Act II, Scene I — [3196]…

Act II, Scene I — [3196]

Enter PHILASTER and BELLARIO.

Phi. And thou shalt find her honourable, boy; Full of regard unto thy tender youth, For thine own modesty; and, for my sake, Apter to give than thou wilt be to ask, Ay, or deserve.

Bel. Sir, you did take me up 5 When I was nothing; and only yet am something By being yours. You trusted me unknown; And that which you were apt to conster[3197] A simple innocence in me, perhaps Might have been craft, the cunning of a boy 10 Hard’ned in lies and theft: yet ventur’d you To part my miseries and me: for which, I never can expect to serve a lady That bears more honour in her breast than you.

Phi. But, boy, it will prefer[3198] thee. Thou art young, 15 And bear’st a childish overflowing love To them that clap thy cheeks and speak thee fair yet; But when thy judgment comes to rule those passions, Thou wilt remember best those careful friends That plac’d thee in the noblest way of life. 20 She is a princess I prefer thee to.

Bel. In that small time that I have seen the world, I never knew a man hasty to part With a servant he thought trusty. I remember, My father would prefer the boys he kept 25 To greater men than he; but did it not Till they were grown too saucy for himself.

Phi. Why, gentle boy, I find no fault at all In thy behaviour.

Bel. Sir, if I have made A fault in ignorance, instruct my youth: 30 I shall be willing, if not apt, to learn; Age and experience will adorn my mind With larger knowledge; and if I have done A wilful fault, think me not past all hope For once. What master holds so strict a hand 35 Over his boy, that he will part with him Without one warning? Let me be corrected To break my stubbornness, if it be so, Rather than turn me off; and I shall mend. 39

Phi. Thy love doth plead so prettily to stay, That, trust me, I could weep to part with thee. Alas, I do not turn thee off! Thou knowest It is my business that doth call thee hence; And when thou art with her, thou dwell’st with me, Think so, and ’t is so; and when time is full, 45 That thou hast well discharg’d this heavy trust, Laid on so weak a one, I will again With joy receive thee; as I live, I will! Nay, weep not, gentle boy. ’T is more than time Thou didst attend the princess.

Bel. I am gone. 50 But since I am to part with you, my lord, And none knows whether I shall live to do More service for you, take this little prayer: Heaven bless your loves, your fights, all your designs! 54 May sick men, if they have your wish, be well; And Heaven hate those you curse, though I be one! Exit.

Phi. The love of boys unto their lords is strange; I have read wonders of it: yet this boy For my sake (if a man may judge by looks And speech) would out-do story. I may see 60 A day to pay him for his loyalty. Exit.

[SCENE II.][3199]

Enter PHARAMOND.

Pha. Why should these ladies stay so long? They must come this way. I know the queen employs ’em not; for the reverend mother[3200] sent me word they would all be for the garden. If they should all prove honest[3201] now, I were (5) in a fair taking; I was never so long without sport in my life, and, in my conscience, ’t is not my fault. Oh, for our country ladies! Enter GALATEA. Here ’s one bolted; I ’ll hound at her.—Madam!

Gal. Your grace!

Pha. Shall I not be a trouble?

Gal. Not to me, sir. 11

Pha. Nay, nay, you are too quick. By this sweet hand——

Gal. You’ll be forsworn, sir; ’t is but an old glove. If you will talk at distance, I am for you: But, good prince, be not bawdy, nor do not brag; 15 These two I bar; And then, I think, I shall have sense enough To answer all the weighty apophthegms Your royal blood shall manage.

Pha. Dear lady, can you love? 20

Gal. Dear prince! how dear? I ne’er cost you a coach yet, nor put you to the dear repentance of a banquet. Here’s no scarlet, sir, to blush the sin out it was given for. This wire mine own hair covers; and this face has (25) been so far from being dear to any, that it ne’er cost penny painting; and, for the rest of my poor wardrobe, such as you see, it leaves no hand[3202] behind it, to make the jealous mercer’s wife curse our good doings. 30

Pha. You mistake me, lady.

Gal. Lord, I do so; would you or I could help it!

[Pha. You’re very dangerous bitter, like a potion.

Gal. No, sir, I do not mean to purge you, though I mean to purge a little time on you.][3203] 35

Pha. Do ladies of this country use to give No more respect to men of my full being?

Gal. Full being! I understand you not, unless your grace means growing to fatness; and then your only remedy (upon my knowledge, 40 prince) is, in a morning, a cup of neat white wine brewed with carduus,[3204] then fast till supper; about eight you may eat; use exercise, and keep a sparrow-hawk; you can shoot in a tiller:[3205] but, of all, your grace must fly phlebotomy,[3206] (45) fresh pork, conger,[3207] and clarified whey; they are all duller of the vital spirits.

Pha. Lady, you talk of nothing all this while.

Gal. ’T is very true, sir; I talk of you. 49

Pha. [Aside.] This is a crafty wench; I like her wit well; ’t will be rare to stir up a leaden appetite. She’s a Danaë, and must be courted in a shower of gold.—Madam, look here; all these, and more than—— 54

Gal. What have you there, my lord? Gold! now, as I live, ’t is fair gold! You would have silver for it, to play with the pages. You could not have taken me in a worse time; but, if you have present use, my lord, I’ll send my man with silver and keep your gold for you. 60

Pha. Lady, lady!

Gal. She’s coming, sir, behind, will take white money.— [Aside.] Yet for all this I’ll match ye. Exit behind the hangings.

Pha. If there be but two such more in this kingdom, and near the court, we may even (65) hang up our harps. Ten such camphire[3208] constitutions as this would call the golden age again in question, and teach the old way for every ill-fac’d husband to get his own children; and what a mischief that would breed, let all consider! 71 Enter MEGRA. Here’s another: if she be of the same last, the devil shall pluck her on.—Many fair mornings, lady!

Meg. As many mornings bring as many days, Fair, sweet and hopeful to your grace! 76

Pha. [Aside.] She gives good words yet; sure this wench is free.—[3209] If your more serious business do not call you, Let me hold quarter with you; we will talk An hour out quickly.

Meg. What would your grace talk of? 80

Pha. Of some such pretty subject as yourself: I’ll go no further than your eye, or lip; There ’s theme enough for one man for an age.

Meg. Sir, they stand right, and my lips are yet even, Smooth, young enough, ripe enough, and red enough, 85 Or my glass wrongs me.

Pha. Oh, they are two twinn’d cherries dy’d in blushes Which those fair suns above with their bright beams Reflect upon and ripen. Sweetest beauty, Bow down those branches, that the longing taste 90 Of the faint looker-on may meet those blessings. And taste and live. They kiss.

Meg. [Aside.] Oh, delicate sweet prince! She that hath snow enough about her heart To take the wanton spring of ten such lines off, May be a nun without probation.—Sir, 95 You have in such neat poetry gathered a kiss, That if I had but five lines of that number, Such pretty begging blanks,[3210] I should commend Your forehead or your cheeks, and kiss you too.

Pha. Do it in prose; you cannot miss it, madam. 100

Meg. I shall, I shall.

Pha. By my life, but you shall not; I’ll prompt you first. [Kisses her.] Can you do it now?

Meg. Methinks ’t is easy, now you ha’ done ’t before me; But yet I should stick at it. [Kisses him.]

Pha. Stick till to-morrow; I’ll ne’er part you, sweetest. But we lose time: Can you love me? 106

Meg. Love you, my lord! How would you have me love you?

Pha. I’ll teach you in a short sentence, ’cause I will not load your memory; this is all: love me, and lie with me. 110

Meg. Was it “lie with you” that you said? ’T is impossible.

Pha. Not to a willing mind, that will endeavour. If I do not teach you to do it as easily in one night as you’ll go to bed, I’ll lose my royal blood for ’t. 116

Meg. Why, prince, you have a lady of your own That yet wants teaching.

Pha. I’ll sooner teach a mare the old measures[3211] than teach her anything belonging to (120) the function. She’s afraid to lie with herself if she have but any masculine imaginations about her. I know, when we are married, I must ravish her.

Meg. By mine honour, that’s a foul fault, indeed; 125 But time and your good help will wear it out, sir.

Pha. And for any other I see, excepting your dear self, dearest lady, I had rather be Sir Tim the schoolmaster, and leap a dairy-maid, madam. 130

Meg. Has your grace seen the court-star, Galatea?

Pha. Out upon her! She’s as cold of her favour as an apoplex; she sail’d by but now.

Meg. And how do you hold her wit, sir? 135

Pha. I hold her wit? The strength of all the guard cannot hold it, if they were tied to it; she would blow ’em out of the kingdom. They talk of Jupiter; he’s but a squib-cracker to her: look well about you, and you may find a tongue-bolt. (140) But speak, sweet lady, shall I be freely welcome.

Meg. Whither?

Pha. To your bed. If you mistrust my faith, you do me the unnoblest wrong. 145

Meg. I dare not, prince, I dare not.

Pha. Make your own conditions, my purse shall seal ’em, and what you dare imagine you can want, I’ll furnish you withal. Give two hours to your thoughts every morning about it. Come I know you are bashful; 151 Speak in my ear, will you be mine? Keep this, And with it, me: soon I will visit you.

Meg. My lord, my chamber’s most unsafe; but when ’tis night, 154 I’ll find some means to slip into your lodging; Till when——

Pha. Till when, this and my heart go with thee! Exeunt several ways.

Re-enter GALATEA from behind the hangings.

Gal. Oh, thou pernicious petticoat prince! are these your virtues? Well, if I do not lay a train to blow your sport up, I am no woman: and, Lady Towsabel, I’ll fit you for ’t. Exit. 160

[SCENE III.][3212]

Enter ARETHUSA and a Lady.

Are. Where’s the boy?

Lady. Within, madam.

Are. Gave you him gold to buy him clothes?

Lady. I did.

Are. And has he done ’t? 5

Lady. Yes, madam.

Are. ’Tis a pretty sad-talking boy, is it not? Asked you his name?

Lady. No, madam. 9

Enter GALATEA.

Are. Oh, you are welcome. What good news?

Gal. As good as any one can tell your grace, That says she has done that you would have wish’d.

Are. Hast thou discovered?

Gal. I have strain’d a point of modesty for you.

Are. I prithee, how? 15

Gal. In list’ning after bawdry. I see, let a lady live never so modestly, she shall be sure to find a lawful time to hearken after bawdry. Your prince, brave Pharamond, was so hot on ’t! 20

Are. With whom?

Gal. Why, with the lady I suspected. I can tell the time and place.

Are. Oh, when, and where?

Gal. To-night, his lodging. 25

Are. Run thyself into the presence; mingle there again With other ladies; leave the rest to me. [Exit Galatea.] If destiny (to whom we dare not say, “Why didst thou this?”) have not decreed it so, In lasting leaves (whose smallest characters 30 Were never alter’d yet), this match shall break.— Where’s the boy?

Lady. Here, madam.

Enter BELLARIO.

Are. Sir, you are sad to change your service; is ’t not so?

Bel. Madam, I have not chang’d; I wait on you, 35 To do him service.

Are. Thou disclaim’st in me. Tell me thy name.

Bel. Bellario.

Are. Thou canst sing and play?

Bel. If grief will give me leave, madam, I can. 40

Are. Alas, what kind of grief can thy years know? Hadst thou a curst master when thou went’st to school? Thou art not capable of other grief: Thy brows and cheeks are smooth as waters be When no breath troubles them. Believe me, boy, 45 Care seeks out wrinkled brows and hollow eyes, And builds himself caves, to abide in them Come, sir, tell me truly, doth your lord love me?

Bel. Love, madam! I know not what it is.

Are. Canst thou know grief, and never yet knew’st love? 50 Thou art deceiv’d, boy. Does he speak of me As if he wish’d me well?

Bel. If it be love To forget all respect of his own friends With thinking of your face; if it be love To sit cross-arm’d and sigh away the day, 55 Mingled with starts, crying your name as loud And hastily as men i’’ the streets do fire; If it be love to weep himself away When he but hears of any lady dead Or kill’d, because it might have been your chance; 60 If, when he goes to rest (which will not be), ’Twixt every prayer he says, to name you once, As others drop a bead, be to be in love. Then, madam, I dare swear he loves you.

Are. Oh you’re a cunning boy, and taught to lie 65 For your lord’s credit! But thou know’st a lie That bears this sound is welcomer to me Than any truth that says he loves me not. Lead the way, boy.—[To Lady.] Do you attend me too.— 69 ’T is thy lord’s business hastes me thus. Away! Exeunt.

[SCENE IV.][3213]

Enter DION, CLEREMONT, THRASILINE, MEGRA, and GALATEA.

Dion. Come, ladies, shall we talk a round? As men Do walk a mile, women should talk an hour After supper: ’tis their exercise.

Gal. ’T is late.

Meg. ’T is all 5 My eyes will do to lead me to my bed.

Gal. I fear, they are so heavy, you’ll scarce find The way to your own lodging with ’em to-night.

Enter PHARAMOND.

Thra. The prince!

Pha. Not a-bed, ladies? You’re good sitters-up. 10 What think you of a pleasant dream, to last Till morning?

Meg. I should choose, my lord, a pleasing wake before it.

Enter ARETHUSA and BELLARIO.

Are. ’T is well, my lord; you’re courting of these ladies.— Is ’t not late, gentlemen? 15

Cle. Yes, madam.

Are. Wait you there. Exit.

Meg. [Aside.] She’s jealous, as I live.—Look you, my lord. The princess has a Hylas, an Adonis.

Pha. His form is angel-like. 20

Meg. Why, this is he that must, when you are wed, Sit by your pillow, like young Apollo, with His hand and voice binding your thoughts in sleep, The princess does provide him for you and for herself.

Pha. I find no music in these boys.

Meg. Nor I: 25 They can do little, and that small they do, They have not wit to hide.

Dion. Serves he the princess?

Thra. Yes.

Dion. ’T is a sweet boy: how brave[3214] she keeps him!

Pha. Ladies all, good rest; I mean to kill a buck To-morrow morning ere you’ve done your dreams. 30

Meg. All happiness attend your grace! [Exit PHARAMOND.] Gentlemen, good rest.—– Come, shall we go to bed?

Gal. Yes.—All good night.

Dion. May your dreams be true to you!—Exeunt GALATEA and MEGRA. What shall we do, gallants? ’t is late. The King Is up still: see, he comes; a guard along 35 With him.

Enter KING, ARETHUSA, and Guard.

King. Look your intelligence be true.

