Page:The Rehearsal - Villiers (1672).djvu/44

 Bayes. There's a great Verse!

Vols. If Incense thou wilt offer at the Shrine Of mighty Love, burn it to none but mine. Her Rosie-lips eternal sweets exhale; And her bright flames make all flames else look pale.

Bayes. I gad, that is right.

Pret. Perhaps dull Incense may thy love suffice; But mine must be ador'd with Sacrifice. All hearts turn ashes which her eyes controul: The Body they consume as well as Soul.

Vols. My love has yet a power more Divine; Victims her Altars burn not, but refine: Amid'st the flames they ne'er give up the Ghost, But, with her looks, revive still as they roast. In spite of pain and death, they're kept alive: Her fiery eyes makes 'em in fire survive.

Bayes. That is as well as I can do.

Vols. Let my Parthenope at length prevail.

Bayes. Civil, I gad.

Pret. I'l sooner have a passion for a Whale: In whose vast bulk, though store of Oyl doth lye, We find more shape more beauty in a Fly.

Smi. That's uncivil, I gad.

Bayes. Yes; but as far a fetch'd fancie, though, I gad, as ever you saw.

Vols. Soft, Pretty-man, let not thy vain pretence Of perfect love, defame loves excellence. Parthenope is sure as far above All other loves, as above all is Love.

Bayes. Ah! I gad, that strikes me.

Pret. To blame my Cloris, Gods would not pretend.

Bayes. Now mark.

Vols. Were all Gods joyn'd, they could not hope to mend My better choice: for fair Parthenope, Gods would, themselves, un-god themselves to see.

Bayes. Now the Rant's a coming.