Rule and admit no rivals. The pure springs,
When they are courted by lascivious land-floods,
Their maiden sweetness and their coolness perish;
And though they purge again to their first beauty,
The sweetness of their taste is clean departed.
I must have all or none; and am not worthy
Longer the noble name of wife, Arnoldo,

Than I can bring a whole heart pure and handsome.

ARNOLDO TEMPTED BY HYPOLITA.

FROM THE SAME.

Arn. Fy, stand off;

And give me leave more now than e'er to wonder
A building of so goodly a proportion,
Outwardly all exact, the frame of heaven,
Should hide within so base inhabitants.
You are as fair as if the morning bare you,
Imagination never made a sweeter

Be excellent in all as you are outward:

The worthy mistress of those many blessings Heav'n has bestowed, make 'em appear still nobler, Because they're trusted to a weaker keeper.

Would you have me love you?

Hip. Yes.

Arn. Not for your beauty;

Though I confess it blows the first fire in us;
Time as he passes by puts out that sparkle.

Nor for your wealth, although the world kneel to it,
And make it all addition to a woman;

Fortune, that ruins all, make that his conquest.
Be honest and be virtuous, I'll admire

you; At least be wise: and, where you lay these nets, Strew over them a little modesty,

'Twill well become your cause, and catch more fools. Hip. Could any one, that lov'd this wholesome

counsel,

But love the giver more?—You make me fonder. You have a virtuous mind-I want that ornament. Is it a sin, I covet to enjoy you?-

If you imagine I'm too free a lover,

And act that part belongs to you, I'm silent.
Mine eyes shall speak, my blushes parley with you;
I will not touch your hand but with a tremble
Fitting a vestal nun; not long to kiss you,
But gently as the air, and undiscern'd too,

I'll steal it thus. I'll walk your shadow by you,
So still and silent, that it shall be equal
To put me off as that.

SCENE IN THE COMEDY OF MONSIEUR THOMAS.

Valentine having formed the noble resolution of giving up his mistress Cellide to preserve the life of his friend Francis, who is in love with her, is supposed to hear the following dialogue, unknown to Francis.

Francis. BLESS me, what beams

Flew from those angel eyes! Oh, what a misery,

VOL. I.

B B

What a most studied torment 'tis to me now
To be an honest man! Dare you sit by me?
Cellide. Yes, and do more than that too-comfort

you;

I see you've need.

Francis. You are a fair physician;

You bring no bitterness, gilt o'er, to gull us,
No danger in your looks; yet there my death lies!
Cellide. I would be sorry, sir, my charity,
And my good wishes for your health, should merit
So stubborn a construction. Will it please you
To taste a little of this cordial ?

[Enter VALENTINE privately.

For this I think must cure you.

Francis. Of which, lady?

Sure she has found my grief.-Why do you blush so? Cellide. Do you not understand? of this,-this

cordial.

Valentine. Oh, my afflicted heart! she's gone for ever1.

Fran. What heaven you have brought me, lady!
Cel. Do not wonder:

For 'tis not impudence, nor want of honour,
Makes me do this; but love to save your life, sir,
Your life, too excellent to lose in wishes-
Love, virtuous love!

Fran. A virtuous blessing crown you!

Oh, goodly sweet! can there be so much charity,

1 Valentine is supposed to remain undiscovered, and his speeches not to be heard by Francis and Cellide.

So noble a compassion in that heart,

That's fill'd up with another's fair affections?
Can mercy drop from those eyes?

Can miracles be wrought upon a dead man,

When all the power you have, and perfect object, Lies in another's light, and his deserves it?

Cel. Do not despair; nor do not think too boldly

I dare abuse my promise; 'twas your friend's,
And so fast tied, I thought no time could ruin;
But so much has your danger, and that spell,
The powerful name of friend, prevail'd above him,
To whom I ever owe obedience,

That here I am, by his command, to cure ye;
Nay more, for ever, by his full resignment;
And willingly I ratify it.

Fran. Hold, for heaven sake!

Must my friend's misery make me a triumph?
Bear I that noble name to be a traitor?
Oh, virtuous goodness! keep thyself untainted:
You have no power to yield, nor he to render,
Nor I to take-I am resolv'd to die first!

Val. Ha! say'st thou so?-Nay, then thou shalt
not perish!

Fran. And tho' I love ye above the light shines

on me;

Beyond the wealth of kingdoms; free content
Sooner would snatch at such a blessing offer'd,
Than at my pardon'd life, by the law forfeited.
Yet-yet, oh, noble beauty!-yet, oh, paradise!

(For you are all the wonder reveal'd of it);
Yet is a gratitude to be preserv'd,

A worthy gratitude, to one most worthy
The name and nobleness of friends!

Cel. Pray tell me,

If I had never known that gentleman,
Would you not willingly embrace my offer?
Fran. D'you make a doubt?

Cel. And can you be unwilling,

He being old and impotent ?—his aim, too,
Levell'd at you, for your good; not constrain'd,
But out of cure, and counsel ?-Alas! consider;
Play but the woman with me, and consider,
As he himself does, and I now dare see it-

Truly consider, sir, what misery—

Fran. For virtue's sake, take heed!

Cel. What loss of youth,

What everlasting banishment from that
Our

years do only covet to arrive at,

Equal affections, born and shot together!

What living name can dead age leave behind him?

What act of memory, but fruitless doting?

Fran. This cannot be.

Cel. To you, unless you apply it

With more and firmer faith, and so digest it:
I speak but of things possible, not done,
Nor like to be; a posset cures your sickness,
And yet I know you grieve this; and howsoever
The worthiness of friend may make you stagger,
(Which is a fair thing in you), yet, my patient,