The Mad Lover, a Tragi-Comedy: The Works of Francis Beaumont and John Fletcher (3 of 10)Fletcher, John
General
The Mad Lover, a Tragi-Comedy: The Works of Francis Beaumont and John Fletcher (3 of 10)
Fletcher, John
English drama
_Eume._ Doe, kill us,
Kill us for telling truth: for my part, General,
I would not live to see men make a may-game
Of him I have made a Master, kill us quickly,
Then ye may--
_Mem._ What?
_Eume._ Doe what you list, draw your sword childishly
Upon your Servants that are bound to tell ye;
I am weary of my life.
_1 Capt._ And I.
_2 Capt._ And all Sir.
_Eume._ Goe to the Princess, make her sport, cry to her
I am the glorious man of war.
_Mem._ Pray ye leave me,
I am sorry I was angry, I'le think better,
Pray no more words.
_Eume_. Good Sir.
_Mem._ Nay then.
_2 Capt._ We are gone Sir. [_Exeunt_ Eume. _and Capt_.
_Enter_ Princess Calis, Lucippe, Cleanthe.
_Cal._ How came he hither? see for Heavens sake wenches,
What face, and what postures he puts on, { _Mem. walks aside
I do not think he is perfect. { full of strange
{ gestures._
_Cle._ If your love
Have not betray'd his little wits, he's well enough,
As well as he will be.
_Cal._ Mark how he muses.
_Lucip._ H'as a Batalia now in's brains, he draws out, now
Have at ye Harpers.
_Cle._ See, see, there the fire fails.
_Lucip._ Look what an Alphabet of faces he runs through.
_Cle._ O love, love, how amorously thou look'st
In an old rusty armour.
_Cle._ I'll away, for by my troth I fear him.
_Lucip_. Fear the gods, Madam,
And never care what man can do, this fellow
With all his frights about him and his furies,
His Larums, and his Launces, Swords, and Targets,
Nay case him up in armour Cap-a-pe,
Yet durst I undertake within two hours,
If he durst charge, to give him such a shake,
Should shake his Valour off, and make his shanks to ake.
_Cle._ For shame no more.
_Cal._ He muses still.
_Cle._ The Devil--
Why should this old dryed timber chopt with thunder--
_Cal._ Old Wood burns quickest.
_Lucip._ Out, you would say Madam,
Give me a green stick that may hold me heat,
And smoak me soundly too; He turns, and sees ye. { Memnon
{ _comes to her_.
_Cle._ There's no avoiding now, have at ye.
_Mem._ Lady.
The more I look upon ye. [_Stays her._
_Cle._ The more you may, Sir.
_Cal._ Let him alone.
_Mem._ I would desire your patience.
The more I say I look, the more-- [_Stays her._
_Lucip._ My Fortune,
'Tis very apt, Sir.
_Mem._ Women, let my Fortune
And me alone I wish ye, pray come this way,
And stand you still there Lady.
_Cal._ Leave the words Sir, and leap into the meaning.
_Mem._ Then again:
I tell you I do love ye.
_Cal._ Why?
_Mem._ No questions: pray no more questions.
I do love you, infinitely: why do you smile?
Am I ridiculous?
_Cal._ I am monstrous fearful, no, I joy you love me.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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