bestow'd on others,
And see how suddenly I'll work your safety,
And set your thoughts at peace; I am no flatterer,
To promise infinitely, and out-dream dangers;
To lye a bed, and swear men into Feavers,
Like some of your trim suiters; when I promise,
The light is not more constant to the world,
Than I am to my word—She turns for millions.
Quisar. I have not seen a braver confirm'd courage.
Pyn. For a Tun of Crowns she turns: she is a woman,
And much I fear, a worse than I expected.
You are the object, Lady, you are the eye
In which all excellence appears, all wonder,
From which all hearts take fire, all hands their valour:
And when he stands disputing, when you bid him,
Or but thinks of his Estate, Father, Mother,
Friends, Wife, and Children,
H'is a fool, and I scorn him,
[And 't be but to make clean his sword, a coward];
Men have forgot their fealty to beauty.
Had I the place in your affections,
My most unworthy Uncle is fit to fall from,
Liv'd in those blessed eyes, and read the stories
Of everlasting pleasures figur'd there,
I wou'd find out your commands before you thought 'em,
And bring 'em to you done, e'r you dream't of 'em.
Quis. I admire his boldness.
Pyn. This, or any thing;
Your brothers death, mine Uncles, any mans,
No state that stands secure, if you frown on it.
Look on my youth, I bring no blastings to you,
The first flower of my strength, my faith.
Quis. No more Sir;
I am too willing to believe, rest satisfi'd;
If you dare do for me, I shall be thankful:
You are a handsome Gentleman, a fair one,
My servant if you please; I seal it thus, Sir.
No more, till you deserve more. [Exit.
Pyn. I am rewarded:
This woman's cunning, but she's bloody too;
Although she pulls her Tallons in, she's mischievous;
Form'd like the face of Heaven, clear and transparent;
I must pretend still, bear 'em both in hopes,
For fear some bloudy slave thrust in indeed,
Fashion'd and flesh'd, to what they wish: well Uncle,
What will become of this, and what dishonor
Follow this fatal shaft, if shot, let time tell,
I can but only fear, and strive to cross it. [Exit.
Enter Armusia, Emanuel, [and] Soza.
Em. Why are you thus sad? what can grieve or vex you
That have the pleasures of the world, the profits,
The honor, and the loves at your disposes?
Why should a man that wants nothing, want his quiet?
Ar. I want what beggars are above me in, content;
I want the grace I have merited,
The favor, the due respect.
Soz. Does not the King allow it?
Ar. Yes, and all honors else, all I can ask,
That he has power to give; but from his Sister,
The scornful cruelty, forgive me beauty,
That I transgress from her that should look on me,
That should a little smile upon my service,
And foster my deserts for her own faiths sake;
That should at least acknowledge me, speak to me.
Soz. And you goe whining up and down for this, Sir?
Lamenting and disputing of your grievances?
Sighing and sobbing like a sullen School-boy,
And cursing good-wife fortune for this favour?
Ar. What would you have me doe?
Soz. Doe what you should do,
What a man would doe in this case, a wise man,
An understanding man that knows a woman;
Knows her and all her tricks, her scorns, and all her trifles:
Goe to her, and take her in your arms, and shake her,
Take her and toss her like a barr.
Em. But be sure you pitch her upon a Feather-bed,
Shake her between a pair of Sheets, Sir,
There shake these sullen fits out of her, spare her not there;
There you may break her Will, and bruise no bone, Sir.
Soz. Goe to her.
Em. That's the way.
Soz. And tell her, and boldly,
And do not mince the matter, nor mock your self,
With being too indulgent to her pride:
Let her hear roundly from ye, what ye are,
And what ye have deserved, and what she must be.
Em. And be not put off like a common fellow,
With the Princess would be private,
Or that she has taken physick, and admits none;
I would talk to her any where.
Ar. It makes me smile.
Em. Now you look handsomly:
Had I a wench to win, I would so flutter her:
They love a man that crushes 'em to verjuce;
A woman held at hard meat, is your Spaniel.
Soz. Pray take our council, Sir.
Ar. I shall do something,
But not your way, it shews too boisterous,
For my affections are as fair and gentle,
As her they serve.
Enter King.
Soz. The King.
King. Why how now friend?
