Her. I have complained unjustly of the gods:
They favour me so much, they do applaud
My resolution for Eugenio.
Merit in others! I will close my eyes
From the bless'd sun, before they shall take in
An object that may startle my firm faith.
Moor. Be constant, and be happy; when you meet
With opposition that may shake your judgment,
Remember what affliction 'tis to weep
A fault irreparable; and think not
Reason can pacify your father's rage;
You must oppose your passion unto his,
And love will be victorious, being the noblest.
To-morrow I will bring more certain counsel. [Exit.
Her. Where cannot virtue dwell? What a still shade
Hath she found out to live securely in,
From the attempts of men? Come, my Irene,
Though thou hast spoken treason 'gainst my love,
Because[360] thine did produce it, I must thank thee.
Let's in, and fortify ourselves with some sad tale
Of those whose perjur'd loves have made them live
Hated, and die most miserable. [Exit Hermione.
Enter Phillida.
Phil. If I should weep, as my lady does, for all the servants I have lost!
Ire. Thou wouldst weep in thy grave, Phillida; yet the worst is, thou wilt lose more within this seven years than thou hast got in ten; for men are changeable, sweet Phillida.
Phil. And our faces were not, 'twere no matter. They should make haste, or we should overtake them, or prevent them. A commodity of beauty, that would last forty years, would bear a good price, madam.
Ire. By Venus, would it, Phillida! as high as that of honour.
Phil. But is not my lady a strange woman to weep thus for one servant, when she has another in his place? For my part, I could never find such differences in men—to be sad when I had any.
Ire. And thy word may be taken as soon as any wench's in Greece, or there be slanderers in the world. But she affects constancy.