Are. Upon my life, it is; and I do hope Your highness will not tie me to a man That in the heat of wooing throws me off, And takes another.

Dion. What should this mean? 40

King. If it be true, That lady had been better have embrac’d Cureless diseases. Get you to your rest: You shall be righted. Exeunt ARETHUSA and BELLARIO. —Gentlemen, draw near; We shall employ you. Is young Pharamond 45 Come to his lodging?

Dion. I saw him enter there.

King. Haste, some of you, and cunningly discover If Megra be in her lodging. [Exit DION.]

Cle. Sir, She parted hence but now, with other ladies. 50

King. If she be there, we shall not need to make A vain discovery of our suspicion. [Aside.] You gods. I see that who unrighteously Holds wealth or state from others shall be curst In that which meaner men are blest withal: 55 Ages to come shall know no male of him Left to inherit, and his name shall be Blotted from earth; if he have any child, It shall be crossly match’d; the gods themselves Shall sow wild strife betwixt her lord and her. Yet, if it be your wills, forgive the sin 61 I have committed; let it not fall Upon this understanding child of mine! She has not broke your laws. But how can I Look to be heard of gods that must be just, 65 Praying upon the ground I hold by wrong?

Re-enter DION.

Dion. Sir, I have asked, and her women swear she is within; but they, I think, are bawds. I told ’em, I must speak with her; they laught, and said, their lady lay speechless. I said, (70) my business was important; they said, their lady was about it. I grew hot, and cried, my business was a matter that concern’d life and death; they answered, so was sleeping, at which their lady was. I urg’d again, she had scarce (75) time to be so since last I saw her: they smil’d again, and seem’d to instruct me that sleeping was nothing but lying down and winking.[3215] Answers more direct I could not get: in short, sir, I think she is not there. 80

King. ’Tis then no time to dally.—You o’ the guard, Wait at the back door of the prince’s lodging, And see that none pass thence, upon your lives. [Exeunt Guards.] Knock, gentlemen; knock loud; louder yet. [DION, CLER., &c. knock at the door of PHARAMOND’S Lodging.] What, has their pleasure taken off their hearing?— 85 I’ll break your meditations.—Knock again.— Not yet? I do not think he sleeps, having this Larum by him.—Once more.—Pharamond! prince! PHARAMOND [appears] above.

Pha. What saucy groom knocks at this dead of night? Where be our waiters? By my vexed soul, 90 He meets his death that meets me, for his boldness.

King. Prince, prince, you wrong your thoughts; we are your friends: Come down.

Pha. The King!

King. The same, sir. Come down, sir: We have cause of present counsel with you.

Pha. If your grace please 95 To use me, I’ll attend you to your chamber.

Enter PHARAMOND below.

King. No, ’tis too late, prince; I’ll make bold with yours.

Pha. I have some private reasons to myself Makes me unmannerly, and say you cannot.— They press to come in. Nay, press not forward, gentlemen; he must 100 Come through my life that comes here.

King. Sir, be resolv’d[3216] I must and will come.—Enter.

Pha. I will not be dishonour’d. He that enters, enters upon his death. Sir, ’t is a sign you make no stranger of me, 105 To bring these renegadoes to my chamber At these unseasoned hours.

King. Why do you Chafe yourself so? You are not wrong’d nor shall be; Only I’ll search your lodging, for some cause To ourself known.—Enter, I say.

Pha. I say, no. 110

Enter MEGRA above.

Meg. Let ’em enter, prince, let ’em enter; I am up and ready:[3217] I know their business; ’Tis the poor breaking of a lady’s honour They hunt so hotly after; let ’em enjoy it.— 114 You have your business, gentlemen; I lay here. Oh, my lord the King, this is not noble in you To make public the weakness of a woman!

King. Come down.

Meg. I dare, my lord. Your hootings and your clamours, 119 Your private whispers and your broad fleerings, Can no more vex my soul than this base carriage.[3218] But I have vengeance yet in store for some Shall, in the most contempt you can have of me, Be joy and nourishment.

King. Will you come down?

Meg. Yes, to laugh at your worst; but I shall wring you, 125 If my skill fail me not. [Exit above.]

King. Sir, I must dearly chide you for this looseness; You have wrong’d a worthy lady; but, no more.— Conduct him to my lodging and to bed. [Exeunt PHARAMOND and Attendants.]

Cle. Get him another wench, and you bring him to bed indeed. 131

Dion. ’Tis strange a man cannot ride a stage Or two, to breathe himself, without a warrant. If his gear hold, that lodgings be search’d thus, Pray God we may lie with our own wives in safety, 135 That they be not by some trick of state mistaken!

Enter [Attendants] with MEGRA [below].

King. Now, lady of honour, where ’s your honour now? No man can fit your palate but the prince. Thou most ill-shrouded rottenness, thou piece Made by a painter and a ’pothecary, 140 Thou troubled sea of lust, thou wilderness Inhabited by wild thoughts, thou swoln cloud Of infection, thou ripe mine of all diseases, Thou all-sin, all-hell, and last, all-devils, tell me, Had you none to pull on with your courtesies 145 But he that must be mine, and wrong my daughter? By all the gods, all these, and all the pages, And all the court, shall hoot thee through the court, Fling rotten oranges, make ribald rhymes, And sear thy name with candles upon walls! 150 Do you laugh, Lady Venus?

Meg. Faith, sir, you must pardon me; I cannot choose but laugh to see you merry. If you do this, O King! nay, if you dare do it, By all those gods you swore by, and as many 155 More of my own, I will have fellows, and such Fellows in it, as shall make noble mirth! The princess, your dear daughter, shall stand by me On walls, and sung in ballads, any thing. 159 Urge me no more; I know her and her haunts, Her lays, leaps, and outlays, and will discover all; Nay, will dishonour her. I know the boy She keeps; a handsome boy, about eighteen; Know what she does with him, where, and when. 164 Come, sir, you put me to a woman’s madness, The glory of a fury; and if I do not Do ’t to the height——

King. What boy is this she raves at?

Meg. Alas! good-minded prince, you know not these things! I am loth to reveal ’em. Keep this fault, As you would keep your health from the hot air 170 Of the corrupted people, or, by Heaven, I will not fall alone. What I have known Shall be as public as a print; all tongues Shall speak it as they do the language they Are born in, as free and commonly; I ’ll set it, Like a prodigious[3219] star, for all to gaze at, 176 And so high and glowing, that other kingdoms far and foreign Shall read it there, nay, travel with it, till they find No tongue to make it more, nor no more people; And then behold the fall of your fair princess!

King. Has she a boy? 181

Cle. So please your grace, I have seen a boy wait On her, a fair boy.

King. Go, get you to your quarter: For this time I will study to forget you.

Meg. Do you study to forget me, and I’ll study 185 To forget you. Exeunt KING, MEGRA, and Guard.

Cle. Why, here ’s a male spirit fit for Hercules. If ever there be Nine Worthies of women, this wench shall ride astride and be their captain. 190

Dion. Sure, she has a garrison of devils in her tongue, she uttered such balls of wild-fire. She has so nettled the King, that all the doctors in the country will scarce cure him. That boy was a strange-found-out antidote to cure her (195) infection; that boy, that princess’ boy; that brave, chaste, virtuous lady’s boy; and a fair boy, a well-spoken boy! All these considered, can make nothing else—but there I leave you, gentlemen. 200

Thra. Nay, we’ll go wander with you. Exeunt.

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Act III, Scene I — [3220]

Enter DION, CLEREMONT, and THRASILINE.

Cle. Nay, doubtless, ’t is true.

Dion. Ay; and ’t is the gods That rais’d this punishment, to scourge the King With his own issue. Is it not a shame For us that should write noble in the land, 5 For us that should he freemen, to behold A man that is the bravery of his age, Philaster, prest down from his royal right By this regardless King? and only look And see the sceptre ready to be cast 10 Into the hands of that lascivious lady That lives in lust with a smooth boy, now to be married To yon strange prince, who, but that people please To let him be a prince, is born a slave In that which should be his most noble part, 15 His mind?

Thra. That man that would not stir with you To aid Philaster, let the gods forget That such a creature walks upon the earth!

Cle. Philaster is too backward in ’t himself. The gentry do await it, and the people, 20 Against their nature, are all bent for him, And like a field of standing corn, that ’s moved With a stiff gale, their heads bow all one way.

Dion. The only cause that draws Philaster back From this attempt is the fair princess’ love, 25 Which he admires, and we can now confute.

Thra. Perhaps he ’ll not believe it.

Dion. Why, gentlemen, ’t is without question so.

Cle. Ay, ’t is past speech she lives dishonestly. But how shall we, if he be curious,[3221] work 30 Upon his faith?

Thra. We all are satisfied within ourselves.

Dion. Since it is true, and tends to his own good, I’ll make this new report to be my knowledge; I’ll say I know it; nay, I ’ll swear I saw it. 35

Cle. It will be best.

Thra. ’T will move him.

Enter PHILASTER.

Dion. Here he comes. Good morrow to your honour: we have spent Some time in seeking you.

Phi. My worthy friends, You that can keep your memories to know Your friend in miseries, and cannot frown 40 On men disgrac’d for virtue, a good day Attend you all! What service may I do Worthy your acceptation?

Dion. My good lord, We come to urge that virtue, which we know Lives in your breast, forth. Rise, and make a head;[3222] 45 The nobles and the people are all dull’d With this usurping king; and not a man, That ever heard the word, or knew such a thing As virtue, but will second your attempts.

Phi. How honourable is this love in you 50 To me that have deserv’d none! Know, my friends, (You, that were born to shame your poor Philaster With too much courtesy.) I could afford To melt myself in thanks: but my designs Are not yet ripe. Suffice it, that ere long 55 I shall employ your loves; but yet the time Is short of what I would.

Dion. The time is fuller, sir, than you expect; That which hereafter will not, perhaps, be reach’d By violence, may now be caught. As for the King, 60 You know the people have long hated him; But now the princess, whom they lov’d——

Phi. Why, what of her?

Dion. Is loath’d as much as he.

Phi. By what strange means?

Dion. She ’s known a whore.

Phi. Thou liest.

Dion. My lord——- 65

Phi. Thou liest, Offers to draw and is held. And thou shalt feel it! I had thought thy mind Had been of honour. Thus to rob a lady Of her good name is an infectious sin Not to be pardon’d. Be it false as hell, 70 ’T will never be redeem’d, if it be sown Amongst the people, fruitful to increase All evil they shall hear. Let me alone That I may cut off falsehood whilst it springs! Set hills on hills betwixt me and the man 75 That utters this, and I will scale them all, And from the utmost top fall on his neck, Like thunder from a cloud.

Dion. This is most strange: Sure, he does love her.

Phi. I do love fair truth. She is my mistress, and who injures her 80 Draws vengeance from me. Sirs, let go my arms.

Thra. Nay, good my lord, be patient.

Cle. Sir, remember this is your honour’d friend, That comes to do his service, and will show you Why he utter’d this.

Phi. I ask your pardon, sir; 85 My zeal to truth made me unmannerly: Should I have heard dishonour spoke of you, Behind your back, untruly, I had been As much distemper’d and enrag’d as now.

Dion. But this, my lord, is truth.

Phi. Oh, say not so! 90 Good sir, forbear to say so: ’t is then truth, That womankind is false: urge it no more; It is impossible. Why should you think The princess light?

Dion. Why, she was taken at it. 94

Phi. ’T is false! by Heaven, ’t is false! It cannot be! Can it? Speak, gentlemen; for God’s love, speak! Is ’t possible? Can women all be damn’d?

Dion. Why, no, my lord.

Phi. Why, then, it cannot be.

Dion. And she was taken with her boy.

Phi. What boy? 99

Dion. A page, a boy that serves her.

Phi. Oh, good gods! A little boy?

Dion. Ay; know you him my lord?

Phi. [Aside.] Hell and sin know him!—Sir, you are deceiv’d: I’ll reason it a little coldly with you. If she were lustful, would she take a boy, That knows not yet desire? She would have one 105 Should meet her thoughts and know the sin he acts, Which is the great delight of wickedness. You are abus’d,[3223] and so is she, and I.

Dion. How you, my lord?

Phi. Why, all the world ’s abus’d 109 In an unjust report.

Dion. Oh, noble sir, your virtues Cannot look into the subtle thoughts of woman! In short, my lord, I took them; I myself.

Phi. Now, all the devils, thou didst! Fly from my rage! Would thou hadst ta’en devils engend’ring plagues, When thou did’st take them! Hide thee from mine eyes! 115 Would thou hadst taken thunder on thy breast, When thou didst take them; or been strucken dumb For ever; that this foul deed might have slept In silence!

Thra. Have you known him so ill-temper’d?

Cle. Never before.

Phi. The winds that are let loose 120 From the four several corners of the earth, And spread themselves all over sea and land, Kiss not a chaste one. What friend bears a sword To run me thorough?

Dion. Why, my lord, are you So mov’d at this?

Phi. When any fall from virtue, 125 I am distract; I have an interest in ’t.

Dion. But, good my lord, recall yourself, and think What’s best to be done.

Phi. I thank you; I will do it. Please you to leave me; I’ll consider of it. To-morrow I will find your lodging forth, 130 And give you answer.

Dion. All the gods direct you The readiest way!

Thra. He was extreme impatient.

Cle. It was his virtue and his noble mind. Exeunt DION, CLEREMONT, and THRASILINE.

Phi. I had forgot to ask him where he took them; I’ll follow him. Oh that I had a sea 135 Within my breast, to quench the fire I feel! More circumstances will but fan this fire: It more afflicts me now, to know by whom This deed is done, than simply that ’t is done; And he that tells me this is honourable, 140 As far from lies as she is far from truth. Oh, that, like beasts, we could not grieve ourselves With that we see not! Bulls and rams will fight To keep their females standing in their sight; But take ’em from them, and you take at once 145 Their spleens away; and they will fall again Unto to their pastures, growing fresh and fat, And taste the waters of the springs as sweet As ’t was before, finding no start in sleep; 149 But miserable man—— Enter BELLARIO. See, see, you gods, He walks still; and the face you let him wear When he was innocent is still the same, Not blasted! Is this justice? Do you mean To intrap mortality, that you allow Treason so smooth a brow? I cannot now 155 Think he is guilty.

Bel. Health to you, my lord! The princess doth commend her love, her life, And this, unto you. Gives a letter.

