Of all the paths lead to a woman's love,
Pity's the straightest.

Rocca. 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 to foul dishonour; write your plaints
In rocks of coral grown 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 vows,
(In open hall, before the honour'd cross,
And her great brother) she will quite disclose,
Calling for justice, to your utter shame.

Mountf. Hence! find the Blackamoor 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!-Art not gone?
[Exit Rocca.
Shall my desires, like beggars, wait at door,
Whilst any other revel in her breast?
Sweat on, my spirits! Know, thou trick'd-up toy,
My love's a violent flood, where thou art fail'n;
Playing with which tide thou hadst been gently

toss'd,

But, crossing it, thou art o'erwhelm'd and lost,

Enter ASTORIUS and CASTRIOT,

Cast. Monsieur, good day!

Asto. Good morrow, valiant knight!

What, are you for this great solemnity
This morn intended?

Mountf. What solemnity?

Asto. The investing of the martial Spaniard, Peter Gomera, with our Christian badge. Cast. And young Miranda, the Italian;

Both which, with wond'rous prowess and great luck,

Have dared and done for Malta such high feats,
That not one fort in it but rings their names
As loud as any man's.

Mountf. As any man's?

Why, we have fought for Malta,

Asto. Yes, Mountferrat,

No bold knight ever past you; but we wear
The dignity of Christians on our breasts,

And have a long time triumph'd for our conquests:
These conquer'd a long time, not triumph'd yet.
Mountf. Astorius, you're a most indulgent
knight,

Detracting from yourself, to add to others.
You know this title is the period

To all our labours, the extremity

Of that tall pyramid, where honour hangs;
Which we with sweat and agony have reach'd,
And should not then so easily impart

So bright a wreath to every cheap desert.
Cast. [Apart to ASTORIUS.] How is this French-
man changed, Astorius!

Some sullen discontent possesses him,

That makes him envy what he heretofore
Did most ingenuously but emulate.

Mountf. Oh, furious desire, how like a whirlwind [Aside. Thou hurriest me beyond mine honour's point! Out of my heart, base lust! or, heart, I vow Those flames that heat me thus, I'll burn thee in. Asto. Do you observe him?

Mountf. What news of the Dane? That valiant Captain Norandine? Cast. He fights still,

In view o'th'town; he plays the devil with 'em, And they, the Turks with him.

Mountf. They are well met then;

"Twere sin to sever 'em. Pish-woman-memory,

'Would one of ye would leave me ! Asto. Six fresh gallies

[Aside.

I in St Angelo from the promontory
This morn descried, making a girdle for him;
But our great master doth intend relief
This present meeting. Will you walk along?
Mountf. Hum-I have read, ladies enjoy'd have

been

[Aside.
The gulphs of worthiest men, buried their names,
Their former valour, bounty, beauty, virtue,
And sent them stinking to untimely graves.
I that cannot enjoy, by her disdain,

Am like to prove as wretched. Woman then,
Checking, or granting, is the grave of men.
Asto. He's saying of his prayers, sure.

Cast. Will

you go, sir?

Mountf. I cry you mercy! I am so transported (Your pardon, noble brothers) with a business That doth concern all Malta, that I am (Anon you'll hear it) almost blind and deafLust neither sees nor hears aught but itself.—

[Aside.

But I will follow instantly. [A cross is dropt.] Your

cross.

Asto. Not mine.

Cast. Nor mine; 'tis yours.

Asto. Cast. Good morrow, brother.

[Exeunt.

Mountf. White innocent sign, thou dost abhor to dwell

So near the dim thoughts of this troubled breast,
And grace these graceless projects of my heart!
Yet I must wear thee, to protect my crimes,
If not for conscience, for hypocrisy ;
Some churchmen so wear cassocks.

Enter ZANTHIA, alias ABDELla.

Oh, my Zanthia,

My pearl, that scorns a stain! I much repent
All my neglects; let me, Ixion-like,

Embrace my black cloud, since my Juno is
So wrathful, and averse: Thou art more soft
And full of dalliance than the fairest flesh,
And far more loving.

Zant. Ay, you say so now;

But, like a property, when I have served
Your turns, you'll cast me off, or hang me up
For a sign somewhere.

Mountf. May my life then forsake me,

4

Or, from my expected bliss, be cast to hell!
Zant. My tongue, sir, cannot lisp to meet you so,
Nor my black cheek put on a feigned blush,
To make me seem more modest than I am.
This ground-work will not bear adulterate red,
Nor artificial white, to cozen love.

These dark locks are not purchased, nor these teeth,

4 Of my expected bliss.] Corrected in 1679.

For every night they are my bed-fellows;
No bath, no blanching water, smoothing oils,
Doth mend me up; and yet, Mountferrat, know,
I am as full of pleasure in the touch

As e'er a white-faced puppet of 'em all,
Juicy, and firm; unfledge them of their tires,
Their wires, their partlets,5 pins, and perriwigs,
And they appear like bald-cootes, in the nest:
I can as blithely work in my love's bed,
And deck thy fair neck with these jetty chains,
Sing thee asleep, being wearied; and refresh'd,
With the same organ, steal sleep off again.
Mountf. Oh, my black swan, silkier than cyg-
net's plush,'

8

Sweeter than is the sweet of pomander,
Breath'd like curl'd Zephyrus, cooling lemon-trees,
Straight as young pines, or cedars in the grove!
Quickly descend, lovers' best canopy,

Still Night, for Zanthia doth enamour me
Beyond all continence! Perpetrate, dear wench,
What thou hast promised, and I vow, by Heaven,
Malta I'll leave in it my honours here;
And in some other country, Zanthia make
My wife, and my best fortune.

5 Partlets.] A partlet, in some counties, still means a ruff, So in Jasper Heywood's Four P's:

"For soth, women have many lettes,

And they be masked in many nettes;

As frontlettes, fyllettes, partlettes, and bracelettes." Bald-cootes.] A coot is a species of small waterfowl in the fenny counties.

7 Silkner than cygnet's plush.] So first folio. The second and the modern copies read sleeker.

8 Pomander.] It has been before observed, that this was a composition of many spices and other ingredients, supposed to be a prescrvative against the plague. See The Woman's Prize, vol. V. p. 387..