[ACT IV., SCENE I.]
Enter Cleantha and Floriana.
Flo. Thy pride is such a flatterer of thy beauty,
That no man sighs by accident, but thou
Dost pity as enamour'd.
Cle. Floriana!
Not so kind-natur'd, surely. I have put
The sighs of courtiers in a scale, and find
Some threescore thousand may weigh down a feather;
I have tried their tears which, though of briny taste,
Can only season the hearts of fools, not women.
Their vows are like their duels, ever grounded
Upon the idlest quarrel.
Flo. This experience
Perhaps instructs you to; but yet your pride,
I fear, is over-easy to believe.
'Tis merely to fly idleness that my lord
Hath troubled you with courtship: if the queen
Would make a statesman, she might cure a lover.
Want of employment made him dream on beauty,
And yours came first t' his fancy.
Cle. I begin
To think his making love but vanity,
And a mistake in wit.
Flo. And you begin
Perhaps to fear it?
Cle. True, perhaps I do;
For though we care not for the lover, yet
We love the passion: though we scorn the offering,
We grieve to see it thrown away, and envy,
If consecrated to another. Woman
Hath no revenge 'gainst th' injury of custom,
Which gives man superiority, but thus
To fool it to subjection.
Flo. Yet, Cleantha,
I could have wish'd your charity had spar'd
This triumph o'er my lord.
Cle. You see I take
The next way to redeem him. This the hour,
And this the place. Here he resolves to raise
A trophy in my ruin: and behold—