Phi. Oh, Bellario, Now I perceive she loves me: she does show it In loving thee, my boy, she has made thee brave. 160

Bel. My lord, she has attir’d me past my wish, Past my desert; more fit for her attendant, Though far unfit for me who do attend.

Phi. Thou art grown courtly, boy.—Oh, let all women, 164 That love black deeds, learn to dissemble here, Here, by this paper! She does write to me As if her heart were mines of adamant To all the world besides; but, unto me, A maiden-snow that melted with my looks.— Tell me, my boy, how doth the princess use thee? 170 For I shall guess her love to me by that.

Bel. Scarce like her servant, but as if I were, Something allied to her, or had preserv’d Her life three times by my fidelity; As mothers fond do use their only sons, 175 As I ’d use one that’s left unto my trust, For whom my life should pay if he met harm, So she does use me.

Phi. Why, this is wondrous well: But what kind language does she feed thee with?

Bel. Why, she does tell me she will trust my youth 180 With all her loving secrets, and does call me Her pretty servant; bids me weep no more For leaving you; she ’ll see my services Regarded: and such words of that soft strain That I am nearer weeping when she ends 185 Than ere she spake.

Phi. This is much better still.

Bel. Are you not ill, my lord?

Phi. Ill? No, Bellario.

Bel. Methinks your words Fall not from off your tongue so evenly. Nor is there in your looks that quietness 190 That I was wont to see.

Phi. Thou art deceiv’d, boy: And she strokes thy head?

Bel. Yes.

Phi. And she does clap thy cheeks?

Bel. She does, my lord.

Phi. And she does kiss thee, boy? ha!

Bel. How, my lord? 194

Phi. She kisses thee?

Bel. Never, my lord, by heaven.

Phi. That ’s strange, I know she does.

Bel. No, by my life.

Phi. Why then she does not love me. Come, she does. I bade her do it; I charg’d her, by all charms Of love between us, by the hope of peace We should enjoy, to yield thee all delights 200 Naked as to her bed; I took her oath Thou shouldst enjoy her. Tell me, gentle boy, Is she not parallelless? Is not her breath Sweet as Arabian winds when fruits are ripe? Are not her breasts two liquid ivory balls? 205 Is she not all a lasting mine of joy?

Bel. Ay, now I see why my disturbed thoughts Were so perplex’d. When first I went to her, My heart held augury. You are abus’d; Some villain has abus’d you; I do see 210 Whereto you tend. Fall rocks upon his head That put this to you! ’T is some subtle train To bring that noble frame of yours to nought.

Phi. Thou think’st I will be angry with thee. Come, 214 Thou shalt know all my drift. I hate her more Than I love happiness, and plac’d thee there To pry with narrow eyes into her deeds. Hast thou discovered? Is she fallen to lust, As I would wish her? Speak some comfort to me.

Bel. My lord, you did mistake the boy you sent. 220 Had she the lust of sparrows or of goats, Had she a sin that way, bid from the world, Beyond the name of lust, I would not aid Her base desires; but what I came to know As servant to her, I would not reveal, 225 To make my life last ages.

Phi. Oh, my heart! This is a salve worse than the main disease.— Tell me thy thoughts; for I will know the least That dwells within thee, or will rip thy heart To know it. I will see thy thoughts as plain 230 As I do now thy face.

Bel. Why, so you do. She is (for aught I know) by all the gods, As chaste as ice! But were she foul as hell, And I did know it thus, the breath of kings, The points of swords, tortures, nor bulls of brass, 235 Should draw it from me.

Phi. Then it is no time To dally with thee; I will take thy life, For I do hate thee. I could curse thee now.

Bel. If you do hate, you could not curse me worse; The gods have not a punishment in store 240 Greater for me than is your hate.

Phi. Fie, fie, So young and so dissembling! Tell me when And where thou didst enjoy her, or let plagues Fall on me, if I destroy thee not! Draws his sword.

Bel. By heaven, I never did; and when I lie 245 To save my life, may I live long and loath’d! Hew me asunder, and, whilst I can think, I’ll love those pieces you have cut away Better than those that grow, and kiss those limbs 249 Because you made ’em so.

Phi. Fear’st thou not death? Can boys contemn that?

Bel. Oh, what boy is he Can be content to live to be a man, That sees the best of men thus passionate, Thus without reason?

Phi. Oh, but thou dost not know What ’t is to die.

Bel. Yes, I do know, my lord: 255 ’T is less than to be born; a lasting sleep; A quiet resting from all jealousy, A thing we all pursue. I know, besides, It is but giving over a game 259 That must be lost.

Phi. But there are pains, false boy, For perjur’d souls. Think but on those, and then Thy heart will melt, and thou wilt utter all.

Bel. May they fall all upon me whilst I live, If I be perjur’d, or have ever thought Of that you charge me with! If I be false, 265 Send me to suffer in those punishments You speak of; kill me!

Phi. Oh, what should I do? Why, who can but believe him? He does swear So earnestly, that if it were not true, The gods would not endure him. Rise, Bellario: 270 Thy protestations are so deep, and thou Dost look so truly when thou utter’st them, That, though I know ’em false as were my hopes, I cannot urge thee further. But thou wert To blame to injure me, for I must love 275 Thy honest looks, and take no revenge upon Thy tender youth. A love from me to thee Is firm, whate’er thou dost; it troubles me That I have call’d the blood out of thy cheeks, That did so well become thee. But, good boy, Let me not see thee more: something is done 281 That will distract me, that will make me mad, If I behold thee. If thou tender’st me, Let me not see thee.

Bel. I will fly as far As there is morning, ere I give distaste 285 To that most honour’d mind. But through these tears, Shed at my hopeless parting, I can see A world of treason practis’d upon you, And her, and me. Farewell for evermore! 289 If you shall hear that sorrow struck me dead, And after find me loyal, let there be A tear shed from you in my memory, And I shall rest in peace. Exit.

Phi. Blessing be with thee, Whatever thou deserv’st! Oh, where shall I Go bathe this body? Nature too unkind; 295 That made no medicine for a troubled mind! Exit.

[SCENE II.][3224]

Enter ARETHUSA.

Are. I marvel my boy comes not back again: But that I know my love will question him Over and over,—how I slept, wak’d, talk’d, How I rememb’red him when his dear name Was last spoke, and how when I sigh’d, wept, sung, 5 And ten thousand such,—I should be angry at his stay.

Enter KING.

King. What, at your meditations! Who attends you?

Are. None but my single self. I need no guard; I do no wrong, nor fear none.

King. Tell me, have you not a boy?

Are. Yes, sir. 10

King. What kind of boy?

Are. A page, a waiting-boy.

King. A handsome boy?

Are. I think he be not ugly: Well qualified and dutiful I know him; I took him not for beauty.

King. He speaks and sings and plays?

Are. Yes, sir. 15

King. About eighteen?

Are. I never ask’d his age.

King. Is he full of service?

Are. By your pardon, why do you ask?

King. Put him away.

Are. Sir!

King. Put him away, I say. H’as done you that good service shames me to speak of. 20

Are. Good sir, let me understand you.

King. If you fear me, Show it in duty; put away that boy.

Are. Let me have reason for it, sir, and then Your will is my command.

King. Do not you blush to ask it? Cast him off, 25 Or I shall do the same to you. You’re one Shame with me, and so near unto myself, That, by my life, I dare not tell myself What you, myself, have done.

Are. What have I done, my lord? 30

King. ’T is a new language, that all love to learn: The common people speak it well already; They need no grammar. Understand me well; There be foul whispers stirring. Cast him off, And suddenly. Do it! Farewell. Exit. 35

Are. Where may a maiden live securely free, Keeping her honour fair? Not with the living. They feed upon opinions, errors, dreams, And make ’em truths; they draw a nourishment Out of defamings, grow upon disgraces, 40 And, when they see a virtue fortified Strongly above the batt’ry of their tongues, Oh, how they cast[3225] to sink it! and, defeated, (Soul-sick with poison) strike the monuments 44 Where noble names lie sleeping, till they sweat, And the cold marble melt.

Enter PHILASTER.

Phi. Peace to your fairest thoughts, dearest mistress!

Are. Oh, my dearest servant,[3226] I have a war within me!

Phi. He must be more than man that makes these crystals Run into rivers. Sweetest fair, the cause? 50 And, as I am your slave, tied to your goodness, Your creature, made again from what I was And newly-spirited, I’ll right your honour.

Are. Oh, my best love, that boy?

Phi. What boy?

Are. The pretty boy you gave me——

Phi. What of him? 55

Are. Must be no more mine.

Phi. Why?

Are. They are jealous of him.

Phi. Jealous! Who?

Are. The King.

Phi. [Aside.] Oh, my misfortune! Then ’tis no idle jealousy.—Let him go.

Are. Oh, cruel! Are you hard-hearted too? Who shall now tell you 60 How much I lov’d you? Who shall swear it to you, And weep the tears I send? Who shall now bring you Letters, rings, bracelets? Lose his health in service? Wake tedious nights in stories of your praise? Who shall now sing your crying elegies, 65 And strike a sad soul into senseless pictures, And make them mourn? Who shall take up his lute, And touch it till he crown a silent sleep Upon my eye-lids, making me dream, and cry, “Oh, my dear, dear Philaster!”

Phi. [Aside.] Oh, my heart! 70 Would he had broken thee, that made me know This lady was not loyal!—Mistress, Forget the boy; I’ll get thee a far better.

Are. Oh, never, never such a boy again As my Bellario!

Phi. ’Tis but your fond affection. 75

Are. With thee, my boy, farewell for ever All secrecy in servants! Farewell, faith, And all desire to do well for itself! Let all that shall succeed thee for thy wrongs Sell and betray chaste love! 80

Phi. And all this passion for a boy?

Are. He was your boy, and you put him to me, And the loss of such must have a mourning for.

Phi. Oh, thou forgetful woman!

Are. How, my lord?

Phi. False Arethusa! 85 Hast thou a medicine to restore my wits, When I have lost ’em? If not, leave to talk, And do thus.

Are. Do what, sir? Would you sleep?

Phi. For ever, Arethusa. Oh, you gods Give me a worthy patience! Have I stood, 90 Naked, alone, the shock of many fortunes? Have I seen mischiefs numberless and mighty Grow like a sea upon me? Have I taken Danger as stern as death into my bosom, And laught upon it, made it but a mirth, 95 And flung it by? Do I live now like him, Under this tyrant King, that languishing Hears his sad bell and sees his mourners? Do I Bear all this bravely, and must sink at length Under a woman’s falsehood? Oh, that boy, 100 That cursed boy! None but a villain boy To ease your lust?

Are. Nay, then, I am betrayed: I feel the plot cast for my overthrow. Oh, I am wretched!

Phi. Now you may take that little right I have 105 To this poor kingdom. Give it to your joy; For I have no joy in it. Some far place, Where never womankind durst set her foot For[3227] bursting with her poisons, must I seek, And live to curse you; 110 There dig a cave, and preach to birds and beasts What woman is, and help to save them from you; How heaven is in your eyes, but in your hearts More hell than hell has; how your tongues, like scorpions, Both heal and poison;[3228] how your thoughts are woven 115 With thousand changes in one subtle web, And worn so by you; how that foolish man, That reads the story of a woman’s face And dies believing it, is lost for ever; How all the good you have is but a shadow, 120 I’ the morning with you, and at night behind you. Past and forgotten; how your vows are frosts, Fast for a night, and with the next sun gone; How you are, being taken all together, A mere confusion, and so dead a chaos, 125 That love cannot distinguish. These sad texts, Till my last hour, I am bound to utter of you. So, farewell all my woe, all my delight! Exit.

Are. Be merciful, ye gods, and strike me dead! What way have I deserv’d this? Make my breast 130 Transparent as pure crystall, that the world, Jealous of me, may see the foulest thought My heart holds. Where shall a woman turn her eyes, To find out constancy? Enter BELLARIO. Save me, how black And guiltily, methinks, that boy looks now! 135 Oh, thou dissembler, that, before thou spak’st, Wert in thy cradle false, sent to make lies And betray innocents! Thy lord and thou May glory in the ashes of a maid Fool’d by her passion; but the conquest is 140 Nothing so great as wicked. Fly away! Let my command force thee to that which shame Would do without it. If thou understood’st The loathed office thou hast undergone, Why, thou wouldst hide thee under heaps of hills, 145 Lest men should dig and find thee.

Bel. Oh, what god, Angry with men, hath sent this strange disease Into the noblest minds! Madam, this grief You add unto me is no more than drops 149 To seas, for which they are not seen to swell. My lord hath struck his anger through my heart, And let out all the hope of future joys. You need not bid me fly; I came to part, To take my latest leave. Farewell for ever! I durst not run away in honesty 155 From such a lady, like a boy that stole Or made some grievous fault. The power of gods Assist you in your sufferings! Hasty time Reveal the truth to your abused lord And mine, that he may know your worth; whilst I 160 Go seek out some forgotten place to die! Exit.

Are. Peace guide thee! Thou hast overthrown me once; Yet, if I had another Troy to lose, Thou, or another villain with thy looks, 164 Might talk me out of it, and send me naked, My hair dishevell’d, through the fiery streets.

Enter a Lady.

Lady. Madam, the King would hunt, and calls for you With earnestness.

Are. I am in tune to hunt! Diana, if thou canst rage with a maid As with a man,[3229] let me discover thee 170 Bathing, and turn me to a fearful hind, That I may die pursued by cruel hounds, And have my story written in my wounds! Exeunt.

Spotted a typo or a problem in this chapter? Tell us

Act IV, Scene I — [3230]

Enter KING, PHARAMOND, ARETHUSA, GALATEA, MEGRA, DION, CLEREMONT, THRASILINE, and Attendants.

King. What, are the hounds before and all the woodmen? Our horses ready and our bows bent?

Dion. All, sir.

King. [to PHARAMOND.] You are cloudy, sir. Come, we have forgotten Your venial trepass; let not that sit heavy Upon your spirit; here’s none dare utter it. 5

Dion. He looks like an old surfeited stallion, dull as a dormouse. See how he sinks! The wench has shot him between wind and water, and, I hope, sprung a leak.

Thra. He needs no teaching, he strikes (10) sure enough. His greatest fault is, he hunts too much in the purlieus; would he would leave off poaching!

Dion. And for his horn, h’as left it at the lodge where he lay late. Oh, he ’s a precious (15) limehound![3231] Turn him loose upon the pursuit of a lady, and if he lose her, hang him up i’ the slip. When my fox-bitch Beauty grows proud, I ’ll borrow him.

