Olympia: I sought thee in my tent, But, when I saw the place obscure and dark, Which with thy beauty thou wast wont to light, Enrag'd, I ran about the fields for thee, Supposing amorous Jove had sent his son, The winged Hermes, to convey thee hence; But now I find thee, and that fear is past, Tell me, Olympia, wilt thou grant my suit? OLYMPIA. My lord and husband's death, with my sweet son's, (With whom I buried all affections Save grief and sorrow, which torment my heart,) Forbids my mind to entertain a thought That tends to love, but meditate on death, A fitter subject for a pensive soul. THERIDAMAS. Olympia, pity him in whom thy looks Have greater operation and more force Than Cynthia's in the watery wilderness; For with thy view my joys are at the full, And ebb again as thou depart'st from me. OLYMPIA. Ah, pity me, my lord, and draw your sword, Making a passage for my troubled soul, Which beats against this prison to get out, And meet my husband and my loving son! THERIDAMAS. Nothing but still thy husband and thy son? Leave this, my love, and listen more to me: Thou shalt be stately queen of fair Argier; And, cloth'd in costly cloth of massy gold, Upon the marble turrets of my court Sit like to Venus in her chair of state, Commanding all thy princely eye desires; And I will cast off arms to 215 sit with thee, Spending my life in sweet discourse of love. OLYMPIA. No such discourse is pleasant in 216 mine ears, But that where every period ends with death, And every line begins with death again: I cannot love, to be an emperess. THERIDAMAS. Nay, lady, then, if nothing will prevail, I'll use some other means to make you yield: Such is the sudden fury of my love, I must and will be pleas'd, and you shall yield: Come to the tent again. OLYMPIA. Stay now, my lord; and, will you 217 save my honour, I'll give your grace a present of such price As all the world can not afford the like. THERIDAMAS. What is it? OLYMPIA. An ointment which a cunning alchymist Distilled from the purest balsamum And simplest extracts of all minerals, In which the essential form of marble stone, Temper'd by science metaphysical, And spells of magic from the mouths 218 of spirits, With which if you but 'noint your tender skin, Nor pistol, sword, nor lance, can pierce your flesh. THERIDAMAS. Why, madam, think you to mock me thus palpably? OLYMPIA. To prove it, I will 'noint my naked throat, Which when you stab, look on your weapon's point, And you shall see't rebated 219 with the blow.
Prev.
Back
Top