Act II…

Act II

[SCENE I.][3335]

Enter EVADNE, ASPATIA, DULA, and other Ladies.

Dula. Madam, shall we undress you for this fight? The wars are nak’d that you must make tonight.

Evad. You are very merry, Dula.

Dula. I should be Far merrier, madam, if it were with me As it is with you.

Evad. How ’s that?

Dula. That I might go 5 To bed with him wi’ th’ credit that you do.

Evad. Why, how now, wench?

Dula. Come, ladies, will you help?

Evad. I am soon undone.

Dula. And as soon done: Good store of clothes will trouble you at both.

Evad. Art thou drunk, Dula?

Dula. Why, here ’s none but we. 10

Evad. Thou think ’st belike there is no modesty When we’re alone.

Dula. Ay, by my troth, you hit my thoughts aright.

Evad. You prick me, lady.

1 Lady. ’T is against my will.

Dula. Anon you must endure more and lie still; 15 You ’re best to practise.

Evad. Sure, this wench is mad.

Dula. No, faith, this is a trick that I have had Since I was fourteen.

Evad. ’T is high time to leave it.

Dula. Nay, now I ’ll keep it till the trick leave me. A dozen wanton words put in your head 20 Will make you livelier in your husband’s bed.

Evad. Nay, faith, then take it.[3336]

Dula. Take it, madam! Where? We all, I hope, will take it that are here.

Evad. Nay, then I ’ll give you o’er.

Dula. So will I make The ablest man in Rhodes, or his heart ache. 25

Evad. Wilt take my place to-night?

Dula. I ’ll hold your cards Against any two I know.

Evad. What wilt thou do?

Dula. Madam, we ’ll do ’t, and make ’em leave play too.

Evad. Aspatia, take her part.

Dula. I will refuse it: She will pluck down a side;[3337] she does not use it. 30

Evad. Why, do, I prithee.

Dula. You will find the play Quickly, because your head lies well that way.

Evad. I thank thee, Dula. Would thou couldst instil Some of thy mirth into Aspatia! Nothing but sad thoughts in her breast do dwell: 35 Methinks, a mean betwixt you would do well.

Dula. She is in love: hang me, if I were so, But I could run[3338] my country. I love too To do those things that people in love do.

Asp. It were a timeless[3339] smile should prove my cheek. 40 It were a fitter hour for me to laugh, When at the altar the religious priest Were pacifying the offended powers With sacrifice, than now. This should have been My rite;[3340] and all your hands have been employ’d 45 In giving me a spotless offering To young Amintor’s bed, as we are now For you. Pardon, Evadne: would my worth Were great as yours, or that the King, or he, Or both, thought so! Perhaps he found me worthless: 50 But till he did so, in these ears of mine, These credulous ears, he pour’d the sweetest words That art or love could frame. If he were false, Pardon it, Heaven! and, if I did want Virtue, you safely may forgive that too; 55 For I have lost none that I had from you.

Evad. Nay, leave this sad talk, madam.

Asp. Would I could! Then I should leave the cause.

Evad. See, if you have not spoil’d all Dula’s mirth!

Asp. Thou think ’st thy heart hard; but, if thou be’st caught, 60 Remember me; thou shalt perceive a fire Shot suddenly into thee.

Dula. That ’s not so good; Let ’em shoot anything but fire, I fear ’em not.

Asp. Well, wench, thou may’st be taken.

Evad. Ladies, good-night; I ’ll do the rest myself. 65

Dula. Nay, let your lord do some.

Asp. [singing.] Lay a garland on my hearse Of the dismal yew—

Evad. That ’s one of your sad songs, madam.

Asp. Believe me, ’t is a very pretty one. 70

Evad. How is it, madam?

Asp. [singing.] Lay a garland on my hearse Of the dismal yew; Maidens, willow-branches bear; Say I died true. 75 My love was false, but I was firm From my hour of birth: Upon my buried body lie Lightly, gentle earth!

Evad. Fie on ’t, madam! The words are so strange, they 80 Are able to make one dream of hobgoblins.— “I could never have the power”—sing that, Dula.