King. Is your boy turn’d away? 20

Are. You did command, sir, and I obey’d you.

King. ’Tis well done. Hark ye further. [They talk apart.]

Cle. Is ’t possible this fellow should repent? Methinks, that were not noble in him; and (25) yet he looks like a mortified member, as if he had a sick man’s salve[3232] in ’s mouth. If a worse man had done this fault now, some physical[3233] justice or other would presently (without the help of an almanack[3234]) have opened the obstructions (30) of his liver, and let him blood with a dog-whip.

Dion. See, see how modestly yon lady looks, as if she came from churching with her neighbours! Why, what a devil can a man see in 35 her face but that she ’s honest![3235]

Thra. Faith, no great matter to speak of; a foolish twinkling with the eye, that spoils her coat;[3236] but he must be a cunning herald that finds it. 40

Dion. See how they muster one another! Oh, there’s a rank regiment where the devil carries the colours and his dam drum-major! Now the world and the flesh come behind with the carriage.[3237] 45

Cle. Sure this lady has a good turn done her against her will; before she was common talk, now none dare say cantharides[3238] can stir her. Her face looks like a warrant, willing and commanding all tongues, as they will answer it, (50) to be tied up and bolted when this lady means to let herself loose. As I live, she has got her a goodly protection and a gracious; and may use her body discreetly for her health’s sake, once a week, excepting Lent and dog-days. Oh, 55 if they were to be got for money, what a great sum would come out of the city for these licences!

King. To horse, to horse! we lose the morning, gentlemen. Exeunt. 60

[SCENE II.][3239]

Enter two Woodmen.

1 Wood. What, have you lodged the deer?

2 Wood. Yes, they are ready for the bow.

1 Wood. Who shoots?

2 Wood. The princess.

1 Wood. No, she ’ll hunt.

2 Wood. She ’ll take a stand, I say.

1 Wood. Who else?

2 Wood. Why, the young stranger-prince.

1 Wood. He shall shoot in a stone-bow[3240] for me. I never lov’d his beyond-sea-ship since (10) he forsook the say,[3241] for paying ten shillings. He was there at the fall of a deer, and would needs (out of his mightiness) give ten groats for the dowcets; marry, his steward would have the velvet-head[3242] into the bargain, to 15 turf[3243] his hat withal. I think he should love venery; he is an old Sir Tristrem; for, if you be rememb’red, he forsook the stag once to strike a rascal[3244] miching[3245] in a meadow, and her he kill’d in the eye. Who shoots else? 20

2 Wood. The Lady Galatea.

1 Wood. That ’s a good wench, an she would not chide us for tumbling of her women in the brakes. She ’s liberal, and by the Gods, they say she ’s honest, and whether that be a (25) fault, I have nothing to do. There ’s all?

2 Wood. No, one more; Megra.

1 Wood. That ’s a firker,[3246] i’ faith, boy. There ’s a wench will ride her haunches as hard after a kennel of hounds as a hunting (30) saddle, and when she comes home, get ’em clapt, and all is well again. I have known her lose herself three times in one afternoon (if the woods have been answerable),[3247] and it has been work enough for one man to find her, and (35) he has sweat for it. She rides well and she pays well. Hark! let’s go. Exeunt.

Enter PHILASTER.

Phi. Oh, that I had been nourish’d in these woods With milk of goats and acorns, and not known The right of crowns nor the dissembling trains Of women’s looks; but digg’d myself a cave 41 Where I, my fire, my cattle, and my bed, Might have been shut together in one shed; And then had taken me some mountain-girl, Beaten with winds, chaste as the hard’ned rocks 45 Whereon she dwelt, that might have strewed my bed With leaves and reeds, and with the skins of beasts, Our neighbours, and have borne at her big breasts My large coarse issue! This had been a life Free from vexation.

Enter BELLARIO.

Bel. Oh, wicked men! 50 An innocent may walk safe among beasts; Nothing assaults me here. See, my griev’d lord Sits as his soul were searching out a way To leave his body!—Pardon me, that must Break thy last commandment; for I must speak. 55 You that are griev’d can pity; hear, my lord!

Phi. Is there a creature yet so miserable, That I can pity?

Bel. Oh, my noble lord, View my strange fortune, and bestow on me, According to your bounty (if my service 60 Can merit nothing), so much as may serve To keep that little piece I hold of life From cold and hunger!

Phi. Is it thou? Be gone! Go, sell those misbeseeming clothes thou wear’st, And feed thyself with them. 65

Bel. Alas, my lord, I can get nothing for them! The silly country-people think ’t is treason To touch such gay things.

Phi. Now, by the gods, this is Unkindly done, to vex me with thy sight. Thou ’rt fallen again to thy dissembling trade; How shouldest thou think to cozen me again? 71 Remains there yet a plague untried for me? Even so thou wept’st, and lookt’st, and spok’st when first I took thee up. Curse on the time! If thy commanding tears 75 Can work on any other, use thy art; I ’ll not betray it. Which way wilt thou take, That I may shun thee, for thine eyes are poison To mine, and I am loth to grow in rage? This way, or that way? 80

Bel. Any will serve; but I will choose to have That path in chase that leads unto my grave. Exeunt severally.

Enter [on one side] DION, and [on the other] the two Woodmen.

Dion. This is the strangest sudden chance!—You, woodmen!

1 Wood. My lord Dion?

Dion. Saw you a lady come this way on a sable horse studded with stars of white? 85

1 Wood. Was she not young and tall?

Dion. Yes. Rode she to the wood or to the plain?

2 Wood. Faith, my lord, we saw none. Exeunt Woodmen.

Dion. Pox of your questions then! Enter CLEREMONT. What, is she found?

Cle. Nor will be, I think. 90

Dion. Let him seek his daughter himself. She cannot stray about a little necessary natural business, but the whole court must be in arms. When she has done, we shall have peace.

Cle. There’s already a thousand fatherless (95) tales amongst us. Some say, her horse ran away with her; some, a wolf pursued her; others, ’t was a plot to kill her, and that arm’d men were seen in the wood: but questionless she rode away willingly. 100

Enter KING and THRASILINE.

King. Where is she?

Cle. Sir, I cannot tell.

King. How’s that? Answer me so again!

Cle. Sir, shall I lie?

King. Yes, lie and damn, rather than tell me that, I say again, where is she? Mutter not!— Sir, speak you; where is she?

Dion. Sir, I do not know. 105

King. Speak that again so boldly, and, by Heaven, It is thy last!—You, fellows, answer me; Where is she? Mark me, all; I am your king: I wish to see my daughter; show her me; I do command you all, as you are subjects, 110 To show her me! What! am I not your king? If ay, then am I not to be obeyed?

Dion. Yes, if you command things possible and honest.

King. Things possible and honest! Hear me, thou,— Thou traitor, that dar’st confine thy King to things 115 Possible and honest! Show her me, Or, let me perish, if I cover not All Sicily with blood!

Dion. Faith, I cannot, Unless you tell me where she is.

King. You have betray’d me; you have let me lose 120 The jewel of my life. Go, bring her to me, And set her here before me. ’Tis the king Will have it so; whose breath can still the winds, Uncloud the sun, charm down the swelling sea, And stop the floods of heaven. Speak, can it not? 125

Dion. No.

King. No! cannot the breath of kings do this?

Dion. No; nor smell sweet itself, if once the lungs Be but corrupted.

King. Is it so? Take heed!

Dion. Sir, take you heed how you dare the powers That must be just.

King. Alas! what are we kings! 130 Why do you gods place us above the rest, To be serv’d, flatter’d, and ador’d, till we Believe we hold within our hands your thunder? And when we come to try the power we have, There’s not a leaf shakes at our threat’nings. I have sinn’d, ’tis true, and here stand to be punish’d; 136 Yet would not thus be punish’d. Let me choose My way, and lay it on!

Dion. [Aside.] He articles with the gods. Would somebody would draw bonds for the performance of covenants betwixt them! 141

Enter PHARAMOND, GALATEA, and MEGRA.

King. What, is she found?

Pha. No; we have ta’en her horse; He gallopt empty by. There is some treason. You, Galatea, rode with her into the wood; Why left you her?

Gal. She did command me. 145

King. Command! you should not.

Gal. ’Twould ill become my fortunes and my birth To disobey the daughter of my king.

King. You ’re all cunning to obey us for our hurt; But I will have her.

Pha. If I have her not, 150 By this hand, there shall be no more Sicily.

Dion. [Aside.] What, will he carry it to Spain in ’s pocket?

Pha. I will not leave one man alive, but the king, A cook, and a tailor. 154

Dion. [Aside.] Yes; you may do well to spare your lady-bedfellow; and her you may keep for a spawner.

King. [Aside.] I see the injuries I have done must be reveng’d.

Dion. Sir, this is not the way to find her out.

King. Run all, disperse yourselves. The man that finds her, 160 Or (if she be kill’d) the traitor, I’ll make him great.

Dion. I know some would give five thousand pounds to find her.

Pha. Come, let us seek.

King. Each man a several way; here I myself.

Dion. Come, gentlemen, we here. 165

Cle. Lady, you must go search too.

Meg. I had rather be search’d myself. Exeunt [severally].

[SCENE III.][3248]

Enter ARETHUSA.

Are. Where am I now? Feet, find me out a way, Without the counsel of my troubled head. I’ll follow you boldly about these woods, O’er mountains, thorough brambles, pits, and floods. Heaven, I hope, will ease me: I am sick. Sits down. 5

Enter BELLARIO.

Bel. [Aside.] Yonder ’s my lady. God knows I want nothing, Because I do not wish to live; yet I Will try her charity.—Oh hear, you have plenty! From that flowing store drop some on dry ground.—See, The lively red is gone to guard her heart! 10 I fear she faints.—Madam, look up!—She breathes not.— Open once more those rosy twins, and send Unto my lord your latest farewell!—Oh, she stirs.— How is it, Madam? Speak comfort.

Are. ’T is not gently done, To put me in a miserable life, 15 And hold me there. I prithee, let me go; I shall do best without thee; I am well.

Enter PHILASTER.

Phi. I am to blame to be so much in rage. I ’ll tell her coolly when and where I heard This killing truth. I will be temperate 20 In speaking, and as just in hearing.—— Oh, monstrous! Tempt me not, you gods! good gods, Tempt not a frail man! What ’s he, that has a heart, But he must ease it here!

Bel. My lord, help, help! The princess! 25

Are. I am well: forbear.

Phi. [Aside.] Let me love lightning, let me be embrac’d And kist by scorpions, or adore the eyes Of basilisks, rather than trust the tongues Of hell-bred women! Some good god look down, 30 And shrink these veins up! Stick me here a stone, Lasting to ages in the memory Of this damn’d act!—Hear me, you wicked ones! You have put hills of fire into this breast, Not to be quench’d with tears; for which may guilt 35 Sit on your bosoms! At your meals and beds Despair await you! What, before my face? Poison of asps between your lips! Diseases Be your best issues! Nature make a curse, And throw it on you!

Are. Dear Philaster, leave 40 To be enrag’d, and hear me.

Phi. I have done; Forgive my passion. Not the calmed sea, When Aeolus locks up his windy brood, Is less disturb’d than I. I ’ll make you know ’t. Dear Arethusa, do but take this sword, Offers his drawn sword. 45 And search how temperate a heart I have; Then you and this your boy may live and reign In lust without control.—Wilt thou, Bellario? I prithee kill me; thou art poor, and may’st 49 Nourish ambitious thoughts; when I am dead, Thy way were freer. Am I raging now? If I were mad, I should desire to live. Sirs,[3249] feel my pulse, whether you have known A man in a more equal tune to die.

Bel. Alas, my lord, your pulse keeps madman’s time! 55 So does your tongue.

Phi. You will not kill me, then?

Are. Kill you!

Bel. Not for the world.

Phi. I blame not thee, Bellario; thou hast done but that which gods Would have transform’d themselves to do. Be gone, Leave me without reply; this is the last 60 Of all our meetings—(Exit BELLARIO.) Kill me with this sword; Be wise, or worse will follow: we are two Earth cannot bear at once. Resolve to do, Or suffer. 64

Are. If my fortune be so good to let me fall Upon thy hand, I shall have peace in death. Yet tell me this, will there be no slanders, No jealousy in the other world; no ill there?

Phi. No.

Are. Show me, then, the way. 70

Phi. Then guide my feeble hand, You that have power to do it, for I must Perform a piece of justice!—If your youth Have any way offended Heaven, let prayers Short and effectual reconcile you to it. 75

Are. I am prepared.

Enter a Country Fellow.

C. Fell. I ’ll see the King, if be he in the forest; I have hunted him these two hours. If I should come home and not see him, my sisters would laugh at me. I can see nothing (80) but people better hors’d than myself, that outride me; I can hear nothing but shouting. These kings had need of good brains; this whooping is able to put a mean man out of his wits. There ’s a courtier with his sword 85 drawn; by this hand, upon a woman, I think!

Phi. Are you at peace?

Are. With heaven and earth.

Phi. May they divide thy soul and body! Wounds her.

C. Fell. Hold, dastard! strike a woman! Thou ’rt a craven. I warrant thee, thou (90) wouldst be loth to play half a dozen venies[3250] at wasters[3251] with a good fellow for a broken head.

Phi. Leave us, good friend.

Are. What ill-bred man art thou, to intrude thyself Upon our private sports, our recreation? 95

C. Fell. God ’uds[3252] me, I understand you not; but I know the rogue has hurt you.

Phi. Pursue thy own affairs: it will be ill To multiply blood upon my head; which thou Wilt force me to. 100

C. Fell. I know not your rhetoric; but I can lay it on, if you touch the woman.

Phi. Slave, take what thou deservest! They fight.

Are. Heavens guard my lord!

C. Fell. Oh, do you breathe? 104

Phi. I hear the tread of people. I am hurt. The gods take part against me: could this boor Have held me thus else? I must shift for life, Though I do loathe it. I would find a course To lose it rather by my will than force. Exit.

C. Fell. I cannot follow the rogue. I pray thee, wench, come and kiss me now. 111

Enter PHARAMOND, DION, CLEREMONT, THRASILINE, and Woodmen.

Pha. What art thou?

C. Fell. Almost kill’d I am for a foolish woman; a knave has hurt her. 114

Pha. The princess, gentlemen!—Where ’s the wound, madam! Is it dangerous?

Are. He has not hurt me.

