Meantime, exchange of pris'ners only we
Assent unto.
Lord. Nothing of truce, sir?
King. No: we'll not take up
Quiet at int'rest: perfect peace or nothing.160
'Cessations for short times in war are like
Small fits of health in desp'rate maladies;
Which, while the instant pain seems to abate,
Flatters into debauch and worse estate.'[Exeunt
Scene III
Enter Iphigene, as leading to her chamber Francelia, Servants with lights, Morat, and another Soldier
Iph. I have not left myself a fair retreat,
And must be now the blest object of your love,
Or subject of your scorn.
Fran. I fear some treachery,
And that mine eyes have given intelligence.
Unless you knew there would be weak defence,5
You durst not think of taking in a heart,
As soon as you set down before it.
Iph. [in a whisper]. Condemn my love not of such fond ambition,
It aims not at a conquest, but exchange,
Francelia.[In a whisper10
Mor. They're very great in this short time.[Aside
Sol. 'Tis ever so.
Young and handsome are made acquaintances in nature; so
When they meet, they have the less to do. It is
For age or ugliness to make approaches,15
And keep a distance.[Aside
Iph. When I shall see other perfection,
Which at the best will be but other vanity,
Not more I shall not love it.
Fran. 'Tis still one step not to despair, my lord.20
[Exeunt Iphigene, Francelia, and Servants
Mor. Dost think he will fight?
Sol. Troth, it may be not.
Nature, in those fine pieces, does as painters;
Hangs out a pleasant excellence that takes
The eye, which is indeed
