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
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
