which my Mother heal'd my armeWhen last I was wounded by the Bore.
Cro. Doe: but remember her to come after ye,
That she may behold her daughters charity.
Cla. Now he breathes; [Exit Hippolita.
The ayr passing through the Arabian groves
Yields not so sweet an odour: prethee taste it;
Taste it good Crocale; yet I envy thee so great a blessing;
'Tis not sin to touch these Rubies, is it?
Jul. Not, I think.
Cla. Or thus to live Camelion like?
I could resign my essence to live ever thus.
O welcome; raise him up Gently. Some soft hand
Bound up these wounds; a womans hair. What fury
For which my ignorance does not know a name,
Is crept into my bosome? But I forget.
My pious work. Now if this juyce hath power,
Let it appear; his eyelids ope: Prodigious!
Two Suns break from these Orbes.
Alb. Ha, Where am I? What new vision's this?
To what Goddess do I owe this second life?
Sure thou art more than mortal:
And any Sacrifice of thanks or duty
In poor and wretched man to pay, comes short
Of your immortal bounty: but to shew
I am not unthankful, th[u]s in humility
I kiss the happy ground you have made sacred,
By bearing of your weight.
Cla. No Goddess, friend: but made
Of that same brittle mould as you are;
One too acquainted with calamities,
And from that apt to pity. Charity ever
Finds in the act reward, and needs no Trumpet
In the receiver. O forbear this duty;
I have a hand to meet with yours,
And lips to bid yours welcome.
Cro. I see, that by instinct,
Though a young Maid hath never seen a Man,
Touches have titillations, and inform her.
But here's our Governess;
Now I expect a storme.
Ros. Child of my flesh,
And not of my fair unspotted mind,
Un-hand this Monster.
Cla. Monster, Mother?
Ros. Yes; and every word he speaks, a Syrens note,
To drown the careless hearer. Have I not taught thee
The falshood and the perjuries of Men?
On whom, but for a woman to shew pity,
Is to be cruel to her self; the Soveraignty
Proud and imperious men usurp upon us,
We conferr on our selves, and love those fetters
We fasten to our freedomes. Have we, Clarinda,
Since thy fathers wrack, sought liberty,
To lose it un-compel'd? Did fortune guide,
Or rather destiny, our Barke, to which
We could appoint no Port, to this blest place,
Inhabited heretofore by warlike women,
That kept men in subjection? Did we then,
By their example, after we had lost
All we could love in man, here plant our selves,
With execrable oaths never to look
On man, but as a Monster? and, Wilt thou
Be the first president to infringe those vows
We made to Heaven?
Cla. Hear me; and hear me with justice.
And as ye are delighted in the name
Of Mother, hear a daughter that would be like you.
Should all Women use this obstinate abstinence,
You would force upon us; in a few years
The whole World would be peopled
Onely with Beasts.
Hip. We must, and will have Men.
Cro. I, or wee'll shake off all obedience.
Ros. Are ye mad?
Can no perswasion alter ye? suppose
You had my suffrage to your sute;
Can this Shipwrackt wretch supply them all?
Alb. Hear me great Lady!
I have fellowes in my misery, not far hence,
Divided only by this hellish River,
There live a company of wretched Men,
Such as your charity may make your slaves;
Imagine all the miseries mankind
May suffer under: and they groan beneath 'em.
Cla. But are they like to you?
Jul. Speak they your Language?
Cro. Are they able, lusty men?
Alb. They were good, Ladies;
And in their May of youth of gentle blood,
And such as may deserve ye; now cold and hunger
Hath lessen'd their perfection: but restor'd
To what they were, I doubt not they'll appear
Worthy your favors.
Jul. This is a blessing
We durst not hope for.
Cla. Dear Mother, be not obdurate.
Ros. Hear then my resolution: and labor not
To add to what I'll grant, for 'twill be fruitless,
You shall appear as good Angels to these wretched Men;
In a small Boat wee'll pass o'er to 'em;
And bring 'em comfort: if you like their persons,
And they approve of yours: for wee'll force nothing;
And since we want ceremonies,
Each one shall choose a husband, and injoy
His company a Month, but that expir'd,
You shall no more come near 'em; if you prove fruitful,
The Males ye shall return to them, the Females
We will reserve our selves: this is the utmost,
Ye shall e'er obtain: as ye think fit;
Ye may dismiss this stranger,
And prepare to morrow for the journey.
Cla. Come, Sir, Will ye walk?
We will shew ye our pleasant
