Beaumont and Fletcher's Works, Vol. 05 of 10Fletcher, John
General
Beaumont and Fletcher's Works, Vol. 05 of 10
Fletcher, John
English drama
_Let those complain that feel Loves cruelty._
_And in sad legends write their woes,_
_With Roses gently has corected me,_
_My War is without rage or blows:_
_My Mistriss eyes shine fair on my desires,_
_And hope springs up enflam'd with her new fires._
_No more an Exile will I dwell,_
_With folded arms, and sighs all day,_
_Reckoning the torments of my Hell,_
_And flinging my sweet joys away:_
_I am call'd home again to quiet peace,_
_My Mistriss smiles, and all my sorrows cease._
_Yet what is living in her Eye?_
_Or being blest with her sweet tongue,_
_If these no other joys imply?_
_A golden Give, a pleasing wrong:_
_To be your own but one poor Month, I'd give_
_My Youth, my Fortune, and then leave to live._
_Fred._ This is my Rival, that I knew the hand now.
_Sor._ I know it, I have seen it, 'tis _Valerio_'s,
That hopeful Gentlemans, that was brought up with ye,
And by your charge, nourish'd and fed
At the same Table, with the same allowance.
_Fred._ And all this courtesie to ruine me?
Cross my desires? 'had better have fed humblier,
And stood at greater distance from my fury:
Go for him quickly, find him instantly,
Whilst my impatient heart swells high with choler;
Better have lov'd despair, and safer kiss'd her. [_Ex. Lords._
_Enter_ Evanthe, _and_ Cassandra.
_Evan._ Thou old weak fool, dost thou know to what end,
To what betraying end he got this Casket?
Durst thou deliver him without my Ring,
Or a Command from mine own mouth, that Cabinet
That holds my heart? you unconsiderate Ass,
You brainless Ideot.
_Cas._ I saw you go with him,
At the first word commit your Person to him,
And make no scruple, he is your Brothers Gentleman,
And for any thing I know, an honest man;
And might not I upon the same security deliver him a Box?
_Evan._ A Bottle-head.
_Fred._ You shall have cause to chafe, as I will handle it.
_Evan._ I had rather thou hadst delivered me to Pirats,
Betray'd me to uncurable diseases,
Hung up my Picture in a Market-place,
And sold me to wild Bawds.
_Cas._ As I take it, Madam,
Your maiden-head lies not in that Cabinet,
You have a Closer, and you keep the Key too,
Why are you vex'd thus?
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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