Act 1 — SCENE II.

The same. A Room in Camiola's House.

Enter Signior Sylli, walking fantastically, followed by Camiola and Clarinda.

Cam. Nay, signior, this is too much ceremony, In my own house.

Syl. What's gracious abroad, Must be in private practised.

Clar. For your mirth's sake Let him alone; he has been all this morning In practice with a peruked gentleman-usher, To teach him his true amble, and his postures, [Sylli walking by, and practising. When he walks before a lady.

Syl. You may, madam, Perhaps, believe that I in this use art, To make you dote upon me, by exposing My more than most rare features to your view: But I, as I have ever done, deal simply. Look not with too much contemplation on me; If you do, you are lost.

Cam. Is 't possible? What philters or love-powders do you use, To force affection? I see nothing in Your person but I dare look on, yet keep My own poor heart still.

Syl. You are warn'd—be arm'd; And do not lose the hope of such a husband, In being too soon enamour'd.

Cam. Never fear it; Though your best taking part, your wealth, were trebled, I would not woo you. But since in your pity You please to give me caution, tell me what Temptations I must fly from.

Syl. The first is, That you never hear me sing, for I'm a Syren: If you observe, when I warble, the dogs howl, As ravish'd with my ditties; and you will Run mad to hear me.

Cam. I will stop my ears, And keep my little wits.

Syl. Next, when I dance, And come aloft thus, [capers] cast not a sheep's eye Upon the quivering of my calf.

Cam. Proceed, sir.

Syl. Nor should your little ladyship be taken with My pretty spider-fingers, nor my eyes, That twinkle on both sides.

Cam. Was there ever such A piece of motley[144] heard of! [A knocking within.] Who's that? [Exit Clarinda.] You may spare The catalogue of my dangers.

Syl. No, good madam; I have not told you half.

Cam. Enough, good signior.—

Re-enter Clarinda.

Who is 't?

Clar. The brother of the king.

Syl. Nay, start not. The brother of the king! is he no more? Were it the king himself, I'd give him leave To speak his mind to you, for I am not jealous; And, to assure your ladyship of so much, I'll usher him in, and, that done—hide myself, [Aside, and exit.

Cam. Camiola, if ever, now be constant: This is, indeed, a suitor, whose sweet presence, Courtship, and loving language, would have stagger'd The chaste Penelope; and, to increase The wonder, did not modesty forbid it, I should ask that from him he sues to me for: And yet my reason, like a tyrant, tells me I must nor give nor take it.

Re-enter Sylli with Bertoldo.

Syl. I must tell you, You lose your labour. Yet you shall have my countenance To parley with her, and I'll take special care That none shall interrupt you.

Bert. You are courteous.

Syl. Come, wench, wilt thou hear wisdom?

Clar. Yes, from you, sir. [They walk aside.

Bert. If forcing this sweet favour from your hand, [Kisses her hand. Fair madam, argue me of too much boldness, When you are pleased to understand I take A parting kiss, if not excuse, at least 'Twill qualify the offence.

Cam. A parting kiss, sir! What nation, envious of the happiness Which Sicily enjoys in your sweet presence, Can buy you from her? or what climate yield Pleasures transcending those which you enjoy here, Being both beloved and honour'd; the north-star And guider of all hearts; and, to sum up Your full account of happiness in a word, The brother of the king?

Bert. Do you, alone, And with an unexampled cruelty, Enforce my absence, and deprive me of Those blessings which you, with a polish'd phrase, Seem to insinuate that I do possess, And yet tax me as being guilty of My wilful exile? What are titles to me, Or popular suffrage, or my nearness to The king in blood, or fruitful Sicily, Though it confess'd no sovereign but myself, When you, that are the essence of my being, The anchor of my hopes, the real substance Of my felicity, in your disdain, Turn all to fading and deceiving shadows?

Cam. You tax me without cause.

Bert. You must confess it. But answer love with love, and seal the contract In the uniting of our souls, how gladly (Though now I were in action, and assured, Following my fortune, that plumed Victory Would make her glorious stand upon my tent) Would I put off my armour, in my heat Of conquest, and, like Antony, pursue My Cleopatra! Will you yet look on me With an eye of favour?

Cam. Truth bear witness for me, That, in the judgment of my soul, you are A man so absolute, and circular, In all those wish'd-for rarities that may take A virgin captive, that, though at this instant All scepter'd monarchs of our western world Were rivals with you, and Camiola worthy Of such a competition, you alone Should wear the garland.

Bert. If so, what diverts Your favour from me?

Cam. No mulct in yourself, Or in your person, mind, or fortune.

Bert. What then?

Cam. The consciousness of mine own wants: alas! sir, We are not parallels; but, like lines divided, Can ne'er meet in one centre[145]. Your birth, sir, Without addition, were an ample dowry For one of fairer fortunes; and this shape, Were you ignoble, far above all value: To this so clear a mind, so furnish'd with Harmonious faculties moulded from heaven, That though you were Thersites in your features, Of no descent, and Irus in your fortunes, Ulysses-like, you'd force all eyes and ears To love, but seen; and, when heard, wonder at Your matchless story: but all these bound up Together in one volume!—give me leave With admiration to look upon them; But not presume, in my own flattering hopes, I may or can enjoy them.

Bert. How you ruin What you would seem to build up! I know no Disparity between us: you're an heir, Sprung from a noble family; fair, rich, young, And every way my equal.

Cam. Sir, excuse me; One aerie with proportion ne'er discloses The eagle and the wren[146]:—tissue and frieze In the same garment, monstrous! But suppose That what 's in you excessive were diminish'd, And my desert supplied; the stronger bar, Religion, stops our entrance: you are, sir, A knight of Malta, by your order bound To a single life; you cannot marry me; And, I assure myself, you are too noble To seek me, though my frailty should consent, In a base path.

Bert. A dispensation, lady, Will easily absolve me.

Cam. O take heed, sir! When what is vow'd to heaven is dispensed with, To serve our ends on earth, a curse must follow, And not a blessing.

Bert. Is there no hope left me?

Cam. Nor to myself, but is a neighbour to Impossibility. True love should walk On equal feet; in us it does not, sir: But rest assured, excepting this, I shall be Devoted to your service.

Bert. And this is your Determinate sentence?

Cam. Not to be revoked.

Bert. Farewell, then, fairest cruel! all thoughts in me Of women perish. Let the glorious light Of noble war extinguish Love's dim taper. That only lends me light to see my folly: Honour, be thou my ever-living mistress, And fond affection, as thy bond-slave, serve thee! [Exit.

Cam. How soon my sun is set, he being absent, Never to rise again! What a fierce battle Is fought between my passions!

Syl. I perceive He has his answer: now must I step in To comfort her. [Comes forward.] You have found, I hope, sweet lady, Some difference between a youth of my pitch, And this bugbear Bertoldo. Despair not; I May be in time entreated.

Cam. Be so now, to leave me.— Lights for my chamber! O my heart! [Exeunt.