C. Fell. By God, she lies; h’as hurt her in the breast; Look else.

Pha. O sacred spring of innocent blood!

Dion. ’T is above wonder! Who should dare this? 120

Are. I felt it not.

Pha. Speak, villain, who has hurt the princess?

C. Fell. Is it the princess?

Dion. Ay.

C. Fell. Then I have seen something yet. 125

Pha. But who has hurt her?

C. Fell. I told you, a rogue; I ne’er saw him before, I.

Pha. Madam, who did it?

Are. Some dishonest wretch; Alas, I know him not, and do forgive him!

C. Fell. He ’s hurt too; he cannot go far; (130) I made my father’s old fox[3253] fly about his ears.

Pha. How will you have me kill him?

Are. Not at all; ’t is some distracted fellow.

Pha. By this hand, I ’ll leave ne’er a piece of him bigger than a nut, and bring him (135) all to you in my hat.

Are. Nay, good sir. If you do take him, bring him quick[3254] to me, And I will study for a punishment Great as his fault. 140

Pha. I will.

Are. But swear.

Pha. By all my love, I will.—— Woodmen, conduct the princess to the King, And bear that wounded fellow to dressing.—— Come, gentlemen, we ’ll follow the chase close.

Exeunt [on one side] PHARAMOND, DION, CLEREMONT, and THRASILINE; [exit on the other] ARETHUSA [attended by] 1 Woodman.

C. Fell. I pray you, friend, let me see (145) the King.

2 Wood. That you shall, and receive thanks.

C. Fell. If I get clear with this, I ’ll go see no more gay sights. Exeunt. 150

[SCENE IV.][3255]

Enter BELLARIO.

Bel. A heaviness near death sits on my brow, And I must sleep. Bear me, thou gentle bank, For ever, if thou wilt. You sweet ones all, [Lies down.] Let me unworthy press you; I could wish I rather were a corse strew’d o’er with you 5 Than quick above you. Dulness[3256] shuts mine eyes, And I am giddy: oh, that I could take So sound a sleep that I might never wake! [Sleeps.]

Enter PHILASTER.

Phi. I have done ill; my conscience calls me false To strike at her that would not strike at me. 10 When I did fight, methought I heard her pray The gods to guard me. She may be abus’d, And I a loathed villain; if she be, She will conceal who hurt her. He has wounds And cannot follow; neither knows he me. 15 Who ’s this? Bellario sleeping! If thou be’st Guilty, there is no justice that thy sleep Should be so sound, and mine, whom thou hast wrong’d, So broken. (Cry within.) Hark! I am pursued. You gods I ’ll take this offer’d means of my escape. 20 They have no mark to know me but my blood, If she be true; if false, let mischief light On all the world at once! Sword, print my wounds Upon this sleeping boy! I ha’ none, I think, Are mortal, nor would I lay greater on thee. Wounds Bellario. 25

Bel. Oh. death, I hope, is come! Blest be that hand! It meant me well. Again, for pity’s sake!

Phi. I have caught myself; Falls. The loss of blood hath stay’d my flight. Here, here, 29 Is he that struck thee: take thy full revenge; Use me, as I did mean thee, worse than death; I ’ll teach thee to revenge. This luckless hand Wounded the princess; tell my followers[3257] Thou didst receive these hurts in staying me, And I will second thee; get a reward. 35

Bel. Fly, fly, my lord, and save yourself!

Phi. How ’s this? Wouldst thou I should be safe?

Bel. Else were it vain For me to live. These little wounds I have Ha’ not bled much. Reach me that noble hand; I ’ll help to cover you.

Phi. Art thou then true to me? 40

Bel. Or let me perish loath’d! Come, my good lord, Creep in amongst those bushes; who does know But that the gods may save your much-lov’d breath?

Phi. Then I shall die for grief, if not for this, That I have wounded thee. What wilt thou do? 45

Bel. Shift for myself well. Peace! I hear ’em come. [PHILASTER creeps into a bush.] [Voices] within. Follow, follow, follow! that way they went.

Bel. With my own wounds I ’ll bloody my own sword. I need not counterfeit to fall; Heaven knows That I can stand no longer. Falls. 50

Enter PHARAMOND, DION, CLEREMONT, and THRASILINE.

Pha. To this place we have trackt him by his blood.

Cle. Yonder, my lord, creeps one away.

Dion. Stay, sir! what are you?

Bel. A wretched creature, wounded in these woods 54 By beasts. Relieve me, if your names be men, Or I shall perish.

Dion. This is he, my lord, Upon my soul, that hurt her. ’T is the boy. That wicked boy, that serv’d her.

Pha. Oh, thou damn’d In thy creation! What cause couldst thou shape To hurt the princess?

Bel. Then I am betrayed. 60

Dion. Betrayed! No, apprehended,

Bel. I confess, (Urge it no more) that, big with evil thoughts I set upon her, and did make my aim, Her death. For charity let fall at once The punishment you mean, and do not load 65 This weary flesh with tortures.

Pha. I will know Who hir’d thee to this deed.

Bel. Mine own revenge.

Pha. Revenge! for what?

Bel. It pleas’d her to receive Me as her page and, when my fortunes ebb’d, That men strid o’er them careless, she did shower 70 Her welcome graces on me, and did swell My fortunes till they overflow’d their banks, Threat’ning the men that crost ’em; when, as swift As storms arise at sea, she turn’d her eyes To burning suns upon me, and did dry 75 The streams she had bestow’d, leaving me worse And more contemn’d than other little brooks, Because I had been great. In short, I knew I could not live, and therefore did desire To die reveng’d.

Pha. If tortures can be found 80 Long as thy natural life, resolve to feel The utmost rigour. PHILASTER creeps out of the bush.

Cle. Help to lead him hence.

Phi. Turn back, you ravishers of innocence! Know ye the price of that you bear away So rudely?

Pha. Who ’s that?

Dion. ’T is the Lord Philaster. 85

Phi. ’T is not the treasure of all kings in one, The wealth of Tagus, nor the rocks of pearl That pave the court of Neptune, can weigh down That virtue. It was I that hurt the princess. Place me, some god, upon a pyramis[3258] 90 Higher than hills of earth, and lend a voice Loud as your thunder to me, that from hence I may discourse to all the under-world The worth that dwells in him!

Pha. How ’s this?

Bel. My lord, some man Weary of life, that would he glad to die. 95

Phi. Leave these untimely courtesies, Bellario.

Bel. Alas, he ’s mad! Come, will you lead me on?

Phi. By all the oaths that men ought most to keep, And gods to punish most when men do break, He touch’d her not.—Take heed, Bellario, 100 How thou dost drown the virtues thou hast shown With perjury.—By all that ’s good, ’t was I! You know she stood betwixt me and my right.

Pha. Thy own tongue be thy judge!

Cle. It was Philaster.

Dion. Is ’t not a brave boy? 105 Well, sirs, I fear me we were all deceived.

Phi. Have I no friend here?

Dion. Yes.

Phi. Then show it: some Good body lend a hand to draw us nearer. Would you have tears shed for you when you die? Then lay me gently on his neck, that there 110 I may weep floods and breathe forth my spirit. ’T is not the wealth of Plutus, nor the gold [Embraces Bel.] Lockt in the heart of earth, can buy away This arm-full from me; this had been a ransom 114 To have redeem’d the great Augustus Cæsar, Had he been taken. You hard-hearted men, More stony than these mountains, can you see Such clear pure blood drop, and not cut your flesh To stop his life, to bind whose bitter wounds. Queens ought to tear their hair, and with their tears 120 Bathe ’em?—Forgive me, thou that art the wealth Of poor Philaster!

Enter KING, ARETHUSA, and Guard.

King. Is the villain ta’en?

Pha. Sir, here be two confess the deed; but sure It was Philaster.

Phi. Question it no more; It was.

King. The fellow that did fight with him, 125 Will tell us that.

Are. Aye me! I know he will.

King. Did not you know him?

Are. Sir, if it was he, He was disguis’d.

Phi. I was so.—Oh, my stars, That I should live still. Aside.

King. Thou ambitious fool, Thou that hast laid a train for thy own life!— Now I do mean to do, I’ll leave to talk. 131 Bear them to prison.

Are. Sir, they did plot together to take hence This harmless life; should it pass unreveng’d, I should to earth go weeping. Grant me, then, By all the love a father bears his child, 135 Their custodies, and that I may appoint Their tortures and their deaths.

Dion. Death! Soft; our law will not reach that for this fault.

King. ’T is granted; take ’em to you with a guard.— 140 Come, princely Pharamond, this business past, We may with security go on To your intended match. [Exeunt all except DION, CLEREMONT, and THRASILINE.]

Cle. I pray that this action lose not Philaster the hearts of the people. 145

Dion. Fear it not; their over-wise heads will think it but a trick. Exeunt.

Spotted a typo or a problem in this chapter? Tell us

Act V, Scene I — [3259]

Enter DION, CLEREMONT, and THRASILINE.

Thra. Has the King sent for him to death?

Dion. Yes; but the King must know ’t is not in his power to war with Heaven.

Cle. We linger time; the King sent for Philaster and the headsman an hour ago. 5

Thra. Are all his wounds well?

Dion. All; they were but scratches; but the loss of blood made him faint.

Cle. We dally, gentlemen.

Thra. Away! 10

Dion. We’ll scuffle hard before we perish. Exeunt.

[SCENE II.][3260]

Enter PHILASTER, ARETHUSA, and BELLARIO.

Are. Nay, faith, Philaster, grieve not; we are well.

Bel. Nay, good my lord, forbear; we’re wondrous well.

Phi. Oh, Arethusa, oh, Bellario, Leave to be kind! I shall be shut from Heaven, as now from earth, If you continue so. I am a man 6 False to a pair of the most trusty ones That ever earth bore; can it bear us all? Forgive, and leave me. But the King hath sent To call me to my death: oh, shew it me, 10 And then forget me! And for thee, my boy, I shall deliver words will mollify The hearts of beasts to spare thy innocence.

Bel. Alas, my lord, my life is not a thing Worthy your noble thoughts! ’T is not a life, 15 ’T is but a piece of childhood thrown away. Should I outlive you, I should then outlive Virtue and honour; and when that day comes, If ever I shall close these eyes but once, May I live spotted for my perjury, 20 And waste my limbs to nothing!

Are. And I (the woful’st maid that ever was, Forc’d with my hands to bring my lord to death) Do by the honour of a virgin swear To tell no hours beyond it!

Phi. Make me not hated so. 25

Are. Come from this prison all joyful to our deaths!

Phi. People will tear me, when they find you true To such a wretch as I; I shall die loath’d. Enjoy your kingdoms peacably, whilst I For ever sleep forgotten with my faults. 30 Every just servant, every maid in love, Will have a piece of me, if you be true.

Are. My dear lord, say not so.

Bel. A piece of you! He was not born of woman that can cut It and look on. 35

Phi. Take me in tears betwixt you, for my heart Will break with shame and sorrow.

Are. Why, ’t is well.

Bel. Lament no more.

Phi. Why, what would you have done If you had wrong’d me basely, and had found Your[3261] life no price compar’d to mine?[3261] For love, sirs, 40 Deal with me truly.

Bel. ’T was mistaken, sir.

Phi. Why, if it were?

Bel. Then, sir, we would have ask’d You pardon.

Phi. And have hope to enjoy it?

Are. Enjoy it! ay.

Phi. Would you indeed? Be plain.

Bel. We would, my lord.

Phi. Forgive me, then.

Are. So, so. 45

Bel. ’T is as it should be now.

Phi. Lead to my death. Exeunt.

[SCENE III.][3262]

Enter KING, DION, CLEREMONT, THRASILINE [and Attendants].

King. Gentlemen, who saw the prince?

Cle. So please you, sir, he’s gone to see the city And the new platform, with some gentlemen Attending on him.

King. Is the princess ready To bring her prisoner out?

Thra. She waits your grace. 5

King. Tell her we stay. Exit THRASILINE.

Dion. [Aside.] King, you may be deceiv’d yet. The head you aim at cost more setting on Than to be lost so lightly. If it must off,— Like a wild overflow, that swoops before him A golden stack, and with it shakes down bridges, 10 Cracks the strong hearts of pines, whose cable-roots Held out a thousand storms, a thousand thunders, And, so made mightier, takes whole villages Upon his back, and in that heat of pride 14 Charges strong towns, towers, castles, palaces, And lays them desolate; so shall thy head, Thy noble head, bury the lives of thousands, That must bleed with thee like a sacrifice, In thy red ruins.

Enter ARETHUSA, PHILASTER, BELLARIO in a robe and garland [and THRASILINE].

King. How now? What masque is this? 20

Bel. Right royal sir, I should Sing you an epithalamion of these lovers, But having lost my best airs with my fortunes, And wanting a celestial harp to strike This blessed union on, thus in glad story 25 I give you all. These two fair cedar-branches, The noblest of the mountain where they grew, Straightest and tallest, under whose still shades The worthier beasts have made their lairs, and slept Free from the fervour of the Sirian star 30 And the fell thunder-stroke, free from the clouds When they were big with humour, and deliver’d In thousand spouts their issues to the earth; Oh, there was none but silent quiet there! Till never-pleased Fortune shot up shrubs, 35 Base under-brambles, to divorce these branches; And for a while they did so, and did reign Over the mountain, and choke up his beauty With brakes, rude thorns and thistles, till the sun Scorcht them even to the roots and dried them there. 40 And now a gentle gale hath blown again, That made these branches meet and twine together, Never to be divided. The god that sings His holy numbers over marriage-beds Hath knit their noble hearts; and here they stand 45 Your children, mighty King; and I have done.

King. How, how?

Are. Sir, if you love it in plain truth, (For now there is no masquing in ’t,) this gentleman, The prisoner that you gave me, is become My keeper, and through all the bitter throes 50 Your jealousies and his ill fate have wrought him, Thus nobly hath he struggled, and at length Arrived here my dear husband.

King. Your dear husband!— Call in the Captain of the Citadel— There you shall keep your wedding. I’ll provide 55 A masque shall make your Hymen turn his saffron Into a sullen coat, and sing sad requiems To your departing souls. Blood shall put out your torches; and, instead Of gaudy flowers about your wanton necks, 60 An axe shall hang, like a prodigious meteor, Ready to crop your loves’ sweets. Hear, you gods! From this time do I shake all title off Of father to this woman, this base woman; And what there is of vengeance in a lion 65 Chaft among dogs or robb’d of his dear young, The same, enforc’d more terrible, more mighty, Expect from me!

