_Dor._ If I had serv'd you right, I should have seen Your old pate off, e'r I had reveald. _Ben._ Oh wench! Oh honest wench! if my wife die, I'll marry thee: There's my reward. _Ferd._ 'Tis true. _Duke._ 'Tis very strange. _Ger._ Why kneel you honest Master? _Ferd._ My good Lord. _Ger._ Dear Mother. _Duke._ Rise, rise, all are friends: I owe ye for all their boards: And wench, take thou the man Whose life thou sav'dst; less cannot pay the merit. How shall I part my kiss? I cannot: Let One generally therefore joyn our cheeks. A pen of Iron, and a leaf of Brass, To keep this Story to Eternity: And a _Promethean Wit_. Oh sacred Love, Nor chance, nor death can thy firm truth remove. [_Exeunt._ _King._ Now _Isabella_. [_Flourish._ _Isab._ This can true Love do. I joy they all so happily are pleas'd: The Ladies and the Brothers must triumph. _King._ They do: For _Cupid_ scorns but t' have his triumph too. [_Flourish._ _The_ TRIUMPH. _Enter divers Musicians, then certain Singers bearing Bannerets_ _inscribed, Truth, Loyalty, Patience, Concord: Next_ Gerrard _and_ Ferdinand _with Garlands of Roses: Then_ Violanta, _Last, a Chariot drawn by two_ Cupids, _and a_ Cupid _sitting in it_. [Flourish. _Enter_ PROLOGUE. _Love, and the strength of fair affection_ _(Most royal Sir) what long seem'd lost, have won_ _Their perfect ends, and crown'd those constant hearts_ _With lasting Triumph, whose most virtuous parts,_ _Worthy desires, and love, shall never end._ _Now turn we round the Scæne, and (Great Sir) lend_ _A sad and serious eye to this of Death,_ _This black and dismal Triumph; where man's breath,_ _Desert, and guilty bloud ascend the Stage,_ _And view the Tyrant, ruind in his rage._ [Exit. [Flourish. _Enter_ L'avall, Gabriella _and_ Maria. _Gab._ No, good my Lord, I am not now to find Your long neglect of me; All those affections You came first clad in to my love, like Summer, Lusty and full of life: all those desires That like the painted Spring bloom'd round about ye, Giving the happy promise of an Harvest, How have I seen drop off, and fall forgotten! With the least lustre of anothers beauty, How oft (forgetful Lord) have I been blast[e]d! Was I so eas'ly won? or did this body Yield to your false embraces with less labour Then if you had carried some strong Town? _Lav._ Good _Gabriella_.