Dula. [singing.] I could never have the power To love one above an hour, But my heart would prompt mine eye 85 On some other man to fly. Venus, fix mine eyes fast, Or, if not, give me all that I shall see at last!

Evad. So, leave me now.

Dula. Nay, we must see you laid. 90

Asp. Madam, good night. May all the marriage-joys That longing maids imagine in their beds Prove so unto you! May no discontent Grow ’twixt your love and you! but, if there do, Inquire of me, and I will guide your moan; 95 Teach you an artificial[3341] way to grieve, To keep your sorrow waking. Love your lord No worse than I; but, if you love so well, Alas, you may displease him! so did I. This is the last time you shall look on me.— 100 Ladies, farewell. As soon as I am dead, Come all and watch one night about my hearse; Bring each a mournful story and a tear, To offer at it when I go to earth; With flattering ivy clasp my coffin round; 105 Write on my brow my fortune; let my bier Be borne by virgins, that shall sing by course[3342] The truth of maids and perjuries of men.

Evad. Alas, I pity thee.

All. Madam, good night. Exit EVADNE.

1 Lady. Come, we ’ll let in the bridegroom.

Dula. Where’s my lord? 110

1 Lady. Here, take this light.

Enter AMINTOR.

Dula. You ’ll find her in the dark.

1 Lady. Your lady ’s scarce a-bed yet; you must help her.

Asp. Go, and be happy in your lady’s love. May all the wrongs that you have done to me Be utterly forgotten in my death! 115 I ’ll trouble you no more; yet I will take A parting kiss, and will not be denied. [Kisses AMINTOR.] You ’ll come, my lord, and see the virgins weep When I am laid in earth, though you yourself Can know no pity. Thus I wind myself 120 Into this willow-garland, and am prouder That I was once your love, though now refus’d, Than to have had another true to me. So with my prayers I leave you, and must try Some yet unpractis’d way to grieve and die. Exit. 125

Dula. Come, ladies, will you go?

All. Good night, my lord.

Amin. Much happiness unto you all! Exeunt [DULA and] Ladies. I did that lady wrong. Methinks, I feel A grief shoot suddenly through all my veins; Mine eyes rain: this is strange at such a time. 130 It was the King first mov’d me to ’t; but he Has not my will in keeping. Why do I Perplex myself thus? Something whispers me, Go not to bed. My guilt is not so great As mine own conscience, too sensible, 135 Would make me think; I only brake a promise, And ’t was the King that forc’d me. Timorous flesh, Why shak’st thou so? Away, my idle fears! Re-enter EVADNE. Yonder she is, the lustre of whose eye Can blot away the sad remembrance 140 Of all these things.—Oh, my Evadne, spare That tender body; let it not take cold! The vapours of the night will not fall here. To bed, my love: Hymen will punish us For being slack performers of his rites. 145 Cam’st thou to call me?

Evad. No.

Amin. Come, come, my love, And let us lose ourselves to one another. Why art thou up so long?

Evad. I am not well.

Amin. To bed then; let me wind thee in these arms Till I have banisht sickness.

Evad. Good my lord, 150 I cannot sleep.

Amin. Evadne, we will watch; I mean no sleeping.

Evad. I ’ll not go to bed.

Amin. I prithee, do.

Evad. I will not for the world.

Amin. Why, my dear love?

Evad. Why! I have sworn I will not.

Amin. Sworn!

Evad. Ay.

Amin. How? Sworn, Evadne! 155

Evad. Yes, sworn, Amintor; and will swear again, If you will wish to hear me.

Amin. To whom have you sworn this?

Evad. If I should name him, the matter were not great.

Amin. Come, this is but the coyness of a bride. 160

Evad. The coyness of the bride!

Amin. How prettily That frown becomes thee!

Evad. Do you like it so?

Amin. Thou canst not dress thy face in such a look But I shall like it.

Evad. What look likes[3343] you best?

Amin. Why do you ask? 165

Evad. That I may show you one less pleasing to you.

Amin. How ’s that?

