The Fatal Jealousie (1673) Part 7

_Jasp._ But will e're long mount to some higher sphere, Or dye in the attempt; this Plot, perhaps, may do, And I thereby obtain some part of my Estate Again; for if the plotted mischiefs shall succeed, I'le tell him whom I am, and my resolves, either To share his Fortunes or Reveal all. Then I will Rise _Don Jasper De Monsalvo_ and Cheek by Jole, Ask how _Antonio_ does. Then don't forget the names.

_Witch._ Not one of them: I know them very well.

_Jasp._ Farewell, Dear Aunt, but don't you seem to know me.

_Witch._ Out you great Fool! What become my Instructer?

Be careful of your self, and fear not me. Farewel, boy.

[Exeunt.

_Enter _Antonio_, _Gerardo_, _Caelia_, _Eugenia_, as to a Masque, and take their seats._

_Ger._ Have you heard, Madam, what they represent?

_Caelia_ My Lord, I'm told they mean to play the Gipsies, And tell our fortunes to us.

_Anto._ I would they could.

_Eugen._ If all Man's life determin'd is before, I would not know my Destiny me-thinks, For good is best, when least it is Expected; And bad fore-seen is doubl'd by our fear Things certain no fore-knowledge can prevent Such knowledge only can bring discontent.

_Ger._ In this with you I perfectly agree.

_Anto._ Yet for all that I wish I could foresee.

_Caelia._ My Lord, what profit by it wou'd you gain?

_Anto._ 'Twould cure doubt to me the deadliest pain.

_Ger._ Doubt is th'effect of fear or Jealousie, Two Pa.s.sions which to Reason give the Lye For fear torments, but never does a.s.sist, And Jealousie is love lost in a Mist.

Both Hood-wink truth, then go to blind-mans buff, Cry here, then there, seem to direct enough: But all the while s.h.i.+ft place making the mind As it goes out of breath despair to find.

And if at last something it stumbles on, Perhaps it calls it false and then 'tis gone.

If true, what's gain'd only just time to see A breachless Play a Game at Liberty; That has no other end then this, that men Run to be tyr'd just to set down agen.

_Anto._ This is a truth, and so for ought I know, To the same purpose tends all things we do: Life's a Disease, and yet we seldom say, That Man is sick whom we see laugh and play; And 'tis as well to bid the Bed-rid ride, As to bid Men in doubt be satisfy'd: For 'tis the mind's Disease, and Physick should Be proper to't, or else the Patient's fool'd.

And there's no Drug in Nature doubt to Cure But only one, and that is to be sure.

_Cael._ Yes, Circ.u.mstance, my Lord, if well apply'd.

_Anto._ I've known that often fail, when it was try'd But they come--

[Flourish.

_Enter first Gipsie, and sings._

1. Gipsie. _Come, come, away; follow, follow your Prince, I am King of the swarthy Complexions; Follow me that can lead you through Chimneys and c.h.i.n.ks To steal Bacon and Pease; Nay, sometimes with ease To a Feast of the choycest Confections.

Come, follow me then, come away, come away_.

_Enter second Gipsie, and sings._

2. Gip. _We know no Rebellion, but obey, but obey, To our King we are just, And true to our trust, Leaving discord to those, that their Princes oppose, When by the Spirit of Treason in Non-sence they pray._

_Enter all the rest, and sing._

Chor. _We know_ &c.

1. Gip. _Come then, and follow, a prize, a prize, a prize._.

2. Gip. _Give the word then, and h.e.l.loa._

All. _A prize, a prize, a prize._

1. Gip. _Here are Gallants and Ladies have fortunes to tell._

2. Gip. _We'l tell e'm good Fortune if they give us a spell._

1. Gip. _A hand crost with silver the Spirit infuses._

2. Gip. _There's no Prophet lately that mettle refuses._

1. Gip. _Men get Heaven now by Bargain and Sale._

Chor. _Ma.s.ses, Trentals and Dirges Are not had for no Charges, And a Vicar for nothing won't tell you a Tale._

All. _Ma.s.ses, &c._

1. Gip. _All things are bought and sold._

2. Gip. _Good Fortune goes with Gold._

1. Gip. _Fall on to your Trading then._

Men Gip. _W'are for the Ladies._

Wom. Gip. _And we for the Men._

_1. Gip._ To _Cael._ Lady, you have lost a Lover, Cross my hand, I'le more discover.

_2. Gip._ To _Anto._ My Lord, I know you baseness scorn, And would be loath to wear a Horn.

_1. Gip._ To _Eug._ Lady, some do speak you fair, That hatred to your welfare bear.

_2. Gip._ To _Ger._ My Lord, you Love a handsom Lady, She Loves you as well it may be.

1. Gip. sings. _Thus we seldom miss the matter, Things past we can tell, by these Generals well, And ne're stay to prove the truth of the latter._

All. _Things past, &c._

1. To _Cael._ You shall Live long and happily, Lady.