Are. Sir, by that little life I have left to swear by, 69 There’s nothing that can stir me from myself. What I have done, I have done without repentance, For death can be no bugbear unto me, So long as Pharamond is not my headsman.

Dion. [Aside.] Sweet peace upon thy soul, thou worthy maid, Whene’er thou diest! For this time I’ll excuse thee, 75 Or be thy prologue.

Phi. Sir, let me speak next; And let my dying words be better with you Than my dull living actions. If you aim At the dear life of this sweet innocent, You are a tyrant and a savage monster, 80 [That feeds upon the blood you gave a life to;][3263] Your memory shall be as foul behind you, As you are living; all your better deeds Shall be in water writ, but this in marble; 84 No chronicle shall speak you, though your own, But for the shame of men. No monument, Though high and big as Pelion, shall be able To cover this base murder: make it rich With brass, with purest gold, and shining jasper, Like the Pyramides; lay on epitaphs 90 Such as make great men gods; my little marble, That only clothes my ashes, not my faults, Shall far outshine it. And for after-issues, Think not so madly of the heavenly wisdoms, That they will give you more for your mad rage 95 To cut off, unless it be some snake, or something Like yourself, that in his birth shall strangle you. Remember my father, King! There was a fault, But I forgive it. Let that sin persuade you To love this lady; if you have a soul, 100 Think, save her, and be saved. For myself, I have so long expected this glad hour, So languisht under you, and daily withered, That, Heaven knows, it is a joy to die; I find a recreation in’t. 105

Enter a Messenger.

Mess. Where is the King?

King. Here.

Mess. Get you to your strength, And rescue the Prince Pharamond from danger; He’s taken prisoner by the citizens, Fearing[3264] the Lord Philaster.

Dion. [Aside.] Oh, brave followers! Mutiny, my fine dear countrymen, mutiny! 110 Now, my brave valiant foremen, shew your weapons In honour of your mistresses!

Enter a Second Messenger.

2 Mess. Arm, arm, arm, arm!

King. A thousand devils take ’em!

Dion. [Aside.] A thousand blessings on ’em!

2 Mess. Arm, O King! The city is in mutiny, 116 Led by an old gray ruffian, who comes on In rescue of the Lord Philaster.

King. Away to the citadel! I’ll see them safe, And then cope with these burghers. Let the guard 120 And all the gentlemen give strong attendance.

Exeunt all except DION, CLEREMONT, and THRASILINE.

Cle. The city up! This was above our wishes.

Dion. Ay, and the marriage too. By my life, This noble lady has deceiv’d us all. A plague upon myself, a thousand plagues, 125 For having such unworthy thoughts of her dear honour! Oh, I could beat myself! Or do you beat me, And I’ll beat you; for we had all one thought.

Cle. No no, ’t will but lose time. 129

Dion. You say true. Are your swords sharp? —Well, my dear countrymen What-ye-lacks,[3265] if you continue, and fall not back upon the first broken skin, I’ll have you chronicled and chronicled, and cut and chronicled, and all-to be-prais’d and sung in sonnets, and bawled (135) in new brave ballads, that all tongues shall troll you in saecula saeculorum, my kind can-carriers.

Thra. What, if a toy[3266] take ’em i’ th’ heels now, and they run all away, and cry, “the devil take the hindmost”? 140

Dion. Then the same devil take the foremost too, and souse him for his breakfast! If they all prove cowards, my curses fly among them, and be speeding! May they have murrains reign to keep the gentlemen at home unbound (145) in easy frieze! May the moths branch[3267] their velvets, and their silks only be worn before sore eyes! May their false lights undo ’em, and discover presses,[3268] holes, stains, and oldness in their stuffs, and make them shop-rid! 150 May they keep whores and horses, and break; and live mewed up with necks of beef and turnips! May they have many children, and none like the father! May they know no language but that gibberish they prattle to (155) their parcels, unless it be the goatish Latin they write in their bonds—and may they write that false, and lose their debts!

Re-enter KING.

King. Now the vengeance of all the gods confound them! How they swarm together! (160) What a hum they raise!—Devils choke your wild throats!—If a man had need to use their valours, he must pay a brokage for it, and then bring ’em on, and they will fight like sheep. ’T is Philaster, none but Philaster, must allay this heat. They will not hear me speak, but (166) fling dirt at me and call me tyrant. Oh, run, dear friend, and bring the Lord Philaster! Speak him fair; call him prince; do him all the courtesy you can; commend me to him. Oh, my (170) wits, my wits! Exit CLEREMONT.

Dion. [Aside.] Oh, my brave countrymen! as I live, I will not buy a pin out of your walls for this. Nay, you shall cozen me, and I’ll thank you, and send you brawn and bacon, and soil[3269] you every long vacation a brace of foremen,[3270] (176) that at Michaelmas shall come up fat and kicking.

King. What they will do with this poor prince, the gods know, and I fear. 180

Dion. [Aside.] Why, sir, they’ll flay him, and make church-buckets on’s skin, to quench rebellion; then clap a rivet in’s sconce, and hang him up for a sign.

Enter CLEREMONT with PHILASTER.

King. Oh, worthy sir, forgive me! Do not make 185 Your miseries and my faults meet together, To bring a greater danger. Be yourself, Still sound amongst diseases. I have wrong’d you; And though I find it last, and beaten to it, Let first, your goodness know it. Calm the people, 190 And be what you were born to. Take your love, And with her my repentance, all my wishes, And all my prayers. By the gods, my heart speaks this; And if the least fall from me not perform’d, May I be struck with thunder!

Phi. Mighty sir, 195 I will not do your greatness so much wrong, As not to make your word truth. Free the princess And the poor boy, and let me stand the shock Of this mad sea-breach, which I’ll either turn, Or perish with it.

King. Let your own word free them. 200

Phi Then thus I take my leave, kissing your hand, And hanging on your royal word. Be kingly, And be not mov’d, sir. I shall bring you peace Or never bring myself back.

King. All the gods go with thee. Exeunt.

[SCENE IV.][3271]

Enter an old Captain and Citizens with PHARAMOND.

Cap. Come, my brave myrmidons, let us fall on. Let your caps swarm, my boys, and your nimble tongues Forget your mother-gibberish of “what do you lack?” And set your mouths ope, children, till your palates Fall frighted half a fathom past the cure 5 Of bay-salt and gross pepper, and then cry “Philaster, brave Philaster!” Let Philaster Be deeper in request, my ding-dongs,[3272] My pairs of dear indentures,[3273] kings of clubs,[3273] Than your cold water-camlets,[3274] or your paintings 10 Spitted with copper.[3275] Let not your hasty silks, Or your branch’d cloth of bodkin,[3276] or your tissues, Dearly belov’d of spiced cake and custards, Your Robin Hoods, Scarlets, and Johns, tie your affections In darkness to your shops. No dainty duckers,[3277] Up with your three-pil’d spirits, your wrought valours;[3278] 16 And let your uncut cholers[3279] make the King feel The measure of your mightiness. Philaster! Cry, my rose-nobles,[3280] cry!

All. Philaster! Philaster!

Cap. How do you like this, my lord prince? These are mad boys, I tell you; these are things 21 That will not strike their top-sails to a foist,[3281] And let a man of war, an argosy, Hull[3282] and cry cockles.[3283]

Pha. Why, you rude slave, do you know what you do? 25

Cap. My pretty prince of puppets, we do know; And give your greatness warning that you talk No more such bug’s-words,[3284] or that solder’d crown Shall be scratch’d with a musket.[3285] Dear prince Pippin, Down with your noble blood, or, as I live, 30 I ’ll have you coddled.[3286]—Let him loose, my spirits: Make us a round ring with your bills, my Hectors, And let us see what this trim man dares do. Now, sir, have at you! here I lie; And with this swashing blow (do you see, sweet prince?) 35 I could hulk[3287] your grace, and hang you up cross-legg’d, Like a hare at a poulter’s, and do this with this wiper.[3288]

Pha. You will not see me murder’d, wicked villains?

1 Cit. Yes, indeed, will we, sir; we have not seen one For a great while.

Cap. He would have weapons, would he? 40 Give him a broadside, my brave boys, with your pikes; Branch me his skin in flowers like a satin, And between every flower a mortal cut.— Your royalty shall ravel![3289]—Jag him, gentlemen; I’ll have him cut to the kell,[3290] then down the seams. 45 O for a whip to make him galloon-laces![3291] I’ll have a coach-whip.

Pha. Oh, spare me, gentlemen!

Cap. Hold, hold; The man begins to fear and know himself. He shall for this time only be seel’d up,[3292] 50 With a feather through his nose, that he may only See heaven, and think whither he is going. Nay, my beyond-sea sir, we will proclaim you: You would be king! Thou tender heir apparent to a church-ale,[3293] 55 Thou slight prince of single sarcenet,[3294] Thou royal ring-tail,[3295] fit to fly at nothing But poor men’s poultry, and have every boy Beat thee from that too with his bread and butter!

Pha. Gods keep me from these hell-hounds!

1 Cit. Shall’s geld him, captain? 61

Cap. No, you shall spare his dowcets, my dear donsels;[3296] As you respect the ladies, let them flourish. The curses of a longing woman kill As speedy as a plague, boys. 65

1 Cit. I’ll have a leg, that’s certain.

2 Cit. I’ll have an arm.

3 Cit. I’ll have his nose, and at mine own charge build A college and clap ’t upon the gate.[3297]

4 Cit. I’ll have his little gut to string a kit[3298] with; For certainly a royal gut will sound like silver.

Pha. Would they were in thy belly, and I past 71 My pain once!

5 Cit. Good captain, let me have his liver to feed ferrets.

Cap. Who will have parcels else? Speak.

Pha. Good gods, consider me! I shall be tortur’d. 75

1 Cit. Captain, I’ll give you the trimming of your two-hand sword, And let me have his skin to make false scabbards.

2 Cit. He had no horns, sir, had he?

Cap. No, sir, he ’s a pollard.[3299] What wouldst thou do with horns?

2 Cit. Oh, if he had had, 80 I would have made rare hafts and whistles of ’em; But his shin-bones, if they be sound, shall serve me.

Enter PHILASTER.

All. Long live Philaster, the brave Prince Philaster!

Phi. I thank you, gentlemen. But why are these Rude weapons brought abroad, to teach your hands 85 Uncivil trades?

Cap. My royal Rosicleer,[3300] We are thy myrmidons, thy guard, thy roarers;[3301] And when thy noble body is in durance, Thus do we clap our musty murrions[3302] on, And trace the streets in terror. Is it peace, 90 Thou Mars of men? Is the King sociable, And bids thee live? Art thou above thy foe-men, And free as Phoebus? Speak. If not, this stand[3303] Of royal blood shall he abroach, a-tilt, And run even to the lees of honour. 95

Phi. Hold, and be satisfied. I am myself; Free as my thoughts are; by the gods, I am!

Cap. Art thou the dainty darling of the King? Art thou the Hylas to our Hercules? Do the lords bow, and the regarded scarlets[3304] Kiss their gumm’d golls,[3305] and cry, “We are your servants”? 101 Is the court navigable and the presence stuck With flags of friendship? If not, we are thy castle, And this man sleeps.

Phi. I am what I desire to be, your friend; I am what I was born to be, your prince. 106

Pha. Sir, there is some humanity in you; You have a noble soul. Forget my name, And know my misery; set me safe aboard From these wild cannibals, and as I live, 110 I ’ll quit this land for ever. There is nothing,— Perpetual prisonment, cold, hunger, sickness Of all sorts, of all dangers, and all together, The worst company of the worst men, madness, age, To be as many creatures as a woman, 115 And do as all they do, nay, to despair,— But I would rather make it a new nature, And live with all these, than endure one hour Amongst these wild dogs.

Phi. I do pity you.—Friends, discharge your fears; 120 Deliver me the prince. I ’ll warrant you I shall be old enough to find my safety.

3 Cit. Good sir, take heed he does not hurt you; He is a fierce man, I can tell you, sir.

Cap. Prince, by your leave, I ’ll have a surcingle,[3306] 125 And make[3307] you like a hawk. [PHAR.] strives.

Phi. Away, away, there is no danger in him: Alas, he had rather sleep to shake his fit off! Look you, friends, how gently he leads! Upon my word, He ’s tame enough, he needs no further watching. 130 Good my friends, go to your houses, And by me have your pardons and my love; And know there shall be nothing in my power You may deserve, but you shall have your wishes. To give you more thanks, were to flatter you. Continue still your love; and for an earnest, 136 Drink this. [Gives money.]

All. Long mayst thou live, brave prince, brave prince, brave prince! Exeunt PHIL. and PHAR.

Cap. Go thy ways, thou art the king of courtesy! Fall off again, my sweet youths. Come, 140 And every man trace to his house again, And hang his pewter up; then to the tavern, And bring your wives in muffs. We will have music; And the red grape shall make us dance and rise, boys. Exeunt.

[SCENE V.][3308]

Enter KING, ARETHUSA, GALATEA, MEGRA, DION, CLEREMONT, THRASILINE, BELLARIO, and ATTENDANTS.

King. Is it appeas’d?

Dion. Sir, all is quiet as this dead of night, As peaceable as sleep. My lord Philaster Brings on the prince himself.

King. Kind gentleman! I will not break the least word I have given 5 In promise to him. I have heap’d a world Of grief upon his head, which yet I hope To wash away.

Enter PHILASTER and PHARAMOND.

Cle. My lord is come.

King. My son! Blest be the time that I have leave to call Such virtue mine! Now thou art in mine arms, Methinks I have a salve unto my breast 11 For all the stings that dwell there. Streams of grief That I have wrong’d thee, and as much of joy That I repent it, issue from mine eyes; Let them appease thee. Take thy right; take her; 15 She is thy right too; and forget to urge My vexed soul with that I did before.

Phi. Sir, it is blotted from my memory, Past and forgotten.—For you, prince of Spain, Whom I have thus redeem’d, you have full leave 20 To make an honourable voyage home. And if you would go furnish’d to your realm With fair provision, I do see a lady, Methinks, would gladly bear you company. How like you this piece?

Meg. Sir, he likes it well, 25 For he hath tried it, and hath found it worth His princely liking. We were ta’en abed; I know your meaning. I am not the first That nature taught to seek a fellow forth; Can shame remain perpetually in me, 30 And not in others? Or have princes salves To cure ill names, that meaner people want?

