Scene 2.3

D

Where are you, fayre one, that conceale your selfe; And keepe your beauty, within lockes, and barres, here, Like a fooles treasure?

I

True, she was a foole,

When, first she shew'd it to a theefe.

D

How prety Solennesse!

So harsh, and short?

I

The fooles Artillery, sir.

D

Then, take my gowne off, for the encounter.

I

Stay sir.

I am not in the moode.

D

I will put you into it.

I

Best, you put your selfe, in your case againe, and keepe Your furious appetite warme, against you have place for it.

D

What! do you coy it?

I

No sir. I am not proud.

D

I would you were. You think, this state becomes you?

By Hercules, it does not. Looke in your glasse, now, And see, how sciruely that countenance shewes; You would be loth to owne it.

I

I shall not change it.

D

Faith, but you must; and slacke this bended brow; And shoote lesse scorne: There is a Fortune comming Towards you, Daintie, that will take thee, thus, And set thee aloft, to tread upon the head Of her owne statue here in Rome.

I

I wonder,

Who let this Promiser in! Did you, good Diligence?

Give him his bribe, againe. Or if you had none, Pray you demand him, why he is so ventrous, To presse, thus, to my chamber, being forbidden Both, by my selfe, and seruants?

D

How! This is handsome!

And somewhat a new straine!

I

It is not strain'd, Sir.

It is very naturall.

D

I have known it otherwise,

Betweene the parties, though.

I

For your fore-knowledge,

Thanke that, which made it. It will not be so, Hereafter, I assure you.

D

No, my Mistresse?

I

No though you bring the same materials.

D

Heare me,

You ouer act when you should vnderdoe.

A little call your selfe againe, and think.

If you do this to practise on me or finde At what forc'd distance you can hold your seruant; That it be an artificiall tricke, to enflame,

And fire me more, fearing my loue may neede it, As, heretofore, you have done; why, proceede.

I

As I have done, heretofore?

D

Yes, when you would faine

Your husbands iealousie, your seruants watches, Speake softly, and runne often to the dore, Or to the windore, forme strange feares that were not; As if the pleasure were lesse acceptable, That were secure.

I

You are an impudent fellow.

D

And, when you might better have done it, at the gate, To take me in at the casement.

I

I take you in?

D

Yes, you my Lady. And, then, being abed with you, To have your well taught wayter, here, come running, And cry, her Lord, and hide me without cause, Crush'd in a chest, or thrust up in a chimney.

When he, tame Crow, was winking at his Farme; Or, had he beene here, and present, would have kept Both eyes, and beake seal'd up, for sixe sesterces.

I

You have a slanderous, beastly, vnwash'd tongue, In your rude mouth, and fauouring your selfe, Vn-manner'd Lord.

D

How now!

I

It is your title, Sir.

Who (since you have lost your owne good name, and know not What to loose more) care not, whose honor you wound, Or fame you poyson with it. You should goe,

And vent your selfe, in the region, where you liue, Among the Suburbe-Brothels, Baudes, and Brokers, Whither your broken fortunes have design'd you.

D

Nay, then I must stop your furie, I see; and plucke The tragicke visor off. Come, Ladie Cypris, Know your owne vertues, quickly. I will not be Put to the woing of you thus, afresh, At euery turne, for all the Venus in you.

Yeeld, and be pliant; or by Pollux ~~ How now?

Will Lais turne a Lucrece?

I

No, but by Castor,

Hold off your Rauishers hands, I pierce your heart, else.

I will not be put to kill my selfe, as she did For you, sweet Tarquine. What? do you fall off?

Nay, it becomes you graciously. Put not up.

You will sooner draw your weapon on me, I think it, Then on the Senate, who have cast you forth Disgracefully, to be the common tale Of the whole Citty; base, infamous Man: For, were you other, you would there imploy Your desperate dagger.

D

Fuluia, you do know

The strengths you have upon me; Do not vse Your power too like a Tyran: I can beare, Almost vntill you breake me.

I

I do know, Sir,

So does the Senate, too, know, you can beare.

D

By all the Gods, that Senate will smart deepe For your upbraidings. I should be right sorry To have the meanes so to be veng'd on you, (At least, the will) as I shall shortly on them.

But, goe you on still: Fare you well, deare Ladie;

You could not still be faire' vnless you were proud.

You will repent these moodes, and ere it be long, too.

