Plac. Forgive me, if I say your passions are So rough, as if in love you would make war. But love is soft—— And with soft beauty tenderly complies; In lips it laughs, and languishes in eyes.
Max. There, let it laugh; or, like an infant, weep: I cannot such a supple passion keep. Mine, stiff with age, and stubborn as my arms, Walks upright; stoops not to, but meets her charms.
Plac. Yet fierceness suits not with her gentle kind; They brave assaults, but may be undermined.
Max. Till I in those mean arts am better read, Court thou, and fawn, and flatter in my stead.
Enter St Catharine.
She comes; and now, methinks, I could obey; Her form glides through me, and my heart gives way: This iron heart, which no impression took From wars, melts down, and runs, if she but look. [Exit Maximin.
Plac. Madam, I from the emperor am come, To applaud your virtue, and reverse your doom. He thinks, whatever your religion be, This palm is owing to your constancy.
S. Cath. My constancy from him seeks no renown; Heaven, that proposed the course, will give the crown.
Plac. But monarchs are the gods' vicegerents here; Heaven gives rewards; but what it gives they bear: From heaven to you the Egyptian crown is sent, Yet 'tis a prince who does the gift present.
S. Cath. The deity I serve, had he thought fit, Could have preserved my crown unconquered yet: But when his secret Providence designed To level that, he levelled too my mind; Which, by contracting its desires, is taught The humble quiet of possessing nought.