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Partition make with spectacles so precious "Twixt fair and foul ?

Imo. What makes your admiration?

lach. It cannot be i'th'eye ; (for apes and monkeys, "Twixt two such she's, would chatter this way, and Contemn with mowes the other :) Nor i'th' judgment; (For Ideots, in this case of favour, would Be wisely definite :) Nor i'th' appetite : (Sluttry, to such neat excellence opposid, Should make defire vomit emptiness, Not so allur'd to feed.)

Imo. What is the matter, trow?

lach. The cloyed will,
That satiate, yet unsatisfy'd defire, (that tub,
Both filld and running ;) ravening first the lamb,
Longs after for the garbage-

Imo. What, dear Sir,
Thus raps you ? are you well ?
Iach. Thanks, Madam, well-'Befeech you, Sir,

[To Pifanio.
man's abode, where I did leave him ;
He's strange, and peevish.

Pil. I was going, Sir, To give him welcome. Imo. Continues well


His health, 'beseech you ?

Iach. Well, Madam.
Imo. Is he dispos’d to mirth ? I hope, he is.

lach. Exceeding pleasant ; none a stranger there
So merry, and so gamesome; he is call'd
The Britaine Reveller.

Desire my

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Upon th' unnumber'd Beach. i. e. the infinite, extensive Beach, if we are to understand the Epithet as coupled to that Word. But, I rather think, the Poet intended an Hypallage, like that in the Beginning of Ovid's Metamorpboses :

(In nova feri Animus mutatas dicere formas

And then we are to understand the Passage thus ; and the infinite
Number of twinn'd Stones upon the Beach.

Imo. When he was here,
He did incline to sadness, and oft times
Not knowing why.

lach. I never saw him fad. There is a Frenchman his companion, one, An eminent Monsieur, that, it seems, much loves A Gallian girl at home. He furnaces The thick fighs from him ; whiles the jolly Briton, (Your Lord, I mean,) laughs from's free lungs, cries

Can my fides hold, to think, that man, who knows
By history, report, or his own proof,
What woman is, yea, what she cannot chuse
But must be, will his free hours languish out
For affur'd bondage ?

Imo. Will my Lord say so?

lacb. Ay, Madam, with his eyes in flood with laughter.
It is a recreation to be hy,
And hear him mock the Frenchman : but heav'n knows,
Some men are much to blame.

Imo. Not he, I hope.
Iach. Not he. But yet heav'n's bounty tow'rds him

Be us'd more thankfully. In himself, 'tis much ;
In you, whom I count his, beyond all talents;
Whilft I am bound to wonder, I am bound
To pity too.

Imo. What do you pity, Sir ?
lach. Two creatures heartily.

Imo. Am I one, Sir ?
You look on me; what wreck discern you in me,
Deserves your pity

lach. Lamentable! what!
To hide me from the radiant fun, and solace
I'th' dungeon by a fnuff?

Imo. I pray you, Sir,
Deliver with more openness your answers
To my demands. Why do you pity me?

lach. That others do,
I was about to say, enjoy your-but

It is an office of the Gods to venge it,
Not mine to speak on't.

Imo. You do seem to know
Something of me, or what concerns me; pray you,
(Since doubting, things go ill, often hurts more
Than to be sure they do; for certainties
Or are past remedies, or timely knowing,
The remedy then born ;) discover to me
What both you fpur and stop.

lach. Had I this cheek
To bathe my lips upon; this hand, whose touch,
Whose ev'ry touch would force the feeler's soul
To th' oath of loyalty; this object, which
Takes pris’ner the wild motion of mine eye,
Fixing it only here; should I, (damn'd then)
Slaver with lips, as common as the stairs
That mount the Capitol ; join gripes with hands
Made hard with hourly falfhood, as with labour;
Then glad myself by peeping in an eye,
Base and unlustrous as the smoaky light
That’s fed with stinking tallow; it were fit,
That all the plagues of hell should at one time
Encounter such revolt.

