Siege, The: Or, Love's Convert, A Tragi-Comedy - Act 2. Scene 4

ACT . II. S CEN. IV.

To them Timophilus, Patacion, Nicias .

— — How fares the Partner of Our Throne, Misander ?
Tim. Most Noble Citizens, his Majesty
Accepteth of your profer, and by me
Demandeth one be sent that's nam'd — —
Leu. O stay,
Chr. O speak no further!
Pyl. Speak it out aloud;
We love to hear the Accent of our Name.
Tim. He doth demand one nam'd Leucasia .
Terp. O! goodwife Pyle you're not Mistris Tyrant.
Pyl. Come, come, you forge.
Pat. Truth is, Leucasia 's chosen.
Nic. Ne'r grieve for't, we shall live as merry as they.
Terp. Troth, Gammer Pyle , I did even think so.
Now what you call'd your Throne's a Wicker chair;
Your Court's a Cottage, your Jewels twopenny Beads.
'Twas, as you say, none of your seeking; Fortune,
Fortune hath thrown the Dignity int' your Lap.
Pray y' make our Yoke hereafter very easie.
Pyl. Are we not chosen then? I'l go and beat
All my Maids o'r for this: he had as good — —
I'l — — come away, you baggage — — what d' you gaze on
You filthy Slut?
Terp. B'w'y' Lady of the Fan.
Now will she go and say her Prayers backward
Thrice, and turn Witch to be reveng'd upon him.
God save your Grace, Leucasia .
Leu. O that word,
That word Leucasia ! I did ne'r mislike
My Name till now: I'm odious to my self,
'Cause I thus please another, Must it be
My punishment that some do call me fair?
Must I place Beauty 'mong the Injuries
Of spightfull Nature? did she only give it
That there might not be wanting to our City
One to enrage a Tyrant?
Terp. Let me tell you: saving your Tyrantship, you are a Fool. A Tyrant's Concubine's a
pretty thing. You may live well on't if you will your self. 'Tis well you have light upon this
Fortune, e'r you are able to judge of a good Leg & Foot. Good Lord to see! she had as fair a
promising Table when she was in swadling-clouts as e'r I saw. As my Wife, her Nurse, was
dressing her, come next Quinquatria , 'twill be just fifteen years, God bless the time! The Cat
sate purring on the little stool, just in the Chimney corner I remember. Saies I unto my
Wife Cyne ! Ay saies she; This child Cyne will be alive when we are dead & rotten! saies she
to me again; the Child's a good Child Husband. Now see the luck on't; how things will come
about! Don't cry Leucasia .
Leu. No other destiny, O heav'ns, but this?
Tim. These froward Plaints do but prolong your Bondage:
You onely doe defer your Liberty,
Grieving away that time should gain your freedome.
Leuc. Seeing that I must go, pray let me be
Conducted like a Sacrifice, for I
Am Offer'd, not Bestow'd. It is my Death,
(For so I think't) but given to my Countrey,
And to divert from her a punishment.
Though th' Means be ill, 'tis Vertue to consent.
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