The Maids Tragedy. Beaumont Francis

sworn to stand or die: you guess the man.

      Amint. No, let me know the man that wrongs me so,

                        That I may cut his body into motes,

                        And scatter it before the Northern wind.

      Evad. You dare not strike him.

      Amint. Do not wrong me so;

                        Yes, if his body were a poysonous plant,

                        That it were death to touch, I have a soul

                        Will throw me on him.

      Evad. Why 'tis the King.

      Amint. The King!

      Evad. What will you do now?

      Amint. 'Tis not the King.

      Evad. What, did he make this match for dull Amintor?

      Amint. Oh! thou hast nam'd a word that wipes away

                        All thoughts revengeful: in that sacred name,

                        The King, there lies a terror: what frail man

                        Dares lift his hand against it? let the Gods

                        Speak to him when they please;

                        Till then let us suffer and wait.

      Evad. Why should you fill your self so full of heat,

                        And haste so to my bed? I am no Virgin.

      Amint. What Devil put it in thy fancy then

                        To marry me?

      Evad. Alas, I must have one

                        To Father Children, and to bear the name

                        Of Husband to me, that my sin may be more honourable.

      Amint. What a strange thing am I!

      Evad. A miserable one; one that my self am sorry for.

      Amint. Why shew it then in this,

                         If thou hast pity, though thy love be none,

                         Kill me, and all true Lovers that shall live

                         In after ages crost in their desires,

                         Shall bless thy memory, and call thee good,

                         Because such mercy in thy heart was found,

                         To rid a lingring Wretch.

      Evad. I must have one

                         To fill thy room again, if thou wert dead,

                         Else by this night I would: I pity thee.

      Amint. These strange and sudden injuries have faln

                        So thick upon me, that I lose all sense

                        Of what they are: methinks I am not wrong'd,

                        Nor is it ought, if from the censuring World

                         I can but hide it—Reputation,

                        Thou art a word, no more; but thou hast shown

                        An impudence so high, that to the World

                         I fear thou wilt betray or shame thy self.

      Evad. To cover shame I took thee, never fear

                        That I would blaze my self.

      Amint. Nor let the King

                        Know I conceive he wrongs me, then mine honour

                        Will thrust me into action, that my flesh

                        Could bear with patience; and it is some ease

                        To me in these extreams, that I knew this

                        Before I toucht thee; else had all the sins

                        Of mankind stood betwixt me and the King,

                         I had gone through 'em to his heart and thine.