Phi. What mean you?

Meg. You must get another ship, To bear the princess and her boy together.

Dion. How now! 35

Meg. Others took me, and I took her and him At that all women may be ta’en sometime. Ship us all four, my lord; we can endure Weather and wind alike.

King. Clear thou thyself, or know not me for father. 40

Are. This earth, how false it is! What means is left for me To clear myself? It lies in your belief. My lords, believe me; and let all things else Struggle together to dishonour me.

Bel. Oh, stop your ears, great King, that I may speak 45 As freedom would! Then I will call this lady As base as are her actions. Hear me, sir; Believe your heated blood when it rebels Against your reason, sooner than this lady.

Meg. By this good light, he bears it handsomely. 50

Phi. This lady! I will sooner trust the wind With feathers, or the troubled sea with pearl, Than her with any thing. Believe her not. Why, think you, if I did believe her words, I would outlive ’em? Honour cannot take 55 Revenge on you; then what were to be known But death?

King. Forget her, sir, since all is knit Between us. But I must request of you One favour, and will sadly[3309] be denied.

Phi. Command, whate’er it be.

King. Swear to be true 60 To what you promise.

Phi. By the powers above, Let it not be the death of her or him, And it is granted!

King. Bear away that boy To torture; I will have her clear’d or buried.

Phi. Oh, let me call my word back, worthy sir! Ask something else: bury my life and right 66 In one poor grave; but do not take away My life and fame at once.

King. Away with him! It stands irrevocable.

Phi. Turn all your eyes on me. Here stands a man, 70 The falsest and the basest of this world. Set swords against this breast, some honest man, For I have liv’d till I am pitied! My former deeds were hateful; but this last Is pitiful, for I unwillingly 75 Have given the dear preserver of my life Unto his torture. Is it in the power Of flesh and blood to carry this, and live? Offers to stab himself.

Are. Dear sir, be patient yet! Oh, stay that hand!

King. Sirs, strip that boy.

Dion. Come, sir; your tender flesh 80 Will try your constancy.

Bel. Oh, kill me, gentlemen!

Dion. No.—Help, sirs.

Bel. Will you torture me?

King. Haste there; Why stay you?

Bel. Then I shall not break my vow, You know, just gods, though I discover all.

King. How’s that? Will he confess?

Dion. Sir, so he says. 85

King. Speak then.

Bel. Great King, if you command This lord to talk with me alone, my tongue Urg’d by my heart, shall utter all the thoughts My youth hath known; and stranger things than these You hear not often.

King. Walk aside with him. 90 [DION and BELLARIO walk apart.]

Dion. Why speak’st thou not?

Bel. Know you this face, my lord?

Dion. No.

Bel. Have you not seen it, nor the like?

Dion. Yes, I have seen the like, but readily I know not where.

Bel. I have been often told In court of one Euphrasia, a lady, 95 And daughter to you; betwixt whom and me They that would flatter my bad face would swear There was such strange resemblance, that we two Could not be known asunder, drest alike.

Dion. By Heaven, and so there is!

Bel. For her fair sake, 100 Who now doth spend the spring-time of her life In holy pilgrimage, move to the King, That I may scape this torture.

Dion. But thou speak’st As like Euphrasia as thou dost look. How came it to thy knowledge that she lives 105 In pilgrimage?

Bel. I know it not, my lord; But I have heard it, and do scarce believe it.

Dion. Oh, my shame! is it possible? Draw near, That I may gaze upon thee. Art thou she, Or else her murderer?[3310] Where wert thou born? 110

Bel. In Syracusa.

Dion. What’s thy name?

Bel. Euphrasia.

Dion. Oh, ’t is just, ’t is she! Now I do know thee. Oh, that thou hadst died, And I had never seen thee nor my shame! How shall I own thee? Shall this tongue of mine 115 E’er call thee daughter more?

Bel. Would I had died indeed! I wish it too; And so I must have done by vow, ere publish’d What I have told, but that there was no means To hide it longer. Yet I joy in this, 120 The princess is all clear.

King. What, have you done?

Dion. All is discovered.

Phi. Why then hold you me? All is discovered! Pray you, let me go. Offers to stab himself.

King. Stay him.

Are. What is discovered?

Dion. Why, my shame. It is a woman; let her speak the rest. 125

Phi. How? That again!

Dion. It is a woman.

Phi. Blest be you powers that favour innocence!

King. Lay hold upon that lady. [MEGRA is seized.]

Phi. It is a woman, sir!—Hark, gentlemen, It is a woman!—Arethusa, take 130 My soul into thy breast, that would be gone With joy. It is a woman! Thou art fair, And virtuous still to ages, in despite Of malice.

King. Speak you, where lies his shame?

Bel. I am his daughter. 135

Phi. The gods are just.

Dion. I dare accuse none; but, before you two, The virtue of our age, I bend my knee For mercy. [Kneels.]

Phi. [raising him.] Take it freely; for I know, Though what thou didst were undiscreetly done, 140 ’T was meant well.

Are. And for me, I have a power to pardon sins, as oft As any man has power to wrong me.

Cle. Noble and worthy!

Phi. But, Bellario, (For I must call thee still so,) tell me why 145 Thou didst conceal thy sex. It was a fault, A fault, Bellario, though thy other deeds Of truth outweigh’d it: all these jealousies Had flown to nothing if thou hadst discovered What now we know.

Bel. My father oft would speak 150 Your worth and virtue; and, as I did grow More and more apprehensive,[3311] I did thirst To see the man so prais’d. But yet all this Was but a maiden-longing, to be lost As soon as found; till, sitting in my window, 155 Printing my thoughts in lawn, I saw a god, I thought, (but it was you,) enter our gates. My blood flew out and back again, as fast As I had puft it forth and suckt it in 159 Like breath. Then was I call’d away in haste To entertain you. Never was a man, Heav’d from a sheep-cote to a sceptre, rais’d So high in thoughts as I. You left a kiss Upon these lips then, which I mean to keep From you for ever. I did hear you talk, 165 Far above singing. After you were gone, I grew acquainted with my heart, and search’d What stirr’d it so: alas, I found it love! Yet far from lust; for, could I but have liv’d In presence of you, I had had my end. 170 For this I did delude my noble father With a feign’d pilgrimage, and drest myself In habit of a boy; and, for I knew My birth no match for you, I was past hope Of having you; and, understanding well 175 That when I made discovery of my sex I could not stay with you, I made a vow, By all the most religious things a maid Could call together, never to be known, Whilst there was hope to hide me from men’s eyes, 180 For other than I seem’d, that I might ever Abide with you. Then sat I by the fount, Where first you took me up.

King. Search out a match Within our kingdom, where and when thou wilt, And I will pay thy dowry; and thyself 185 Wilt well deserve him.

Bel. Never, sir, will I Marry; it is a thing within my vow: But, if I may have leave to serve the princess, To see the virtues of her lord and her, I shall have hope to live.

Are. I, Philaster, 190 Cannot be jealous, though you had a lady Drest like a page to serve you; nor will I Suspect her living here.—Come, live with me; Live free as I do. She that loves my lord, Curst be the wife that hates her! 195

Phi. I grieve such virtue should be laid in earth Without an heir.—Hear me, my royal father: Wrong not the freedom of our souls so much, To think to take revenge of that base woman; Her malice cannot hurt us. Set her free 200 As she was born, saving from shame and sin.

King. Set her at liberty.—But leave the court; This is no place for such.—You, Pharamond, Shall have free passage, and a conduct home Worthy so great a prince. When you come there, 205 Remember ’t was your faults that lost you her, And not my purpos’d will.

Pha. I do confess, Renowned sir.

King. Last, join your hands in one. Enjoy, Philaster, This kingdom, which is yours, and, after me, 210 Whatever I call mine. My blessing on you! All happy hours be at your marriage-joys, That you may grow yourselves, over all lands, And live to see your plenteous branches spring Wherever there is sun! Let princes learn 215 By this to rule the passions of their blood; For what Heaven wills can never be withstood. Exeunt omnes.

THE MAID’S TRAGEDY

BY FRANCIS BEAUMONT AND JOHN FLETCHER

[DRAMATIS PERSONAE.]

KING. LYSIPPUS, brother to the King. AMINTOR, [a noble Gentleman.] MELANTIUS, } DIPHILUS, } brothers to Evadne. CALIANAX, an old humorous Lord, and father to Aspatia. CLEON, } STRATO, } Gentlemen. DIAGORAS, a servant. [Lords, Gentlemen, Servants, etc.] EVADNE, wife to Amintor. ASPATIA, troth-plight wife to Amintor. ANTIPHILA, } OLYMPIAS, } waiting gentlewomen to Aspatia. DULA, a Lady, [attendant on Evadne.] [Ladies.]

MASQUERS.

Night, Cynthia, Neptune, Aeolus, [Sea Gods, Winds.]

[SCENE.—The City of Rhodes.]

Spotted a typo or a problem in this chapter? Tell us

Act I, Scene I — [3312]

Enter CLEON, STRATO, LYSIPPUS, and DIPHILUS.

Cle. The rest are making ready, sir.

Lys. So let them; there’s time enough.

Diph. You are the brother to the King, my lord; We ’ll take your word.

Lys. Strato, thou hast some skill in poetry; 5 What think’st thou of the masque? Will it be well?

Stra. As well as masques can be.

Lys. As masques can be!

Stra. Yes; they must commend their king, and speak in praise Of the assembly, bless the bride and bridegroom In person of some god; they ’re tied to rules 10 Of flattery.

Cle. See, good my lord, who is return’d!

Enter MELANTIUS.

Lys. Noble Melantius, the land by me Welcomes thy virtues home to Rhodes; Thou that with blood abroad buyest our peace! The breath of kings is like the breath of gods; 15 My brother wisht thee here, and thou art here. He will be too kind, and weary thee With often welcomes; but the time doth give thee A welcome above his or all the world’s.

Mel. My lord, my thanks; but these scratcht limbs of mine 20 Have spoke my love and truth unto my friends, More than my tongue e’er could. My mind’s the same It ever was to you: where I find worth, I love the keeper till he let it go, And then I follow it.

Diph. Hail, worthy brother! 25 He that rejoices not at your return In safety is mine enemy for ever.

Mel. I thank thee, Diphilus. But thou art faulty: I sent for thee to exercise thine arms With me at Patria; thou cam’st not, Diphilus; ’T was ill.

Diph. My noble brother, my excuse 31 Is my king’s strict command, which you, my lord, Can witness with me.

Lys. ’T is most true, Melantius; He might not come till the solemnities Of this great match were past.

Diph. Have you heard of it? 35

Mel. Yes, and have given cause to those that here Envy my deeds abroad to call me gamesome: I have no other business here at Rhodes.

Lys. We have a masque to-night, and you must tread A soldier’s measure. 40

Mel. These soft and silken wars are not for me: The music must be shrill and all confus’d That stirs my blood; and then I dance with arms. But is Amintor wed?

Diph. This day.

Mel. All joys upon him! for he is my friend. Wonder not that I call a man so young my friend: 46 His worth is great; valiant he is and temperate; And one that never thinks his life his own, If his friend need it. When he was a boy, As oft as I return’d (as, without boast, 50 I brought home conquest), he would gaze upon me And view me round, to find in what one limb The virtue lay to do these things he heard; Then would he wish to see my sword, and feel The quickness of the edge, and in his hand 55 Weigh it. He oft would make me smile at this. His youth did promise much, and his ripe years Will see it all perform’d. Enter ASPATIA, passing by. Hail, maid and wife! Thou fair Aspatia, may the holy knot That thou hast tied to-day last till the hand 60 Of age undo ’t! May’st thou bring a race Unto Amintor, that may fill the world Successively with soldiers!

Asp. My hard fortunes Deserve not scorn, for I was never proud When they were good. Exit.

Mel. How’s this?

Lys. You are mistaken, sir; 65 She is not married.

Mel. You said Amintor was.

Diph. ’Tis true; but——

Mel. Pardon me; I did receive Letters at Patria from my Amintor, That he should marry her.

Diph. And so it stood In all opinion long; but your arrival 70 Made me imagine you had heard the change.

Mel. Who hath he taken then?

Lys. A lady, sir, That bears the light about[3313] her, and strikes dead With flashes of her eye; the fair Evadne, Your virtuous sister.

Mel. Peace of heart betwixt them! 75 But this is strange.

Lys. The King, my brother, did it To honour you; and these solemnities Are at his charge.

Mel. ’T is royal, like himself. But I am sad My speech bears so unfortunate a sound 80 To beautiful Aspatia. There is rage Hid in her father’s breast, Calianax, Bent long against me; and he should not think, If I could call it back, that I would take So base revenges, as to scorn the state 85 Of his neglected daughter. Holds he still His greatness with the King?

Lys. Yes. But this lady Walks discontented, with her watery eyes Bent on the earth. The unfrequented woods Are her delight; where, when she sees a bank Stuck full of flowers, she with a sigh will tell 91 Her servants what a pretty place it were To bury lovers in; and make her maids Pluck ’em, and strow her over like a corse. She carries with her an infectious grief, 95 That strikes all her beholders: she will sing The mournful’st things that ever ear hath heard, And sigh, and sing again; and when the rest Of our young ladies, in their wanton blood, Tell mirthful tales in course,[3314] that fill the room With laughter, she will, with so sad a look, 101 Bring forth a story of the silent death Of some forsaken virgin, which her grief Will put in such a phrase that, ere she end, She’ll send them weeping one by one away. 105

Mel. She has a brother under my command,[3315] Like her; a face as womanish as hers; But with a spirit that hath much outgrown The number of his years.

Enter AMINTOR.

Cle. My lord the bridegroom!

Mel. I might run fiercely, not more hastily, Upon my foe. I love thee well, Amintor; 111 My mouth is much too narrow for my heart; I joy to look upon those eyes of thine; Thou art my friend, but my disordered speech Cuts off my love.

Amin. Thou art Melantius; 115 All love is spoke in that. A sacrifice, To thank the gods Melantius is return’d In safety! Victory sits on his sword, As she was wont. May she build there and dwell; And may thy armour be, as it hath been, 120 Only thy valour and thine innocence! What endless treasures would our enemies give, That I might hold thee still thus!

Mel. I am poor In words: but credit me, young man, thy mother 124 Could do no more but weep for joy to see thee After long absence. All the wounds I have Fetcht not so much away, nor all the cries Of widowed mothers. But this is peace, And that was war.