Imo. My Lord, I fear;
Has forgot Britaine.

lach. And himself. Not I,
Inclind to this intelligence, pronounce
The beggary of his change; but 'tis your graces,
That from my muteft conscience, to my tongue,
Charms this report out.

Imo, Let me hear no more.
Jach. O dearest foul! your cause doth strike


heart With pity, that doth make me fick. A Lady So fair, and faften’d to an empery, Would make the great'it King double! to be partner'd With tomboys, hir'd with that self-exhibition Which your own coffers yield !--with diseas’d ventures, That play with all infirmities for gold, Which rottennefs lends nature ! such boyl'd stuff, As well might poison Poison! Be reveng'd;


Or she, that bore you, was no Queen, and you
Recoil from your great stock.

Imo. Reveng'd!
How should I be reveng'd, if this be true ?
(As I have such a heart, that both mine ears
Muit not in hafte abuse ;) if it be true,
How shall I be reveng'd?

lach. Should he make me
Live like Diana's Priest, betwixt cold sheets ?
Whiles he is vaulting variable ramps
In your despight, upon your purse? Revenge it :-
I dedicate myself to your sweet pleasure,
More noble than that runagate to your bed;
And will continue fast to your affection,
Still close, as sure,

Imo. What ho, Pifanio !
lich. Let me my service tender on your lips.

Ino. Away!--Ido condemn mine ears, that have
So long attended thee. If thou wert honourable,
Thou woaldit have told this tale for virtue, not
For such an end thou seek'st; as base, as strange :
Thou wrong'ít a Gentleman, who is as far
From thy report, as thou from honour; and
Solicit'st here a Lady, that disdains
Thee, and the Devil alike. What ho, Pisanio !
The King my father shall be made acquainted
Of thy aliault; if he shall think it fit,
A faucy stranger in his court to mart
As in a Romijh ftew, and to expound
His beastly inind to us; he hath a court
He little cares for, and a daughter whom
He not respects at all. What ho, Pisanio !

lach. O happy Leonatus, I may say ;
The credit, that thy Lady hath of thee,
Deserves thy trust, and thy most perfect goodness
Her assur'd credit ! blessed live you long,
A Lady to the worthiest Sir, that ever
Country callid his! and you his miitress, only
For the most worthiest fit ! Give me your pardon.
I have spoke this, to know if

your affiance




Were deeply rooted ; and shall make your Lord,
That which he is, new o’er: and he is one
The trueft-manner'd, such a holy witch,
That he enchants focieties into him :
Half all men's hearts are his.

Imo. You make amends.

lach. He fits ’mong men, like a descended God;
He hath a kind of honour sets him off,
More than a mortal seeming.. Be not angry;
Most mighty Princess, that I have adventur'd
To try your taking of a false report; which hath
Honour'd with confirmation your great judgment,
In the election of a Sir, fo rare,
Which, you know, cannot err. The love I bear him,
Made me to fan you thus ; but the Gods made you,
Unlike all others, chaffefs. Pray, your pardon.
Imo. All's well, Sir; take my pow'r i'ch' court for

lach. My humble thanks; I had almost forgot
T'intreat your Grace but in a small request,
And yet of moment too, for it concerns
Your Lord; myself, and other noble friends
Are partners in the business.

Imo. Pray, what is't?

lach. Some dozen Romans of us, and your Lord,
(Best feather of our wing,) have mingled fums
To buy a present for the Emperor :
Which I, the factor for the rest, have done
In France ; 'tis plate of rare device, and jewels
Of rich and exquisite form, their values great;
And I am something curious, being strange,
To have them in safe ftowage : may it please you
To take them in protection?

Imo. Willingly;
And pawn mine honour for their safety. Since
My Lord liath int’rest in them, I will keep them
In my bed-chamber.

lach. They are in a trunk,
Attended by my men: I will make bold
To send them to you, only for this night ;

I must

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