Evad. That I may show you one less pleasing to you.

Amin. I prithee, put thy jests in milder looks; It shows as thou wert angry.

Evad. So perhaps 170 I am indeed.

Amin. Why, who has done thee wrong? Name me the man, and by thyself I swear, Thy yet unconquered self, I will revenge thee!

Evad. Now I shall try thy truth. If thou dost love me, Thou weigh’st not anything compar’d with me: 175 Life, honour, joys eternal, all delights This world can yield, or hopeful people feign, Or in the life to come, are light as air To a true lover when his lady frowns, And bids him, “Do this.” Wilt thou kill this man? 180 Swear, my Amintor, and I ’ll kiss the sin Off from thy lips.

Amin. I wo’ not swear, sweet love. Till I do know the cause.

Evad. I would thou wouldst. Why, it is thou that wrong’st me; I hate thee; Thou should’st have kill’d thyself. 185

Amin. If I should know that, I should quickly kill The man you hated.

Evad. Know it, then, and do ’t.

Amin. Oh, no! what look soe’er thou shalt put on To try my faith, I shall not think thee false; I cannot find one blemish in thy face, 190 Where falsehood should abide. Leave, and to bed. If you have sworn to any of the virgins That were your old companions, to preserve Your maidenhead a night, it may be done Without this means.

Evad. A maidenhead, Amintor, 195 At my years!

Amin. Sure she raves; this cannot be Her natural temper.—Shall I call thy maids? Either thy healthful sleep hath left thee long, Or else some fever rages in thy blood.

Evad. Neither, Amintor: think you I am mad, 200 Because I speak the truth?

Amin. [Is this the truth?][3344] Will you not lie with me to-night?

Evad. To-night! You talk as if [you thought][3344] I would hereafter.

Amin. Hereafter! yes, I do.

Evad. You are deceiv’d. Put off amazement, and with patience mark 205 What I shall utter, for the oracle Knows nothing truer. ’T is not for a night Or two that I forbear thy bed, but ever.

Amin. I dream. Awake, Amintor!

Evad. You hear right: I sooner will find out the beds of snakes, 210 And with my youthful blood warm their cold flesh, Letting them curl themselves about my limbs, Than sleep one night with thee. This is not feign’d, Nor sounds it like the coyness of a bride.

Amin. Is flesh so earthly to endure all this? 215 Are these the joys of marriage? Hymen, keep This story, that will make succeeding youth Neglect thy ceremonies, from all ears; Let it not rise up, for thy shame and mine To after-ages: we will scorn thy laws, 220 If thou no better bless them. Touch the heart Of her that thou hast sent me, or the world Shall know; there ’s not an altar that will smoke In praise of thee; we will adopt us sons; Then virtue shall inherit, and not blood. 225 If we do lust, we’ll take the next we meet, Serving ourselves as other creatures do; And never take note of the female more, Nor of her issue.—I do rage in vain; She can but jest.—Oh, pardon me, my love! 230 So dear the thoughts are that I hold of thee, That I must break forth. Satisfy my fear; It is a pain, beyond the hand of death, To be in doubt. Confirm it with an oath, If this be true.

Evad. Do you invent the form; 235 Let there be in it all the binding words Devils and conjurers can put together, And I will take it. I have sworn before, And here by all things holy do again, Never to be acquainted with thy bed! 240 Is your doubt over now?

Amin. I know too much; would I had doubted still! Was ever such a marriage-night as this! You powers above, if you did ever mean Man should be us’d thus, you have thought a way 245 How he may bear himself, and save his honour: Instruct me in it; for to my dull eyes There is no mean, no moderate course to run; I must live scorn’d, or be a murderer. Is there a third? Why is this night so calm? 250 Why does not Heaven speak in thunder to us, And drown her voice?

Evad. This rage will do no good.

