Cle. Madam!
Queen. Fortune! O cruel! for, which side soe'er
Is lost, I suffer; either in my people
Or slaughter of my friends. No victory
Can now come welcome: the best chance of war
Makes me howe'er a mourner.
Cle. Madam, you
Have lost your virtue, which so often vow'd
A clear aspèct, what cloud soever darken'd
Your present glory.
Queen. I had [such] thoughts, Cleantha;
But they are vanish'd. What shall we invent
To take off fear and trouble from this hour?
Poor Floriana, thou art trembling now
With thought of wounds and death, to which the courage
Of thy fierce husband, like a headstrong jade,
May run away with him. But clear thy sorrows:
If he fall in this quarrel, thou shalt have
Thy choice 'mong the Castilian lords; and (give
My judgment faith) there be brave men among them.
Flo. Madam, I have vowed my life to a cloister,
Should I survive my lord.
Queen. And thou art fearful
Thou shalt be forc'd to make thy promise good!
Alas, poor soul! enclosure and coarse diet,
Much discipline and early prayer, will ill
Agree with thy complexion. There's Cleantha,
She hath a heart so wean'd from vanity,
To her a nunnery would be a palace.
Cle. Yes, if your majesty were abbess, madam:
But cloister up the fine young lords with us,
And ring us up each midnight to a masque,
Instead of matins, and I stand prepar'd
To be profess'd without probation. [Drum beats.
Flo. Hark! what noise is that?
Queen. 'Tis that of death and mischief.
My griefs! but I'll dissemble them [Aside.]—Yet why,
Cleantha, being the sole beauteous idol
Of all the superstitious youth at court,
Remain'st thou yet unmarried?
Cle. Madam, I
Have many servants, but not one so valiant,
As dares attempt to marry me.