• Choose a category
• All
• Classic-Fiction

be found at all adventure. (Exit.

Scene II.

The Porch of a Church.)

Enter HERMIT, MODESTA and EDWIN.

MODESTA.

Oh, reverent sir, by you my hear hath reacht

At the large hopes of holy Piety,

And for this I craved your company,

Here in your sight religiously to vow

My chaste thoughts up to heavem, and make you now

The witness of my faith.

HER.

Angels assist thy hopes.

EDWIN.

What meanes my Love? thou art my promis'd wife.

MODEST.

To part with willingly what friends and life

Can make no good assurance of.

EDWIN.

Oh, finde remorse, fair soul, to love and merit,

And yet recant thy vow.

MODEST.

Never:

This world and I are parted now for ever.

HER.

To finde the way to bliss, oh, happy woman,

Th'ast learn'd the hardest Lesson well, I see.

Now show thy fortitude and constancy:

Let these thy friends thy sad departure weep,

Thou shalt but loose the wealth thou could'st not keep.

My contemplation calls me, I must leave ye.

EDWIN.

O, reverent Sir, perswade not her to leave me.

HER.

My Lord, I do not, nor to cease to love ye;

O onely pray her faith may fixed stand;

Marriage was blest, I know, ith heavens own hand. (Exit.

EDWIN.

You hear him, Lady, 'tis not a virgins state,

But sanctity of life, must make you happy.

MODEST.

Good sir, you say you love me; gentle Edwin,

Even by that love I do beseech you, leave me.

EDWIN.

Think of your fathers tears, your weeping friends,

Whom cruel grief makes pale and bloodless for you.

MODEST.

Would I were dead to all.

EDWIN.

Why do you weep?

MODEST.

Oh, who would live to see

How men with care and cost seek misery?

EDWIN.

Why do you seek it then? What joy, what pleasure

Can give you comfort in a single life?

MODEST.

The contemplation of a happy death,

Which is to me so pleasing that I think

No torture could divert me: What's this world,

Wherein you'd have me walk, but a sad passage

To a dread Judgement-Seat, from whence even now

We are but bail'd, upon our good abearing,

Till that great Sessiosn come, when Death, the Cryer,

Will surely summon us and all to appear,

To plead us guilty or our bail to clear?

What musick's this? (Soft Musick.

Enter two Bishops, DONOBERT, GLOUCESTER, CADOR, CONSTANCIA, OSWOLD, TOCLIO.

EDWIN.

Oh, now resolve, and think upon my love!

This soudns the Marriage of your beauteous sister,

Vertuous Constancia, with the noble Cador.

Look, and behold this pleasure.

MODEST.

Cover me with night,

It is a vanity not worth the sight.

DONO.

See, see, she's yonder.

Pass on, son Cador, Daughter Constancia,

I beseech you all, unless she first move speech,

Salute her not. - Edwin, what good success?

EDWIN.

Nothing as yet, unless this object take her.

DONO.

See, see, her eye is fixt upon her sister;

Seem careless all, and take no notice of her: -

On afore there; come, my Constancia.

MODEST.

Not speak to me, nor dain to cast an eye,

To look on my despised poverty?

I must be more charitable; - pray, stay, Lady,

Are not you she whom I did once call sister?

CONSTAN.

I did acknowledge such a name to one,

Whilst she was worthy of it, in whose folly,

Since you neglect your fame and friends together,

In you I drown'd a sisters name for ever.

MODEST.

Your looks did speak no less.

GLOST.

It now begins to work, this sight has moved her.

DONO.

I knew this trick would take, or nothing.

MODEST.

Though you disdain in me a sisters name,

Yet charity, me thinks, should be so strong

To instruct e're you reject. I am a wretch,

Even follies instance, who perhaps have er'd,

Not having known the goodness bears so high

And fair a show in you; which being exprest,

I may recant this low despised life,

And please those friends whom I mov'd to grief.

CADOR.

She is coming, yfaith; be merry, Edwin.

CONSTA.

Since you desire instruction, you shall have it.

What ist should make you thus desire to live

Vow'd to a single life?

MODEST.

Because I know I cannot flie from death.

Oh, my good, sister, I beseech you,