Amin. Evadne, hear me. Thou hast ta’en an oath, But such a rash one, that to keep it were Worse than to swear it. Call it back to thee; 255 Such vows as that never ascend to Heaven; A tear or two will wash it quite away. Have mercy on my youth, my hopeful youth, If thou be pitiful! for, without boast, This land was proud of me. What lady was there, 260 That men call’d fair and virtuous in this isle, That would have shunn’d my love? It is in thee To make me hold this worth. Oh, we vain men, That trust [out][3345] all our reputation To rest upon the weak and yielding hand 265 Of feeble woman! But thou art not stone; Thy flesh is soft, and in thine eyes doth dwell The spirit of love; thy heart cannot be hard. Come, lead me from the bottom of despair To all the joys thou hast; I know thou wilt; 270 And make me careful lest the sudden change O’ercome my spirits.

Evad. When I call back this oath, The pains of hell environ me!

Amin. I sleep, and am too temperate. Come to bed! Or by those hairs, which, if thou hadst a soul 275 Like to thy locks, were threads for kings to wear About their arms——

Evad. Why, so perhaps they are.

Amin. I’ll drag thee to my bed, and make thy tongue Undo this wicked oath, or on thy flesh I’ll print a thousand wounds to let out life! 280

Evad. I fear thee not: do what thou dar’st to me! Every ill-sounding word or threat’ning look Thou shew’st to me will be reveng’d at full.

Amin. It will not sure, Evadne?

Evad. Do not you hazard that.

Amin. Ha’ ye your champions? 285

Evad. Alas, Amintor, think’st thou I forbear To sleep with thee, because I have put on A maiden’s strictness? Look upon these cheeks, And thou shalt find the hot and rising blood Unapt for such a vow. No; in this heart 290 There dwells as much desire and as much will To put that wished[3346] act in practice as ever yet Was known to woman; and they have been shown Both. But it was the folly of thy youth To think this beauty, to what land[3347] soe’er 295 It shall be call’d, shall stoop to any second. I do enjoy the best, and in that height Have sworn to stand or die. You guess the man.

Amin. No; let me know the man that wrongs me so, That I may cut his body into motes, 300 And scatter it before the northern wind.

Evad. You dare not strike him.

Amin. Do not wrong me so. Yes, if his body were a poisonous plant That it were death to touch, I have a soul Will throw me on him.

Evad. Why, ’tis the King.

Amin. The King! 305

Evad. What will you do now?

Amin. ’Tis not the King!

Evad. What did he make this match for, dull Amintor?

Amin. Oh, thou hast nam’d a word, that wipes away All thoughts revengeful! In that sacred name, “The King,” there lies a terror. What frail man 310 Dares lift his hand against it? Let the gods Speak to him when they please: till when, let us Suffer and wait.

Evad. Why should you fill yourself so full of heat, And haste so to my bed? I am no virgin. 315

Amin. What devil put it in thy fancy, then, To marry me?

Evad. Alas, I must have one To father children, and to bear the name Of husband to me, that my sin may be More honourable!

Amin. What strange thing am I! 320

Evad. A miserable one; one that myself Am sorry for.

Amin. Why, show it then in this: If thou hast pity, though thy love be none, Kill me; and all true lovers, that shall live In after ages crost in their desires, 325 Shall bless thy memory, and call thee good, Because such mercy in thy heart was found, To rid[3348] a ling’ring wretch.

Evad. I must have one To fill thy room again, if thou wert dead; Else, by this night, I would! I pity thee. 330

Amin. These strange and sudden injuries have fall’n So thick upon me, that I lose all sense Of what they are. Methinks, I am not wrong’d; Nor is it aught, if from the censuring world I can but hide it. Reputation, 335 Thou art a word, no more!—But thou hast shown An impudence so high, that to the world I fear thou wilt betray or shame thyself.

Evad. To cover shame, I took thee; never fear That I would blaze[3349] myself.

Amin. Nor let the King 340 Know I conceive he wrongs me; then mine honour Will thrust me into action, though[3350] my flesh Could bear with patience. And it is some ease To me in these extremes, that I know this Before I toucht thee; else, had all the sins 345 Of mankind stood betwixt me and the King, I had gone through ’em to his heart and thine. I have lost[3351] one desire: ’t is not his crown Shall buy me to thy bed, now I resolve[3352] He has dishonour’d thee. Give me thy hand: 350 Be careful of thy credit, and sin close;[3353] ’T is all I wish. Upon thy chamber-floor I’ll rest to-night, that morning visitors May think we did as married people use: 354 And prithee, smile upon me when they come, And seem to toy, as if thou hadst been pleased With what we did.

