I have a diamond for him too. Mos. Best show 't, sir, Put it into his hand; 'tis only there He apprehends: he has his feeling yet. Corv. 'Las, good gentleman! How pitiful the sight is! Mos. Tut, forget, sir. The weeping of an heir should still be laughter, Core. Why, am I his heir? Mos. Sir, I am sworn, I may not show the will, Paper, and pen, and ink, and there I ask'd him, Whom he would have his heir? Corvino. Who Should be executor? Corvino. To any question he was silent to, And I still interpreted the nods, he made Through weakness, for consent: and sent home the others, Nothing bequeath'd them, but to cry, and curse. Corr. O, my dear Mosca. Does he not perceive us? Mos. No more than a blind harper. He knows no man, No face of friend, nor name of any servant, Who 't was that fed him last, or gave him drink; Not those he hath begotten, or brought up, Can he remember. Corv. Has he children? Mos. Bastards. Some dozen, or more, that he begot on beggars, Gypsies, and Jews, and black-moors, when he was drunk : Knew you not that, sir? 'Tis the common fable, The dwarf, the fool, the eunuch, are all his: He's the true father of his family, In all, save me but he has given 'em nothing. Cory. That's well, that 's well. Art sure he does not hear us ? If it would send you hence the sooner, sir, Corr. Or, like an old smok'd wall, on which the rain Mos. Excellent, sir, speak out; You may be louder yet: `a culvering Discharged in his ear, would hardly bore it. Corr. His nose is like a common sewer, still running. Core. A very draught. Mos. O, stop it up Corr. By no means. Mos. Pray you let me. Faith I could stifle him rarely with a pillow, It is your presence makes him last so long. Mos. No, sir, why? Why should you be thus scrupulous? 'Pray you, sir. Mos. Well, good sir, be gone. Corv. I will not trouble him now, to take my pearl. Is this afflicts you? Is not all here yours? Corv. Grateful Mosca ! Thou art my friend, my fellow, my companion, Thou hast to-day out gone thyself. [Exil. THE TRIUMPH OF LOVE: BEING THE SECOND OF FOUR PLAYS, OR MORAL REPRESENTATIONS. BY FRANCIS BEAUMONT. Violanta, Daughter to a Nobleman of Milan, is with child by Gerrard, supposed to be of mean descent: an offence which by the laws of Milan is made capital to both parties. VIOLANTA. GERRARD. Viol. Why does my Gerrard grieve? It is not life (which by our Milan law My fact hath forfeited) makes me thus pensive ; Of this your noble burthen from least hurt, Made poor incompatible me the parent (Being we are not married) your dear blood Falls under the same cruel penalty: And can heaven think fit ye die for ine? For Heaven's sake say I ravish'd you; I'll swear it, Viol. O Gerrard, thou art my life and faculties, It was so far from rape, that heaven doth know, Knew simply in the state of innocence, Such was this act, this, that doth as: no blush. Ger. Oh! but my rarest Violanta, when My lord Randulpho, brother to your father, that time Viol. Gentle, gentle Gerrard, Be cheer'd and hope the best. My mother, father, Being the only branch of all their stocks: But neither they, nor he thou would'st not grieve I'll rather silent die, that thou mayʼst live To see thy little offspring grow and thrive. Violanta is attended in Childbed by her mother Angelina. Viol, Mother, I'd not offend you; might not Gerrard Steal in and see me in the evening 1 Angel. Well, Bid him do so. Viol. Heaven's blessing on your heart. Do ye not call child-bearing travel, mother? Angel. Yes. Viol. It well may be. The bare-foot traveller That's born a prince, and walks his pilgrimage, Whose tender feet kiss the remorseless stones Only, ne'er felt a travel like to it. Alas, dear mother, you groan'd thus for me, And yet how disobedient have I been! Angel. Peace, Violanta: thou hast always been Gentle and good. Viol. Gerrard is better, mother: O if you knew the implicit innocency Dwells in his breast, you'd love him like your prayers. I see no reason but my father might Be told the truth, being pleas'd for Ferdinand His full comparative; my uucle loves him, Angel. No, not for the world, Since his intent is cross'd: lov'd Ferdinand Angel. Draw in The bed nearer the fire: silken rest Tio all thy cures up.* Violanta describes how her love for Gerrard began. Viol. Gerrard's and my affection began In infancy: my uncle brought him oft The little boy would kiss me, being a child, He wooed so prettily in innocence, That then he warm'd my fancy. • Violanta's prattle is very pretty and so natural in her situation, that I could not resist giving it a place. Juno Lucina was never invoked with more elegance. Pope has been praised for giving dignity to a game of cards. It required at least as much address to ennoble a lying-in. |