_Vir._ Must this be added to increase my misery, That she must weep for joy, and loose that goodness? My _Juliana_, even the best of women, Of wives the perfectest, let me speak this, And with a modesty declare thy vertues, Chaster than Chrystal, on the _Scythian_ Clifts The more the proud winds Court, the more the purer. Sweeter in thy obedience than a Sacrifice; And in thy mind a Saint, that even yet living, Producest miracles, and women daily, With crooked and lame souls creep to thy goodness, Which having toucht at, they become examples. The fortitude of all their sex, is Fable Compar'd to thine; and they that fill'd up glory, And admiration, in the age behind us, Out of their celebrated urns, are started, To stare upon the greatness of thy spirit; Wondring what new Martyr heaven has begot, To fill the times with truth, and ease their stories: Being all these, and excellent in beauty, (For noble things dwell in the noblest buildings) Thou hast undone thy husband, made him wretched, A miserable man, my _Juliana_, Thou hast made thy _Virolet_. _Jul._ Now goodness keep me; Oh! my dear Lord. _Pand._ She wrong you? what's the meaning? Weep not, but speak, I charge you on obedience; Your Father charges you, she make you miserable? That you your self confess. _Vir._ I do, that kils me; And far less I have spoke her than her merit. _Jul._ It is some sin of weakness, or of Ignorance? For sure my Will---- _Vir._ No, 'tis a sin of excellence: Forgive me heaven, that I prophane thy blessings: Sit still; I'll shew you all. [_Exit Virolet._ _Pand._ What means this madness? For sure there is no tast of right man in it; Grieves he our liberty, our preservation? Or has the greatness of the deed he has done, Made him forget, for whom, and how he did it, And looking down upon us, scorn the benefit? Well _Virolet_, if thou beest proud, or treacherous. _Jul._ He cannot Sir, he cannot; he will shew us, And with that reason ground his words. _Enter_ Virolet, Martia, Ronvere. _Pand._ He comes. What Masque is this? what admirable beauty? Pray heaven his heart be true. _Jul._ A goodly woman. _Vir._ Tell me my dear; and tell me without flattery, As you are nobly honest, speak the truth; What think you of this Lady? _Jul._ She is most excellent. _Vir._ Might not this beauty tell me it's a sweet one, Without more setting off, as now it is, Thanking no greater Mistress than meer nature, Stagger a constant heart? _Pand._ She is full of wonder; But yet; yet _Virolet_. _Vir._ Pray by your leave Sir! _Jul._ She would amaze. _Vir._ O! would she so? I thank you; Say to this beauty, she have all additions, Wealth, noble birth. _Pand._ O hold there.