Evad. Fear not; I will do this.

Amin. Come, let us practise; and, as wantonly As ever loving[3354] bride and bridegroom met, Let’s laugh and enter here.

Evad. I am content. 360

Amin. Down all the swellings of my troubled heart! When we walk thus intwin’d, let all eyes see If ever lovers better did agree. Exeunt.

[SCENE II.][3355]

Enter ASPATIA, ANTIPHILA, and OLYMPIAS.

Asp. Away, you are not sad! force it no further. Good gods, how well you look! Such a full colour Young bashful brides put on: sure, you are new married!

Ant. Yes, madam, to your grief.

Asp. Alas, poor wenches! Go learn to love first; learn to lose yourselves; 5 Learn to be flattered, and believe and bless The double tongue that did it; make a faith Out of the miracles of ancient lovers, Such as spake truth and died in ’t; and, like me, Believe all faithful, and be miserable. 10 Did you ne’er love yet, wenches? Speak, Olympias: Thou hast an easy temper, fit for stamp.

Olym. Never.

Asp. Nor you, Antiphila?

Ant. Nor I.

Asp. Then, my good girls, be more than women, wise; At least be more than I was; and be sure 15 You credit any thing the light gives life to, Before a man. Rather believe the sea Weeps for the ruin’d merchant, when he roars; Rather, the wind courts but the pregnant sails, When the strong cordage cracks; rather, the sun 20 Comes but to kiss the fruit in wealthy autumn, When all falls blasted. If you needs must love, (Forc’d by ill fate,) take to your maiden-bosoms Two dead-cold aspics, and of them make lovers. They cannot flatter nor forswear; one kiss 25 Makes a long peace for all. But man— Oh, that beast man! Come, let’s be sad, my girls: That down-cast of thine eye, Olympias, Shows a fine sorrow.—Mark, Antiphila; Just such another was the nymph Oenone, 30 When Paris brought home Helen.—Now, a tear; And then thou art a piece expressing fully The Carthage queen, when from a cold sea-rock, Full with her sorrow, she tied fast her eyes 34 To the fair Trojan ships; and, having lost them, Just as thine does, down stole a tear.—Antiphila, What would this wench do, if she were Aspatia? Here she would stand, till some more pitying god Turn’d her to marble!—’T is enough, my wench! Show me the piece of needlework you wrought.

Ant. Of Ariadne, madam?

Asp. Yes, that piece.— 41 This should be Theseus; h’as a cozening face.— You meant him for a man?

Ant. He was so, madam.

Asp. Why, then, ’tis well enough.—Never look back; You have a full wind and a false heart, Theseus.— 45 Does not the story say, his keel was split, Or his masts spent, or some kind rock or other Met with his vessel?

Ant. Not as I remember.

Asp. It should ha’ been so. Could the gods know this, And not, of all their number, raise a storm? 50 But they are all as evil. This false smile Was well exprest; just such another caught me.— You shall not go so.[3356]— Antiphila, in this place work a quicksand, And over it a shallow smiling water, 55 And his ship ploughing it; and then a Fear: Do that Fear to the life,[3357] wench.

Ant. ’T will wrong the story.

Asp. ’T will make the story, wrong’d by wanton poets, Live long and be believ’d. But where ’s the lady?

Ant. There, madam. 60

Asp. Fie, you have mist it here, Antiphila; You are much mistaken, wench. These colours are not dull and pale enough To show a soul so full of misery As this sad lady’s was. Do it by me, 65 Do it again by me, the lost Aspatia; And you shall find all true but the wild island. I stand upon the sea-breach now, and think[3358] Mine arms thus, and mine hair blown with the wind, Wild as that desert; and let all about me 70 Tell that I am forsaken. Do my face (If thou had’st ever feeling of a sorrow) Thus, thus, Antiphila; strive to make me look Like Sorrow’s monument; and the trees about me, Let them be dry and leafless; let the rocks 75 Groan with continual surges; and behind me, Make all a desolation. See, see, wenches, A miserable life[3359] of this poor picture!

