ARMENIO.
Now serves the time to wreak me of my foe—
My bastard foe—that to dishonour me
In privy corners seeks to shame me so,
That my discredit might his credit be.
And hath my father from his tender youth
Vouchsaf'd to bring thee up? did I therefore
Believe so earnestly thy perjur'd truth,
Advancing still thine honour evermore,
That, not contented with a common wrack,
Thou shouldst intend the ruin of us all;
And when thou seemd'st afraid to turn thy back,
To make a glory of our greater fall?
Before thou triumph in thy treachery,
Before thou 'scape untouched for thy sin,
Let never Fates nor Fortune favour me,
But wretched let me live and die therein.
Few words shall serve, my deeds shall prove it now
That, ere I sleep, I mean to meet with you.
[Exit.
Enter FIDELIA.
FIDELIA.
Behold the shifts that faithful love can make;
See what I dare adventure for thy sake.
In case extreme make virtue of a need,
But hence the grief which maketh my heart to bleed.
My love and life, wherever that thou be,
I am in dole constrain'd to follow thee:
Hence sprung the hell of my tormented mind,
The fear of some misfortune yet behind.
If thou escape the peril of distress,
My fear and care is twenty times more less.
No reason 'tis that I should live in joy,
When thou art wrapt in fetters of annoy;
Nor to that end I swear to be thy wife,
To live in peace with thee and state of life;
But as to dwell at ease in pleasure's lap,
Even so to bear some part of thy mishap,
And so to draw in equal portion still
Of both our fortunes, either good or ill.
And sith the lots of our unconstant fate
Have turn'd our former bliss to wretched state,
I am content to tread the woful dance,
That sounds the measure of our hapless chance.
I'll wait thy coming; long thou wilt not stay:
High Jove defend and keep thee in the way!
Enter BOMELIO.
BOMELIO.
Now weary lay thee down, thy fortune to fulfil:
Go, yield thee captive to thy care, to save thy life or spill.
The pleasures of the field, the prospect of delight,
The blooming trees, the chirping birds, are grievous to thy sight.
The hollow, craggy rock, the shrieking owl to see,
To hear the noise of serpent's hiss, that is thy harmony.
For as unto the sick all pleasure is in vain,
So mirth unto the wounded mind increaseth but his pain.
But, heavens! what do I see? thou nymph or lady fair,
Or else thou goddess of the grove, what mak'st thee to repair
To this unhaunted place, thy presence here unfit?
FIDELIA.
Ancient father, let it not offend thee any whit,
To find me here alone. I am no goddess, I,
But a mortal maid, subject to misery.
And better that I might lament my heavy moan,
I secret came abroad to recreate myself awhile alone.
BOMELIO.
Take comfort, daughter mine, for thou hast found him then,
That is of others all that live the most accursed'st man.
O, I have heard it said, our sorrows are the less,
If in our anguish we may find a partner in distress.
FIDELIA.
O father! but my grief relieved cannot be:
My hope is fled, my help in vain, my hurt my death must be.
Yet not the common death of life that here is led,
But such a death as ever kills, and yet is never dead.
BOMELIO.
Fair maid, I have been well acquainted with that fit:
Sometime injured with the like, I learn to comfort it.
Come, rest thee here with me, with[in] this hollow cave;
There will I reckon up at large the horrors that I have.
FIDELIA.
I thank you, father; but I must needs walk another way.
BOMELIO.
Nay, gentle damsel, be content a while with me to stay.