PHIL. Night clad in black mourns for the loss of day, And hides the silver spangles of the air, That not a spark is left to light the world; Whilst quiet sleep, the nourisher of life, Takes full possession of mortality. All creatures take their rest in soft repose, Save malcontents and we accursed lovers, Whose thoughts perturbed make us passion's slaves, And rob us of the juice of happiness. Dear Mariana, shap'd in an angel's mould, Thou thrall'st my senses, and inflam'st my blood: Love's power by wisdom cannot be withstood. But see, the morning-star breaks from the east, To tell the world her great eye[170] is awak'd, To take his journey to the western vales: And now the court begins to rise with him. [_Here pass over the stage a physician, a gentleman-usher, and a waiting-maid._ There goes the physician, the waiting-maid, And a fine, straight-legg'd gentleman-usher. The preface to a kirtle all puff-paste; One that writes sonnets in his lady's praise, And hides her crimes with flattering poesy. _Enter_ MARIANA. But peace! amazement! see the day of life, Nature's best work, the world's chief paragon! Madam, one word. MAR. Ay; so now, farewell. PHIL. You do mistake me. MAR. That yourself can tell. You ask'd me one word, which I gave, said _ay_; A word of least use in a virgin's breath,[171] Urge not my patience then with fond reply. PHIL. Dear lady, lend an ear unto my voice, Since each were made for other's happiness: My tongue's not oil'd with courtly flatterings, Nor can I paint my passions to the life; But by that power which shap'd this heavenly form, I am your bondslave forc'd by love's command; Then let soft pity with such beauty dwell, Madam, I love you. MAR. As I am a virgin, so do I. PHIL. But, madam, whom? MAR. Myself no lady better. PHIL. But will you love me? MAR. No, by my chastity. PHIL. I hope you do but jest. MAR. Nay, I'll keep mine oath, Men shall abandon pride and jealousy Ere I'll be bound to their captivity: They shall live continent, and leave to range, But men (like to the moon) each month must change; Yet we must seek that nought their sight displeases, And mix our wedlock sweets with loath'd diseases; When we consume ourselves and our best beauty, All our reward is--why, 'twas but our duty. PHIL. Judge not so hard of all for some offenders; For you are subject to the selfsame crimes, Of men and women always have been had Some good of each---- MAR. But for the most part bad: Therefore I'll have none at all, but die a perfect maid.