Act 2 — [Scene II.][3355]

Asp. Away, you are not sad! force it no further. Good gods, how well you look! Such a full colour Young bashful brides put on: sure, you are new married! Ant. Yes, madam, to your grief. Asp. Alas, poor wenches! Go learn to love first; learn to lose yourselves;5 Learn to be flattered, and believe and bless The double tongue that did it; make a faith Out of the miracles of ancient lovers, Such as spake truth and died in ’t; and, like me, Believe all faithful, and be miserable.10 Did you ne’er love yet, wenches? Speak, Olympias: Thou hast an easy temper, fit for stamp. Olym. Never. Asp. Nor you, Antiphila? Ant. Nor I. Asp. Then, my good girls, be more than women, wise; At least be more than I was; and be sure15 You credit any thing the light gives life to, Before a man. Rather believe the sea Weeps for the ruin’d merchant, when he roars; Rather, the wind courts but the pregnant sails, When the strong cordage cracks; rather, the sun20 Comes but to kiss the fruit in wealthy autumn, When all falls blasted. If you needs must love, (Forc’d by ill fate,) take to your maiden-bosoms Two dead-cold aspics, and of them make lovers. They cannot flatter nor forswear; one kiss25 Makes a long peace for all. But man— Oh, that beast man! Come, let’s be sad, my girls: That down-cast of thine eye, Olympias, Shows a fine sorrow.—Mark, Antiphila; Just such another was the nymph Oenone,30 When Paris brought home Helen.—Now, a tear; And then thou art a piece expressing fully The Carthage queen, when from a cold sea-rock, Full with her sorrow, she tied fast her eyes34 To the fair Trojan ships; and, having lost them, Just as thine does, down stole a tear.—Antiphila, What would this wench do, if she were Aspatia? Here she would stand, till some more pitying god Turn’d her to marble!—’T is enough, my wench! Show me the piece of needlework you wrought. Ant. Of Ariadne, madam? Asp. Yes, that piece.—41 This should be Theseus; h’as a cozening face.— You meant him for a man? Ant. He was so, madam. Asp. Why, then, ’tis well enough.—Never look back; You have a full wind and a false heart, Theseus.—45 Does not the story say, his keel was split, Or his masts spent, or some kind rock or other Met with his vessel? Ant. Not as I remember. Asp. It should ha’ been so. Could the gods know this, And not, of all their number, raise a storm?50 But they are all as evil. This false smile Was well exprest; just such another caught me.— You shall not go so.[3356]— Antiphila, in this place work a quicksand, And over it a shallow smiling water,55 And his ship ploughing it; and then a Fear: Do that Fear to the life,[3357] wench. Ant. ’T will wrong the story. Asp. ’T will make the story, wrong’d by wanton poets, Live long and be believ’d. But where ’s the lady? Ant. There, madam.60 Asp. Fie, you have mist it here, Antiphila; You are much mistaken, wench. These colours are not dull and pale enough To show a soul so full of misery As this sad lady’s was. Do it by me,65 Do it again by me, the lost Aspatia; And you shall find all true but the wild island. I stand upon the sea-breach now, and think[3358] Mine arms thus, and mine hair blown with the wind, Wild as that desert; and let all about me70 Tell that I am forsaken. Do my face (If thou had’st ever feeling of a sorrow) Thus, thus, Antiphila; strive to make me look Like Sorrow’s monument; and the trees about me, Let them be dry and leafless; let the rocks75 Groan with continual surges; and behind me, Make all a desolation. See, see, wenches, A miserable life[3359] of this poor picture! Olym. Dear madam! Asp. I have done. Sit down; and let us Upon that point fix all our eyes, that point there.80 Make a dull silence, till you feel a sudden sadness Give us new souls.

Cal. The King may do this, and he may not do it: My child is wrong’d, disgrac’d.—Well, how now, huswives?84 What, at your ease! Is this a time to sit still? Up, you young lazy whores, up, or I ’ll swinge you! Olym. Nay, good my lord— Cal. You ’ll lie down shortly. Get you in, and work! What, are you grown so resty you want heats? We shall have some of the court-boys do that office.90 Ant. My lord, we do no more than we are charg’d: It is the lady’s pleasure we be thus In grief she is forsaken. Cal. There ’s a rogue too, A young dissembling slave!—Well, get you in.— I ’ll have a bout with that boy. ’T is high time Now to be valiant: I confess my youth96 Was never prone that way. What, made an ass! A court-stale![3360] Well, I will be valiant, And beat some dozen of these whelps; I will! And there ’s another of ’em, a trim cheating soldier;100 I ’ll maul that rascal; has out-brav’d me twice; But now, I thank the gods, I am valiant.— Go, get you in.—I ’ll take a course with all. Exeunt.