_Mem._ There all mans honestie, The sweetness of all youth-- _Cal._ O God's! _Mem._ My Armour, By all the God's she's yours; my Arms, I say, And I beseech your Grace, give me imployment, That shall be now my Mistress, there my Courtship. _King._ Ye shall have any thing. _Mem._ Vertuous Lady, Remember me, your Servant now; Young man, You cannot over-reach me in your goodness; O love! how sweet thou look'st now! and how gentle! I should have slubber'd thee, and stain'd thy beauty; Your hand, your hand Sir! _King._ Take her, and Heaven bless her. _Mem._ So. _Pol._ 'Tis your will Sir, nothing of my merit; And as your royal gift, I take this blessing. _Cal._ And I from heaven this gentleman: thanks Goddess. _Mem._ So ye are pleas'd now Lady? _Calis._ Now or never. _Mem._ My cold stiffe carkass would have frozen ye, Wars, wars. _King._ Ye shall have wars. _Mem._ My next brave battel I dedicate to your bright honour, Sister, Give me a favour, that the world may know I am your Souldier. _Calis._ This, and all fair Fortunes. _Mem._ And he that bears this from me, must strike boldly. [Cleanthe _kneeling_. _Calis._ I do forgive thee: be honest; no more wench. _King._ Come now to Revels, this blest day shall prove The happy crown of noble Faith and Love. [_Exeunt._ Prologue. _To please all's impossible, and to despair_ _Ruins our selves, and damps the Writers care:_ _Would we knew what to doe, or say, or when_ _To find the mindes here equal with the men:_ _But we must venture; now to Sea we goe,_ _Faire fortune with us, give us room, and blow;_ _Remember ye're all venturers; and in this Play_ _How many twelve-peaces ye have 'stow'd this day:_ _Remember for return of your delight,_ _We launch, and plough through storms of fear, and spight:_ _Give us your fore-winds fairly, fill our wings,_ _And steer us right, and as the Saylor sings,_ _Loaden with Wealth, on wanton seas, so we_ _Shall make our home-bound-voyage chearfully;_ _And you our noble Merchants, for your treasure_ _Share equally the fraught, we run for pleasure._ Epilogue. _Here lyes the doubt now, let our Playes be good,_ _Our own care sailing equall in this Flood;_ _Our preparations new, new our Attire,_ _Yet here we are becalmed still, still i' th' mire,_ _Here we stick fast; Is there no way to clear_ _This passage of your judgement, and our fear,_ _No mitigation of that law? Brave friends,_ _Consider we are yours, made for your ends,_ _And every thing preserves it self, each will_ _If not perverse, and crooked, utter still_ _The best of that it ventures in: have care_ _Ev'n for your pleasures sake, of what we are,_ _And do not ruine all, You may frown still,_ _But 'tis the nobler way, to check the will._ APPENDIX.