_Mount._ Yes, But take heed (gentle _Rocca_) that thou do'st Tenderly by degrees assault mine ears With her consent, now to embrace my love, For thou well know'st I have been so plung'd, so torn With her resolv'd reject, and neglect: That to report her soft acceptance now, Will stupifie sense in me, if not kill: Why shew'st thou this distemper? _Roc._ Draw your sword, And when I with my breath have blasted you, Kill me with it: I bring you smiles of pitty, not affection: For such she sent. _Mount._ Oh! can she pitty me? Of all the paths lead to a womans love, Pitties the streightest. _Roc._ Waken Sir, and know That her contempt (if you can name it so) Continues still: she bids you throw your Pearl Into strong streams, and hope to turn them so, Ere her too foul dishonor, writ[e] your plaints In rocks of Coral grow'n above the Sea, Them hope to soften to compassion, Or change their modest blush to love sick pale, Ere work her to your impious requests; All your loose thoughts she chides you home again, But with such calm behaviour, and mild looks, She gentlier denies than others grant, For just as others love so doth she hate: She says, that by your order you are bound From marrying ever, and much marvels then You would thus violate her and your own faith, That being the virgin you should now protect, Hitherto she professes she has conceal'd Your lustful Batteries, but the next she vowes, (In open Hall, before the honor'd cross And her great Brother) she will quite disclose Calling for justice, to your utter shame. _Mount._ Hence, find the Blackamore that waits upon her, Bring her unto me, she doth love me yet, And I must her now, at least seem to do: _Cupid_, thy brands that glow thus in my veins, I will with blood extinguish--ar't not gone? Shall my desires, like beggars wait at dore Whil'st any others revel in her breast? Sweat on my spirits: know thou trickt up toy, My love's a violent flood, where art thou faln, Playing with which tide thou'dst been gently toss'd, But crossing it, thou art or'whelm'd, and lost. _Enter_ Astorius _and_ Castriot. _Cast._ Monsieur, good day. _Ast._ Good morrow valiant Knight, What, are you for this great solemnity This morn intended? _Mount._ What solemnity? _Ast._ The investing of the Martial _Spaniard_, _Peter Gomera_, with our _Christian_ Badge. _Cast._ And young _Miranda_ the _Italian_, Both which with wondrous prowess, and great luck Have dar'd and done for _Malta_, such high feats, That not one Fort in it, but rings their names As loud as any mans. _Mount._ As any mans? Why, we have fought for _Malta_.