The Mad Lover Part 12

_Sur._ I'll do it, Why what should we do living after you, Sir?

We'll dye before if ye please.

_Mem._ No, no.

_Sur._ Living? hang living.

Is there ne'r a Cat hole where I may creep through?

Would I were in the _Indies_. [_Aside._

_Mem._ Swear then, and after my death presently To kill your selves and follow, as ye are honest, As ye have faiths, and loves to me.

_Dem._ We'll do it.

_Eum._ Pray do not stir yet, we are near enough To run between all dangers.

_Mem._ Here I am, Sir; Come, look upon me, view the best way boldly, Fear nothing, but cut home; if your hand shake, Sirrah, Or any way deface my heart i'th' cutting, Make the least scratch upon it; but draw it whole, Excellent fair, shewing at all points, Surgeon, The Honour and the Valour of the Owner, Mixt with the most immaculate love I send it, Look to't, I'll slice thee to the Soul.

_Sur._ Ne'r fear, Sir, I'll do it daintily; would I were out once.

_Mem._ I will not have ye smile, Sirrah, when ye do it, As though ye cut a Ladies Corn; 'tis scurvy: Do me it as thou dost thy Prayers, seriously.

_Sur._ I'll do it in a dump, Sir.

_Mem._ In a Dog, Sir, I'll have no dumps, nor dumplins; fetch your tools, And then I'll tell ye more.

_Sur._ If I return To hear more, I'll be hang'd for't.

_Mem._ Quick, quick.

_Dem._ Yes Sir, With all the heels we have. [_Exeunt_ Surgeon, Demagoras.

_Eumen._ Yet stand.

_Pol._ He'l do it.

_Eum._ He cannot, and we here.

_Mem._ Why when ye Rascals, Ye dull Slaves: will ye come, Sir? Surgeon, syringe, Dog-leach, shall I come fetch ye?

_Pol._ Now I'll to him.

G.o.d save ye honour'd Brother.

_Mem._ My dear _Polydore_, Welcome from travel, welcome; and how do ye?

_Pol._ Well Sir, would you were so.

_Mem._ I am, I thank ye.

You are a better'd man much, I the same still, An old rude Souldier, Sir.

_Pol._ Pray be plain, Brother, And tell me but the meaning of this Vision, For to me it appears no more; so far From common Course and Reason.

_Mem._ Thank thee, Fortune, At length I have found the man: the man must do it, The man in honour bound.

_Pol._ To do what?

_Mem._ Hark, for I will bless ye with the circ.u.mstance Of that weak shadow that appear'd.

_Pol._ Speak on, Sir. [_Walks with him._

_Mem._ It is no Story for all ears.

_Pol._ The Princess? [_Whispers._

_Mem._ Peace and hear all.

_Pol._ How?

_Eum._ Sure 'tis dangerous He starts so at it.

_Pol._ Your heart? do you know, Sir?

_Mem._ Yes, Pray thee be softer.

_Pol._ Me to do it?

_Mem._ Only reserv'd, and dedicated.

_Pol._ For shame, Brother, Know what ye are, a man.

_Mem._ None of your _Athens_, Good sweet Sir, no Philosophy, thou feel'st not The honourable end, fool.

_Pol._ I am sure I feel The shame and scorn that follows; have ye serv'd thus long The glory of your Country, in your Conquests?

The envy of your Neighbours, in your Vertues?

Rul'd Armies of your own, given Laws to Nations, Belov'd and fear'd as far as Fame has travell'd, Call'd the most fortunate and happy _Memnon_, To lose all here at home, poorly to lose it?

Poorly, and pettishly, ridiculously To fling away your fortune? where's your Wisedom?

Where's that you govern'd others by, discretion?

Do's your Rule lastly hold upon your self? fie Brother, How ye are faln? Get up into your honour, The top branch of your bravery, and from thence, Look and behold how little _Memnon_ seems now.

_Mem._ Hum! 'tis well spoken; but dost thou think young Scholar, The tongues of Angels from my happiness Could turn the end I aim at? no, they cannot.

This is no Book-case, Brother; will ye do it?

Use no more art, I am resolv'd.

_P[o]l._ Ye may Sir Command me to do any thing that's honest, And for your n.o.ble end: but this, it carries--

_Mem._ Ye shall not be so honour'd; live an a.s.s still, And learn to spell for profit: go, go study.

_Eum._ Ye must not hold him up so, he is lost then.

_Mem._ Get thee to School again, and talk of turnips, And find the natural Cause out, why a Dog Turns thrice about e're he lyes down: there's Learning.