Olym. Dear madam!

Asp. I have done. Sit down; and let us Upon that point fix all our eyes, that point there. 80 Make a dull silence, till you feel a sudden sadness Give us new souls.

Enter CALIANAX.

Cal. The King may do this, and he may not do it: My child is wrong’d, disgrac’d.—Well, how now, huswives? 84 What, at your ease! Is this a time to sit still? Up, you young lazy whores, up, or I ’ll swinge you!

Olym. Nay, good my lord—

Cal. You ’ll lie down shortly. Get you in, and work! What, are you grown so resty you want heats? We shall have some of the court-boys do that office. 90

Ant. My lord, we do no more than we are charg’d: It is the lady’s pleasure we be thus In grief she is forsaken.

Cal. There ’s a rogue too, A young dissembling slave!—Well, get you in.— I ’ll have a bout with that boy. ’T is high time Now to be valiant: I confess my youth 96 Was never prone that way. What, made an ass! A court-stale![3360] Well, I will be valiant, And beat some dozen of these whelps; I will! And there ’s another of ’em, a trim cheating soldier; 100 I ’ll maul that rascal; has out-brav’d me twice; But now, I thank the gods, I am valiant.— Go, get you in.—I ’ll take a course with all. Exeunt.

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Act III

[SCENE I.][3361]

Enter CLEON, STRATO, and DIPHILUS.

Cle. Your sister is not up yet.

Diph. Oh, brides must take their morning’s rest; the night is troublesome.

Stra. But not tedious.

Diph. What odds, he has not my sister’s (5) maidenhead to-night?

Stra. None; it’s odds against any bridegroom living, he ne’er gets it while he lives.

Diph. You ’re merry with my sister; you ’ll please to allow me the same freedom with (10) your mother.

Stra. She ’s at your service.

Diph. Then she ’s merry enough of herself; she needs no tickling. Knock at the door.

Stra. We shall interrupt them. 15

Diph. No matter; they have the year before them. [STRATO knocks at the door.] Good morrow, sister. Spare yourself to-day; The night will come again.

Enter AMINTOR.

Amin. Who ’s there? My brother! I ’m no readier[3362] yet. 20 Your sister is but now up.

Diph. You look as you had lost your eyes tonight: I think you ha’ not slept.

Amin. I’ faith I have not.

Diph. You have done better, then.

Amin. We ventur’d for a boy; when he is twelve, 25 ’A shall command against the foes of Rhodes. Shall we be merry?

Stra. You cannot; you want sleep.

Amin. ’T is true.—(Aside.) But she, As if she had drank Lethe, or had made Even with Heaven, did fetch so still a sleep, 30 So sweet and sound——

Diph. What’s that?

Amin. Your sister frets This morning; and does turn her eyes upon me, As people on their headsman. She does chafe, And kiss, and chafe again, and clap my cheeks: She ’s in another world. 35

Diph. Then I had lost: I was about to lay You had not got her maidenhead to-night.

Amin. [Aside.] Ha! does he not mock me? You ’d lost indeed; I do not use to bungle.

Cleo. You do deserve her.

Amin. (Aside.) I laid my lips to hers, and that wild breath, 40 That was so rude and rough to me last night, Was sweet as April. I ’ll be guilty too, If these be the effects.

Enter MELANTIUS.

Mel. Good day, Amintor; for to me the name Of brother is too distant: we are friends, 45 And that is nearer.

Amin. Dear Melantius! Let me behold thee. Is it possible?

Mel. What sudden gaze is this?

Amin. ’T is wondrous strange!

Mel. Why does thine eye desire so strict a view Of that it knows so well? There ’s nothing here 50 That is not thine.