Amin. Pardon, thou holy god Of marriage-bed, and frown not, I am forc’d, In answer of such noble tears as those, 131 To weep upon my wedding-day!

Mel. I fear thou art grown too fickle; for I hear A lady mourns for thee, men say, to death, Forsaken of thee, on what terms[3316] I know not.

Amin. She had my promise; but the King forbad it, 136 And made me make this worthy change, thy sister, Accompanied with graces [far][3317] above[3318] her, With whom I long to lose my lusty youth And grow old in her arms.

Mel. Be prosperous! 140

Enter Messenger.

Mess. My lord, the masquers rage for you.

Lys. Cleon, Strato, Diphilus! We are gone.

Amin. We’ll all attend you.— Exeunt LYSIPPUS, CLEON, STRATO, DIPHILUS [and Messenger]. We shall trouble you With our solemnities.

Mel. Not so, Amintor; But if you laugh at my rude carriage 145 In peace, I’ll do as much for you in war. When you come thither. Yet I have a mistress To bring to your delights; rough though I am, I have a mistress, and she has a heart 149 She says; but, trust me, it is stone, no better; There is no place that I can challenge in ’t. But you stand still, and here my way lies. Exeunt [severally].

[SCENE II.][3319]

Enter CALIANAX with DIAGORAS.

Cal. Diagoras, look to the doors better, for shame! You let in all the world, and anon the King will rail at me. Why, very well said.[3320] By Jove, the King will have the show i’ th’ court!

Diag. Why do you swear so, my lord? You know he’ll have it here. 6

Cal. By this light, if he be wise, he will not.

Diag. And if he will not be wise, you are forsworn.

Cal. One may wear his heart out with swearing, and get thanks on no side. I’ll be gone, (11) look to ’t who will.

Diag. My lord, I shall never keep them out. Pray, stay; your looks will terrify them.

Cal. My looks terrify them, you coxcombly (15) ass, you! I’ll be judged by all the company whether thou hast not a worse face than I.

Diag. I mean, because they know you and your office.

Cal. Office! I would I could put it off! I (20) am sure I sweat quite through my office. I might have made room at my daughter’s wedding; they ha’ near kill’d her among them; and now I must do service for him that hath forsaken her. Serve that will! Exit. 25

Diag. He’s so humorous[3321] since his daughter was forsaken! (Knock within.) Hark, hark! there, there! so, so! codes, codes![3322] What now?

Mel. (within.) Open the door.

Diag. Who’s there? 30

Mel. [within.] Melantius.

Diag. I hope your lordship brings no troop with you; for, if you do, I must return them. [Opens the door.]

Enter MELANTIUS and a Lady.

Mel. None but this lady, sir.

Diag. The ladies are all plac’d above, save (35) those that come in the King’s troop; the best of Rhodes sit there, and there ’s room.

Mel. I thank you, sir.—When I have seen you placed, madam, I must attend the King; but, the masque done, I’ll wait on you again. 40

Diag. [opening another door.] Stand back there!—Room for my Lord Melantius! (Exeunt MELANTIUS and Lady, other door.)—Pray, bear back—this is no place for such youth and their trulls[3323]—let the doors shut again.—No!—do your heads itch? I’ll scratch them for 46 you. [Shuts the door.]—So, now thrust and hang. [Knocking within.]—Again! who is ’t now?—I cannot blame my Lord Calianax for going away; would he were here! He would run (50) raging among them, and break a dozen wiser heads than his own in the twinkling of an eye.—What’s the news now?

[Voice] within. I pray you, can you help me to the speech of the master-cook? 55

Diag. If I open the door, I’ll cook some of your calves-heads. Peace, rogues! [Knocking within.]—Again! who is ’t?

Mel. (within.) Melantius.

Re-enter CALIANAX.

Cal. Let him not in. 60

Diag. O, my lord, I must. [Opening the door.]—Make room there for my lord. Is your lady plac’d?

Re-enter MELANTIUS.

Mel. Yes, sir. I thank you.—My Lord Calianax, well met. 65 Your causeless hate to me I hope is buried.

Cal. Yes, I do service for your sister here, That brings my own poor child to timeless death. She loves your friend Amintor; such another False-hearted lord as you.

Mel. You do me wrong, 70 A most unmanly one, and I am slow In taking vengeance: but be well advis’d.

Cal. It may be so.—Who plac’d the lady there So near the presence of the King?

Mel. I did.

Cal. My lord, she must not sit there.

Mel. Why? 75

Cal. The place is kept for women of more worth.

Mel. More worth than she! It misbecomes your age And place to be thus womanish: forbear! What you have spoke, I am content to think The palsy shook your tongue to.

Cal. Why, ’t is well, 80 If I stand here to place men’s wenches.

Mel. I Shall quite forget this place, thy age, my safety, And, through all, cut that poor sickly week Thou hast to live away from thee.

Cal. Nay. I know you can fight for your whore. 85

Mel. Bate me the King, and, be he flesh and blood, He lies that says it! Thy mother at fifteen Was black and sinful to her.

Diag. Good my lord—

Mel. Some god pluck threescore years from that fond[3324] man, 89 That I may kill him, and not stain mine honour! It is the curse of soldiers, that in peace They shall be brav’d by such ignoble men As, if the land were troubled, would with tears And knees beg succour from ’em. Would that blood, That sea of blood, that I have lost in fight, 95 Were running in thy veins, that it might make thee Apt to say less, or able to maintain, Should’st thou say more! This Rhodes, I see, is nought But a place privileg’d to do men wrong.

Cal. Ay, you may say your pleasure.

Enter AMINTOR.

Amin. What vile injury 100 Has stirr’d my worthy friend, who is as slow To fight with words as he is quick of hand?

Mel. That heap of age, which I should reverence If it were temperate, but testy years Are most contemptible.

Amin. Good sir, forbear. 105

Cal. There is just such another as yourself.

Amin. He will wrong you, or me, or any man, And talk as if he had no life to lose, Since this our match. The King is coming in; I would not for more wealth than I enjoy 110 He should perceive you raging. He did hear You were at difference now, which hast’ned him. Hautboys play within.

Cal. Make room there!

Enter KING, EVADNE, ASPATIA, Lords, and Ladies.

King. Melantius, thou art welcome, and my love Is with thee still; but this is not a place 115 To brabble[3325] in.—Calianax, join hands.

Cal. He shall not have mine hand.

King. This is no time To force you to ’t. I do love you both:— Calianax, you look well to your office;— And you, Melantius, are welcome home. 120 Begin the masque.

Mel. Sister, I joy to see you and your choice; You lookt with my eyes when you took that man. Be happy in him! Recorders[3326] [play].

Evad. O, my dearest brother, Your presence is more joyful than this day 125 Can be unto me.

THE MASQUE

NIGHT rises in mists.

Night. Our reign is come; for in the raging[3327] sea The sun is drown’d, and with him fell the Day. Bright Cynthia, hear my voice! I am the Night, For whom thou bear’st about thy borrowed light. Appear! no longer thy pale visage shroud, 5 But strike thy silver horns quite through a cloud, And send a beam upon my swarthy face, By which I may discover all the place And persons, and how many longing eyes Are come to wait on our solemnities. 10 Enter CYNTHIA. How dull and black am I! I could not find This beauty[3328] without thee, I am so blind: Methinks they show like to those eastern streaks, That warn us hence before the morning breaks. Back, my pale servant! for these eyes know how 15 To shoot far more and quicker rays than thou.

Cynth. Great queen, they be a troop for whom alone One of my clearest moons I have put on; A troop, that looks as if thyself and I Had pluckt our reins in and our whips laid by, 20 To gaze upon these mortals, that appear Brighter than we.

Night. Then let us keep ’em here, And never more our chariots drive away, But hold our places and outshine the Day.

Cynth. Great queen of shadows, you are pleas’d to speak 25 Of more than may be done. We may not break The gods’ decrees; but, when our time is come, Must drive away, and give the Day our room. Yet, while our reign lasts, let us stretch our power To give our servants one contented hour, 30 With such unwonted solemn grace and state, As may forever after force them hate Our brother’s glorious beams, and wish the Night Crown’d with a thousand stars and our cold light: For almost all the world their service bend 35 To Phoebus, and in vain my light I lend, Gaz’d on unto my setting from my rise Almost of none but of unquiet eyes.

Night. Then shine at full, fair queen, and by thy power Produce a birth, to crown this happy hour, 40 Of nymphs and shepherds; let their songs discover, Easy and sweet, who is a happy lover; Or, if thou woo[3329] ’t, then call thine own Endymion From the sweet flow’ry bed he lies upon, On Latmus’ top, thy pale beams drawn away, 45 And of his long night let him make a day.

Cynth. Thou dream’st, dark queen; that fair boy was not mine. Nor went I down to kiss him. Ease and wine Have bred these bold tales: poets, when they rage, Turn gods to men, and make an hour an age, 50 But I will give a greater state and glory, And raise to time a nobler memory Of what these lovers are.—Rise, rise, I say, Thou power of deeps, thy surges laid away, Neptune, great king of waters, and by me, 55 Be proud to be commanded!

NEPTUNE rises.

Nept. Cynthia, see Thy word hath fetcht me hither: let me know Why I ascend.

Cynth. Doth this majestic show Give thee no knowledge yet?

Nept. Yes, now I see Something intended, Cynthia, worthy thee. 60 Go on; I’ll be a helper.

Cynth. Hie thee, then, And charge the Wind fly from his rocky den, Let loose his subjects; only Boreas, Too foul for our intentions as he was, Still keep him fast chain’d: we must have none here 65 But vernal blasts and gentle winds appear, Such as blow flowers, and through the glad boughs sing Many soft welcomes to the lusty spring; These are our music. Next, thy wat’ry race Bring on in couples (we are pleas’d to grace 70 This noble night), each in their richest things Your own deeps or the broken vessel brings. Be prodigal, and I shall be as kind And shine at full upon you.

Nept. Oh, the Wind! Commanding Aeolus!

Enter AEOLUS out of a Rock.

Aeol. Great Neptune!

Nept. He. 75

Aeol. What is thy will?

Nept. We do command thee free Favonius and thy milder winds, to wait Upon our Cynthia; but tie Boreas strait, He’s too rebellious.

Aeol. I shall do it. [Exit AEOLUS.]

Nept. Do.

Aeol. [within.] Great master of the flood and all below, 80 Thy full command has taken.—Oh, the Main! Neptune!

Nept. Here.

[Re-enter AEOLUS, followed by FAVONIUS and other Winds.]

Aeol. Boreas has broken his chain, And, struggling with the rest, has got away.

Nept. Let him alone, I’ll take him up at sea; I will not long be thence. Go once again, 85 And call out of the bottoms of the main Blue Proteus and the rest; charge them put on Their greatest pearls, and the most sparkling stone The beaten[3330] rock breeds; tell this night is done By me a solemn honour to the Moon: 90 Fly, like a full sail.

Aeol. I am gone. [Exit.]

Cynth. Dark Night, Strike a full silence, do a thorough right To this great chorus, that our music may Touch high as Heaven, and make the east break day At midnight. Music. 95

[FIRST] SONG.

[During which PROTEUS and other Sea-deities enter.]

Cynthia, to thy power and thee We obey. Joy to this great company! And no day Come to steal this night away, 100 Till the rites of love are ended, And the lusty bridegroom say, Welcome, light, of all befriended!

Pace out, you watery powers below; Let your feet, 105 Like the galleys when they row, Even beat. Let your unknown measures, set To the still winds, tell to all, That gods are come, immortal, great, 110 To honour this great nuptial. The Measure.

SECOND SONG.

Hold back thy hours, dark Night, till we have done; The Day will come too soon: Young maids will curse thee, if thou steal’st away, And leav’st their losses open to the day: 115 Stay, stay, and hide The blushes of the bride.

Stay, gentle Night, and with thy darkness cover The kisses of her lover; Stay, and confound her tears and her shrill cryings, Her weak denials, vows, and often-dyings; 121 Stay, and hide all: But help not, though she call.

Nept. Great queen of us and Heaven, hear what I bring To make this hour a full one.[3331]

Cynth. Speak, sea’s king. 125

Nept. The tunes my Amphitrite joys to have, When she will dance upon the rising wave, And court me as she sails. My Tritons, play Music to lay a storm! I’ll lead the way. A Measure, NEPTUNE leads it.

[THIRD] SONG.

To bed, to bed! Come, Hymen, lead the bride, 130 And lay her by her husband’s side; Bring in the virgins every one, That grieve to lie alone, That they may kiss while they may say a maid; To-morrow ’t will be other kist and said. 135 Hesperus, be long a-shining, Whilst these lovers are a-twining.

Aeol. [within.] Ho, Neptune!

Nept. Aeolus!

[Re-enter AEOLUS.]

Aeol. The sea goes high, Boreas hath rais’d a storm: go and apply Thy trident; else, I prophesy, ere day 140 Many a tall ship will be cast away. Descend with all the gods and all their power, To strike a calm.

Cynth. [We thank you for this hour: My favour to you all.][3332] To gratulate 145 So great a service, done at my desire, Ye shall have many floods, fuller and higher Than you have wisht for; and no ebb shall dare To let the Day see where your dwellings are. Now back unto your governments in haste, 150 Lest your proud charge should swell above the waste, And win upon the island.

Nept. We obey.

NEPTUNE descends and the Sea-Gods. [Exeunt FAVONIUS and other Winds.]

Cynth. Hold up thy head, dead Night; see’st thou not Day? The east begins to lighten. I must down. And give my brother place.

Night. Oh, I could frown 155 To see the Day, the Day that flings his light Upon my kingdom and contemns old Night! Let him go on and flame! I hope to see Another wild-fire in his axle-tree, And all fall drencht. But I forget;—speak, queen: 160 The Day grows on; I must no more be seen.

Cynth. Heave up thy drowsy head and see A greater light, a greater majesty, Between our set[3333] and us! Whip up the team: The Day breaks here, and yon same flashing stream[3334] 165 Shot from the south. Say, which way wilt thou go?

Night. I’ll vanish into mists.

Cynth. I into Day. Exeunt NIGHT and CYNTHIA. Finis Masque.

King. Take lights there!—Ladies, get the bride to bed.— We will not see you laid; good night, Amintor: We ’ll ease you of that tedious ceremony. 170 Were it my case, I should think time run slow. If thou be’st noble, youth, get me a boy, That may defend my kingdoms from my foes.

Amin. All happiness to you!

King. Good night, Melantius. Exeunt.

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