Partition make with fpectacles fo precious "Twixt fair and foul?

Imo. What makes your admiration ?

Iach. It cannot be i'th' eye; (for apes and monkeys, "Twixt two fuch fhe's, would chatter this way, and Contemn with mowes the other :) Nor i'th' judgment; (For Ideots, in this cafe of favour, would Be wifely definite :) Nor i'th' appetite: (Slutt'ry, to fuch neat excellence oppos'd, Should make defire vomit emptiness, Not fo allur'd to feed.)

Imo. What is the matter, trow?

Iach. The cloyed will,

That fatiate, yet unfatisfy'd defire, (that tub,
Both fill'd 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,

Defire my

[To Pifanio.

man's abode, where I did leave him;

He's ftrange, and peevish.

Pif. I was going, Sir,

To give him welcome.

Imo. Continues well my

Lord

His health, 'beseech you?

Iach. Well, Madam.

Imo. Is he difpos'd to mirth? I hope, he is.
Iach. Exceeding pleasant; none a stranger there
So merry, and fo gamefome; he is call'd
The Britaine Reveller.

Upon th' unnumber'd Beach.

i. e. the infinite, extenfive 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 Metamorphofes :

(In nova fert Animus mutatas dicere formas
Corpora.)

And then we are to underftand the Paffage 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.

Iach. I never faw 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
Oh!

Can my fides hold, to think, that man, who knows
By hiftory, report, or his own proof,

What woman is, yea, what fhe cannot chufe
But muft be, will his free hours languish out
For affur'd bondage?

Imo. Will my Lord fay fo

Iach. Ay, Madam, with his eyes in flood with laughter. It is a recreation to be by,

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

might

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?

Jach. Two creatures heartily.

Imo. Am I one, Sir?

You look on me; what wreck difcern

Deferves your pity?

Iach. Lamentable! what!

To hide me from the radiant fun, and folace

I'th' dungeon by a fnuff?

Imo. I pray you, Sir,

Deliver with more opennefs your answers

To my demands. Why do you pity me?
Iach. That others do,

I was about to fay, enjoy your-but

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

Imo. You do feem to know

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

Iach. Had I this cheek

To bathe my lips upon; this hand, whofe touch,
Whofe ev'ry touch would force the feeler's foul
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 ftairs
That mount the Capitol; join gripes with hands
Made hard with hourly falfhood, as with labour;
Then glad myself by peeping in an eye,
Bafe and unluftrous as the fmoaky light
That's fed with ftinking tallow; it were fit,
That all the plagues of hell should at one time
Encounter fuch revolt.

Imo. My Lord, I fear,

Has forgot Britaine.

Iach. And himself.

Not I,

Inclin'd to this intelligence, pronounce

The beggary of his change; but 'tis your graces,
That from my muteft confcience, to my tongue,
Charms this report out.

Imo. Let me hear no more.

Jach. O dearest foul! your caufe doth strike my
With pity, that doth make me fick. A Lady
So fair, and faften'd to an empery,

heart

Would make the great'ft King double! to be partner'd With tomboys, hir'd with that felf-exhibition

Which your own coffers yield!—with diseas'd ventures,
That play with all infirmities for gold,

Which rottennefs lends nature! fuch boyl'd ftuff,
As well might poifon Poifon! Be reveng'd;

Or

Or fhe, 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 fuch a heart, that both mine ears
Muft not in hafte abuse;) if it be true,
How fhall I be reveng'd?

Iach. Should he make me

Live like Diana's Priest, betwixt cold sheets ?
Whiles he is vaulting variable ramps

In your defpight, upon your purse? Revenge it :-
I dedicate myself to your sweet pleasure,
More noble than that runagate to your bed;
And will continue faft to your affection,
Still clofe, as fure,

Imo. What ho, Pifanio!

Lach. Let me my fervice tender on your lips. Imo. Away!--I do condemn mine ears, that have So long attended thee. If thou wert honourable, Thou wouldst have told this tale for virtue, not For fuch an end thou seek'ft; as bafe, as strange: Thou wrong'ft a Gentleman, who is as far From thy report, as thou from honour; and Solicit'ft here a Lady, that disdains

Thee, and the Devil alike. What ho, Pifanic!.

The King my father fhall be made acquainted

Of thy affault; if he fhall think it fit,

A faucy stranger in his court to mart
As in a Romih flew, and to expound
His beaftly mind to us; he hath a court
He little cares for, and a daughter whom
He not refpects at all. What ho, Pisanie!
Iach. O happy Leonatus, I may fay;
The credit, that thy Lady hath of thee,
Deferves thy truft, and thy most perfect goodness
Her affur'd credit! bleffed live you long,
A Lady to the worthiest Sir, that ever
Country call'd his! and you his mistress, only
For the moft worthieft fit! Give me your pardon.
I have fpoke this, to know if your affiance

K 4

Were

Were deeply rooted; and fhall make your Lord,
That which he is, new o'er: and he is one
The trueft-manner'd, fuch 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 defcended God;
He hath a kind of honour fets him off,
More than a mortal feeming. Be not angry,
Moft mighty Princess, that I have adventur'd
To try your taking of a falfe 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, chafflefs. Pray, your pardon.

Imo. All's well, Sir; take my pow'r 'th' court for

yours.

Iach. 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; myfelf, and other noble friends
Are partners in the business.

Imo. Pray, what is't?

Iach. Some dozen Romans of

your

us, and (Beft feather of our wing,) have mingled fums To buy a prefent for the Emperor:

Lord,

Which I, the factor for the reft, have done
In France; 'tis plate of rare device, and jewels
Of rich and exquifite form, their values great;
And I am fomething curious, being strange,
To have them in fafe ftowage: may it please you
To take them in protection?

Imo. Willingly;

And pawn mine honour for their fafety. Since
My Lord hath int'reft in them, I will keep them
In my bed-chamber.

Iach. They are in a trunk,

Attended by my men: I will make bold
To fend them to you, only for this night;