Brun. Come my Protaldye, then glut me with
Those best delights of man, that are deny'd
To her that does expect them, being a Bride.
Actus Tertius. Scæna Prima.
Enter Thierry, and Ordella, as from bed.
Thier. Sure I have drunk the bloud of Elephants:
The tears of Mandrake, and the Marble dew,
Mixt in my draught, have quencht my natural heat,
And left no spark of fire, but in mine eyes,
With which I may behold my miseries:
Ye wretched flames which play upon my sight,
Turn inward, make me all one piece, though earth.
My tears shall over-whelm you else too.
Or. What moves my Lord to this strange sadness?
If any late discerned want in me,
Give cause to your repentance, care and duty
Shall find a painful way to recompence.
Thier. Are you yet frozen veins, feel you a breath,
Whose temperate heat would make the North Star reel,
Her Icy pillars thaw'd, and do you not melt?
Draw nearer, yet nearer,
That from thy barren kiss thou maist confess
I have not heat enough to make a blush.
Ordel. Speak nearer to my understanding, like a Husband.
Thier. How should he speak the language of a Husband,
Who wants the tongue and organs of his voice?
Ordel. It is a phrase will part with the same ease
From you, with that you now deliver.