Don O. The tide of my ill fate is swoll'n so high,
'Twill not admit increase of misery;
Since, amongst all the curses, there is none
So wounds the spirit as privation:
For 'tis not where we lie, but whence we fell;
The loss of heaven's the greatest pain in hell.
When I had sail'd the doubtful course of love,
Had safely gain'd my port, and (far above
My hopes) the precious treasure had secured
For which so many storms I had endur'd:
To be so soon from this great blessing torn,
That's hard to say, if 'twere first dead or born,
May doubtless seem such a transcendent curse,
That even the Fates themselves could do no worse:
Yet this I bore with an erected face.
Since fortune, not my fault, caus'd my disgrace;
But now my eyes unto the earth are bent,
Conscious of meriting this punishment:
For trusting a fond maid's officious care,
My life and honour's taken in this snare;
And thus I perish on this unseen shelf,
Pursu'd by fate, and false unto myself.
Flora, when I am dead, I pray present [He pulls out his tablets.
These tablets to your lady; there she'll find
My last request, with reasons which I give,
That for my sake she would vouchsafe to live.
Give me the candle, Flora.
[Octavio sets the candle on a table, and sits down to write in his tablets.
Diego. A double curse upon all love in earnest,
All constant love: 'tis still accompanied
With strange disasters, or else ends in that
Which is the worst of all disasters—marriage.
Flo. Sure, you could wish that everybody living
Had such a soul of quicksilver as yours,
That can fix nowhere.
Diego. Why' 'twould not be the worse for you, dear Flora;
You then might hope in time to have your turn,
As well as those who have much better faces.
Flo. You, I presume, sir, would be one o' th' latest,
Which I should hear of; yet 'tis possible
That one might see you before you should be
Welcome.
Diego. She has wit and good-humour, excellent
Ingredients to pass away the time;
And I have kindness for her person too;
But that will end with marriage, and possibly
Her good-humour; for I have seldom known
The husband and the wife make any music,
Though when asunder they can play their parts.
Well, friend Diego, I advise you to look
Before you leap, for if you should be coupled
To a yoke, instead of a yoke-fellow,
'Tis likely you may wear it to your grave.
Yet, honest Diego, now I think on't better,
Your dancing and your vaulting days are done:
Faith, all your pleasures are three storeys high,
They are come up to your mouth; you are now
For ease and eating, the only joys of life;
And there's no cook, no dry-nurse, like a wife.
Don O. Here, take my tablets, Flora: sure, they'll spare
Thy life for thy sex's sake; but for poor Diego——
Diego. Why, sir, they'll never offer to kill me?
There's nothing in the world I hate like death.
Don O. Since death's the passage to eternity,
To be for ever happy we must die.