Why do you rob me of the company
I love so dearly, Sir, I have been seeking you;
For when I want you, I want all my pleasure:
Why sad? thus sad still man? I will not have it;
I must not see the face I love thus shadowed.
Em. And't please your Grace, methinks it ill becomes him:
A soldier should be jovial, high and lusty.
King. He shall be so, come, come, I know your reason,
It shall be none to cross you, ye shall have her,
Take my word, ('tis a Kings word) ye shall have her,
She shall be yours or nothing, pray be merry.
Arm. Your Grace has given me cause, I shall be Sir,
And ever your poor servant.
King. Me my self, Sir,
My better self, I shall find time, and suddainly,
To gratifie your loves too, Gentlemen,
And make you know how much I stand bound to you:
Nay, 'tis not worth your thanks, no further complement;
Will you go with me friend?
Arm. I beseech your Grace,
Spare me an hour or two, I shall wait on you,
Some little private business with my self, Sir,
For such a time.
King. I'll hinder no devotion,
For I know you are regular, I'll take you Gentlemen,
Because he shall have nothing to disturb him,
I shall look for your friend. [Exeunt. manet Armusia.
Enter Panura.
Arm. I dare not fail, Sir:
What shall I do to make her know my misery,
To make her sensible? This is her woman,
I have a toy come to me suddenly,
It may work for the best, she can but scorn me,
And lower than I am, I cannot tumble,
I'll try, what e'er my fate be—Good even fair one.
Pan. 'Tis the brave stranger—A good night to you, Sir.
Now by my Ladies hand, a goodly Gentleman!
How happy shall she be in such a Husband!
Wou'd I were so provided too.
Arm. Good pretty one,
Shall I keep you company for an hour or two?
I want employment for this evening.
I am an honest man.
Pan. I dare believe ye:
Or if ye were not, Sir, that's no great matter,
We take mens promises, wou'd ye stay with me, Sir?
Arm. So it please you, pray let's be better acquainted,
I know you are the [Princesses] Gentlewoman,
And wait upon her near.
Pan. 'Tis like I do so.
Arm. And may befriend a man, do him fair courtesies,
If he have business your way.
Pan. I understand ye.
Arm. So kind an office, that you may bind a gentleman,
Hereafter to be yours; and your way too,
And ye may bless the hour you did this benefit:
Sweet handsome faces should have courteous minds,
And ready faculties.
Pan. Tell me your business,
Yet if I think it be to her, your self, Sir,
For I know what you are, and what we hold ye,
And in what grace ye stand, without a second,
For that but darkens, you wou'd do it better,
The Princess must be pleas'd with your accesses;
I'm sure I should.
Arm. I want a Courtiers boldness,
And am yet but a stranger, I wou'd fain speak with her:
Pan. 'Tis very late, and upon her hour of sleep, Sir.
Ar. Pray ye wear this, and believe my meaning civil,
My business of that fair respect and carriage:
This for our more acquaintance. [Jewel.
Pan. How close he kisses!
And how sensible the passings of his lips are!
I must do it, and I were to be hang'd now, and I will do it:
He may do as much for me, that's all I aim at;
And come what will on't, life or death, I'll do it,
For ten such kisses more, and 'twere high treason.
Arm. I wou'd be private with her.
Pan. So you shall,
'Tis not worth thanks else, you must dispatch quick.
Arm. Suddenly.
Pan. And I must leave you in my chamber, Sir;
Where you must lock your self that none may see you;
'Tis close to her, you cannot miss the entrance,
When she comes down to bed.
Arm. I understand ye, and once more thank ye Lady.
Pan. Thank me but thus.
Arm. If I fail thee—
Come close then. [Ex.
Enter Quisara, and Quisana.
Quisar. 'Tis late good Aunt, to bed, I am ev'n unready,
My woman will not be long away.
Quisan. I wou'd have you a little merrier first,
Let me sit by ye, and read or discourse
Something that ye fancy, or take my instrument.
Quisar. No, no I thank you,
I shall sleep without these, I wrong your age Aunt
To make ye wait thus, pray let me intreat ye,
To morrow I'll see ye, I know y'are sleepy,
And rest will be a welcome guest, you shall not,
Indeed you shall not stay; oh here's my woman,