Eugen.
Who's there—Clarina?

Clarin.
Yes, Madam.

Eugen.
What hour is't my Dear?

Clarin.
Past Twelve above a quarter.

Eugen.
I have read three hours then.
My Eyes are weak;
Pray then go to Bed:
Indeed I trouble you; but leave the Candle burning,
And if thou think'st on't, bid my Woman call me
At five a Clock: Good night, Sleep seizes me; [Sleeps.
To thy protection I commend me Heaven. [Exit Clar. Enter Shattillion from the Chest; a Table-book.

Shatt.
All's still as Death, and hush'd as Midnight silence:
Now the Crickets sing, and mortal wearied Sense
Repairs it self by rest. Lewd Tarquin thus
Did softly tread and tremble, ere he wak'ned
The Chastity he wounded. Oh Soul of Beauty!
Sure none but I cou'd see thee thus, and leave thee
Thus in this lovely posture. But no more;
I've other business. Chill all my Bloud,
Ye Powers, and make me cold to her Allurements:
This is no loving minute; Come, to my design:
To note the Chamber: Here I'le write all down;
Such and such Pictures; there the Window; such
The adornment of her Bed; the Arras Figures:
Why such, and such, and the Contents o'th' Story.
Ay but some natural Notes about her Body,
Above ten thousand meaner Witnesses,
Wou'd testifie to enrich my Inventory. She stirs, and he starts back.
What's there, a Bracelet on her Arm? 'Tis so.
Now sleep thou Ape of Death, lye dull upon her;

And be her Sense but as a Monument,
Thus in a Chappel lying. Fortune befriend me;
'Tis mine, and this will witness outwardly,
As strongly as the Conscience does within,
To th'torture of her Lord: On her left Breast,
A Mole Cinque, spotted like the Crimson drops
In the bottom of a Cowslip: Here's a Voucher
Stronger than ever Law cou'd make; this Secret
Will force him think I've pick'd the Lock, and stoll'n
The Treasure of her Honour. No, now I have enough:
To th'Chest agen.
Swift, swift ye Dragons of the Night; lov'd Phospher,
Return the welcome day, I lodge in fear,
Tho' there's a heavenly Angel, Hell is here. [Gets into the Chest. Enter Cloten, Gentlemen, Silvio, Musicians and Dancers.

Clot.
I Gad this damn'd Armour is plaguy troublesom:
Does it become Florio? Hah! Do I look like one
That cou'd slay my ten thousand in a morning, and
Never sweat for't? Have I the sow'r Look of a Heroe?

Silvio.
Your Look will cause more wonder than fear, my
Lord; you are too young to be very terrible.

Clot.
Nay I know I shou'd look more like a Warrier,
If I were not so handsom; Pox on't, I have
Look'd so clear ever since I took Physick last,
That Gad I'me afraid people begin to think I paint.

Silvio.
They often look smiling on you, I confess.

Clot.
Come, begin then, first play and then sing; you shall
Charm her with your Fingers, and you with your Tongue,
Whilst I, God Mars, brandish my Weapon; and if
Tonguing, fingering and fighting, don't please her,
The Devil's in her. Flutes and a Song here; a Lady looks out.

Lelia.
My Lady is rising Sir, she hears your Musick.

Clot.
Ud so, she peeps through the Window yonder now.
The Dance, the Dance. Enter Eugenia and Clarina.
She comes; away all and leave me to her. [Exeunt.
Good morrow to the radiant Queen of Beauty;
Fierce Mars in Field with Sword and Shield yields
Thee the time o'th' day.

Eugen.
I am covetous of thanks Sir, and scarce can spare 'um.

Clot.
Gad that's a little morose tho', to a Deity of my
Valour and Quality.

Eugen.
It suits my Humour Sir: but pray why thus in Armour?
You amongst all men in my opinion,
Need not Burlesque your self.

Clot.
Burlesque? Now she mauls me with her hard words.
Madam, I love and honour you in plain terms; pray
Give your consent, and let's be married; your Heroes hate delays.

Eugen.
Married, what to such a Figure?

Clot.
Figure? Why I'me a Lord, and the Queen's my Mother,
As inconsiderable a Figure as you make me; Gads, that's
More than a banish'd Fellow of your Acquaintance can
Pretend to, since you go to that.

Eugen.
That banish'd Fellow is a God, when ballanc'd
With your weak merit; I swear his meanest
Garment that ever touch'd his Body, is more dear to me
Than the life's service of a hundred Cloten's.

Clot.
His Garment? A Plague, what his Shirt?

Eugen.
Hah! my Bracelet lost, my dear Lelia?
Run to my Woman instantly.

Clot.
His Garment did you say?

Eugen.
I am sprighted with a Fool, frighted and anger'd worse:
Bid her, Clarina, search for a Bracelet, that too
Casually hath left my Arm;
I wou'd not lose it for a King's Revenue;
I think I saw't this morning; sure I am,
Last night 'twas on my Arm, I kiss'd it;
I hope it is not gone to tell my Lord,
That I kiss ought but him. [Exit Clar.

Clot.
His Shirt, what his contaminated Shirt,
Preferr'd before my Service? I'le be reveng'd;
I'le not take this; by Jove, I'le tell your Father. [Exit Clot.

Eugen.
Daily to live thus tortur'd by this Fool,
Is double misery; therefore I'me now resolv'd
To free my self: The way is thus contriv'd;
I'le steal from Court in a disguise; Pisanio
I know will stand my Friend through his Life's hazard,
And never shrink at danger: This once done,
With joy I'le meet my dearest Lord in Exile,
Feed him with Love, and sweeten all his Cares
With soft Embraces; then each happy night,
Fancy a Palace of a poor Retreat,
And slight the inconstant Glories of the Great. [Exit.

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