I shall have you come about, againe.

I

Do you think so?

D

Yes, and I know so.

I

By what Augury?

D

By the faire Entrailes of the Matrons chests, Gold, Pearle, and Iewels, here in Rome, which Fuluia Will then (but late) say that she might have shar'd.

And, grieuing, misse.

I

Tut, all your promis'd Mountaines, And Seas, I am so stalely acquainted with ~~ .

D

But, when you see the vniversall floud Runne by your coffers; that my Lords, the Senators, Are sold for slaues, their Wiues for bond-women, Their Houses, and fine Gardens giuen away, And all their goods, vnder the Speare, at out-cry, And you have none of this; but are still Fuluia, Or perhaps lesse, while you are thinking of it: You will aduise then, Coynesse, with your cushion, And looke on your fingers; say, how you were wish'd; And so, he left you.

I

Call him again, Galla:

This is not vsuall, something hangs on this That I must winne out of him.

D

How now, melt you?

I

Come, you will laugh, now, at my easinesse?

But, it is no miracle; Doues, they say, will bill,

After their pecking, and their murmuring.

D

Yes,

And then it is kindly. I would have my Loue Angry, sometimes, to sweeten off the rest Of her behauiour.

I

You do see, I study

How I may please you, then. But you think, Curius It is couetise hath wrought me; If you loue me Change that vnkinde concept.

D

By my lou'd soule,

I loue thee, like to it; and it is my study, More then mine owne reuenge, to make thee happy.

I

And it is that iust reuenge doth make me happy To heare you prosequute: and which, indeede, Hath wonne me, to you, more, then all the hope Of what can else be promis'd. I loue valour Better, then any Ladie loues her face, Or dressing: then my selfe does. Let me grow Still, where I do embrace. But what good meanes Have you to effect it? Shall I know your proiect?

D

Thou shalt, if thou wilt be gracious.

I

As I can be.

D

And wilt thou kisse me, then?

I

As close as shels

Of Cockles meet.

D

And print them deep?

I

Quite through

Our subtle lips.

D

And often?

I

I will sow them,

Faster then you can reape. What is your plot?

D

Why, now my Fuluia lookes, like her bright name, And is her selfe.

I

Nay, answere me, your plot:

I pray thee tell me, Quintius.

D

Aye, these sounds

Become a Mistresse. Here is harmony.

When you are harsh, I see, the way to bend you Is not with violence, but seruice. Cruell, A Lady is a fire, gentle, a light.

I

Will you not tell me, what I aske you?

D

All,

That I can think, sweet Loue, or my breast holds, I will poure into thee.

I

What is your designe, then?

D

I will tell thee; Catiline shall now be Consull: But, you will heare more, shortly.

I

Nay, deare Loue.

D

I will speake it, in thine armes; Let us goe in.

Rome will be sack'd, her wealth will be our prize; By publique ruine, priuate spirits must rise.

U

Great Father Mars, and greater Ioue,

By whose high auspice, Rome hath stood Of your great Nephew, that then stroue Not with his brother, but your Rites: Be present to her now, as then,

And let not proud, and factious Men Against your willes oppose their mights.

Our Consuls, now, are to be made; O, put it in the publique voice

To make a free, and worthy choice; Excluding such as would inuade

The Common wealth. Let whom we name Have wisedome, foresight, fortitude, Be more with faith, then face endu'd, And study conscience, aboue fame.

Such, as not seeke to get the start In State, by power, parts, or bribes, Ambition's baudes; but moue the Tribes By vertue, modesty, desart.

Such, as to iustice will adhære, What euer great one it offend,

And from the embraced truth not bend For enuie, hatred, gifts, or feare.

That, by their deedes, will make it knowne, Whose dignity they do sustaine;

And life, state, glory, all they gaine, Count the Republiques, not their owne.

Such the old Bruti, Decij were,

The Cipi, Curtij, who did give

Themselues for Rome: And would not liue, As men, good, only for a yeare,

Such were the great Camilli, too; The Fabij, Scipio's; that still thought No worke, at price inough, was bought, That for their Countrey they could do.

And, to her honor, so did knit;

As all their acts, were vnderstood The sinewes of the Publique good:

And they themselues, one soule, with it.

These men were truely Magistrates; These neither practis'd force, nor formes; Nor did they leaue the helme, in stormes: And such they are make happy States.