Enter Albert, Aminta.
Alb.
Alas dear soul ye faint.
Amint. You speak the language
Which I should use to you, heaven knows, my weakness
Is not for what I suffer in my self,
But to imagine what you endure, and to what fate
Your cruel Stars reserve ye.
Alb. Do not add to my afflictions
By your tender pitties; sure we have chang'd Sexes;
You bear calamity with a fortitude
Would become a man; I like a weak girl, suffer.
Amint. Oh, but your wounds,
How fearfully they gape! and every one
To me is a Sepulchre: if I lov'd truly,
(Wise men affirm, that true love can [doe] wonders,)
These bath'd in my warm tears, would soon be cur'd,
And leave no orifice behind; pray give me leave
To play the Surgeon, and bind 'em up;
The raw air rankles 'em.
Alb. Sweet, we want means.
Amint. Love can supply all wants.
Alb. What have ye done Sweet?
Oh sacriledge to beauty: there's no hair
Of these pure locks, by which the greatest King
Would not be gladly bound, and love his Fetters.
Amint. Oh Albert, I offer this sacrifice of service
To the Altar of your staid temperance, and still adore it,
When with a violent hand you made me yours,
I curs'd the doer: but now I consider,
How long I was in your power: and with what honor;
You entertain'd me, it being seldom seen,
That youth, and heat of bloud, could e'r prescribe
Laws to it self; your goodness is the Lethe,
In which I drown your injuries, and now live
Truly to serve ye: how do you Sir?
Receive you the least ease from my service?
If you do, I am largely recompenc'd.
Alb. You good Angels,
That are ingag'd, when mans ability fails,
To reward goodness: look upon this Lady
Though hunger gripes my croaking entrails,
Yet when I kiss these Rubies, methinks
I'm at a Banquet, a refreshing Banquet;
Speak my bless'd one, art not hungry?