Em. Fair fountain of my life, from whose pure streams
The propagation of two Kingdoms flowes,
Never contention rise in eithers brest,
But contestation whose love shall be best.
Isab. Majestick Ocean, that with plenty feeds
Me, thy poor tributary Rivolet,
Sun of my beauty, that with radiant beams
Dost gild, and dance upon these humble streams,
Curst be my birth-hour, and my ending day,
When back your love-floods I forget to pay:
Or if this brest of mine, your crystall brook,
Ever take other form in, other look
But yours, or ere produce unto your grace
A strange reflection, or anothers face,
But be your love-book clasp'd, open'd to none
But you, nor hold a storie, but your own;
A water fix'd, that ebbs nor floods pursue,
Frozen to all, onely dissolv'd to you.
Em. O, who shall tel the sweetness of our love
To future times, and not be thought to lye?
I look through this hour like a perspective,
And far off see millions of prosperous seeds,
That our reciprocall affection breeds.
Thus my white rib, close in my brest with me,
Which nought shall tear hence, but mortalitie.
Lords. Be Kingdoms blest in you, you blest in them.
Frig. Whist, Seignior; my strong imagination shews me
Love (me thinks) bathing in milk, and wine in her cheeks:
O! how she clips him, like a plant of Ivie.
Rin. I; Could not you be content to be an Owl in such an ivie-bush, or one of the Oaks of the City to be so clipt?
Frig. Equivocal Don, though I like the clipping well, I could not be content either to be your Owl, or your Ox of the City. The Play begins. [Flourish.
Enter a Poet with a garland.
Poet Prologue. Low at your sacred feet our poor Muse layes
Her, and her thunder-fearless virdant Bayes.
Four severall Triumphs to your Princely eyes,
Of Honor, Love, Death, and Time do rise
From our approaching subject, which we move
Towards you with fear, since that a sweeter Love,
A brighter Honor, purer Chastitie
March in your brests this day triumphantly,
Then our weak Scenes can show: then how dare we
Present like Apes and Zanies, things that be
Exemplifi'd in you, but that we know,
We ne'r crav'd grace, which you did not bestow?