Amin. I wonder much, Melantius, To see those noble looks, that make me think How virtuous thou art: and, on the sudden, ’T is strange to me thou shouldst have worth and honour; Or not be base, and false, and treacherous, 55 And every ill. But——

Mel. Stay, stay, my friend; I fear this sound will not become our loves. No more; embrace me.[3363]

Amin. Oh, mistake me not! I know thee to be full of all those deeds 59 That we frail men call good; but by the course Of nature thou shouldst be as quickly chang’d As are the winds; dissembling as the sea, That now wears brows as smooth as virgins’ be, Tempting the merchant to invade his face, And in an hour calls his billows up, 65 And shoots ’em at the sun, destroying all ’A carries on him.—(Aside.) Oh, how near am I To utter my sick thoughts!

Mel. But why, my friend, should I be so by nature?

Amin. I have wed thy sister, who hath virtuous thoughts 70 Enough for one whole family; and it is strange That you should feel no want.

Mel. Believe me, this is compliment too cunning for me.

Diph. What should I be then by the course of nature, 74 They having both robb’d me of so much virtue?

Stra. Oh, call the bride, my Lord Amintor, That we may see her blush, and turn her eyes down. It is the prettiest sport!

Amin. Evadne!

Evad. (within.) My lord?

Amin. Come forth, my love; Your brothers do attend to wish you joy. 80

Evad. [within.] I am not ready yet.

Amin. Enough, enough.

Evad. [within.] They ’ll mock me.

Amin. Faith, thou shalt come in.

Enter EVADNE.

Mel. Good morrow, sister. He that understands Whom you have wed, need not to wish you joy; You have enough: take heed you be not proud.

Diph. Oh, sister, what have you done? 86

Evad. I done! why, what have I done?

Stra. My Lord Amintor swears you are no maid now.

Evad. Pish!

Stra. I’ faith, he does.

Evad. I knew I should be mockt. 90

Diph. With a truth.

Evad. If ’t were to do again, In faith I would not marry.

Amin. (Aside.) Nor I, by Heaven!

Diph. Sister, Dula swears She heard you cry two rooms off.

Evad. Fie, how you talk!

Diph. Let ’s see you walk, Evadne. By my troth, 95 You ’re spoil’d.[3364]

Mel. Amintor.—

Amin. Ha!

Mel. Thou art sad.

Amin. Who, I? I thank you for that. Shall Diphilus, thou, and I, sing a catch?

Mel. How! 100

Amin. Prithee, let ’s.

Mel. Nay, that ’s too much the other way.

Amin. I ’m so light’ned with my happiness!— How dost thou, love? Kiss me.

Evad. I cannot love you, you tell tales of me. 105

Amin. Nothing but what becomes us.—Gentlemen, Would you had all such wives, and all the world, That I might be no wonder! You ’re all sad: What, do you envy me? I walk, methinks, On water, and ne’er sink, I am so light. 110

Mel. ’T is well you are so.

Amin. Well! how can I be other, When she looks thus?—Is there no music there? Let ’s dance.

Mel. Why this is strange, Amintor!

Amin. I do not know myself; yet I could wish My joy were less. 115

Diph. I ’ll marry too, if it will make one thus.

Evad. (Aside.) Amintor, hark.

Amin. What says my love?—I must obey.

Evad. You do it scurvily, ’t will be perceiv’d.

Cleo. My lord, the King is here. 120

Enter KING and LYSIPPUS.

Amin. Where?

Stra. And his brother.

King. Good morrow, all!— Amintor, joy on joy fall thick upon thee!— And, madam, you are alter’d since I saw you; I must salute you; you are now another’s. 126 How lik’d you your night’s rest?

Evad. Ill, sir.

Amin. Indeed, She took but little.

Lys. You ’ll let her take more, And thank her too, shortly.

King. Amintor, wert thou truly honest till 130 Thou wert married?

Amin. Yes, sir.

King. Tell me, then, how shows The sport unto thee?

Amin. Why, well.

King. What did you do?

Amin. No more, nor less, than other couples use; You know what ’t is; it has but a coarse, name.

King. But, prithee, I should think, by her black eye, 135 And her red cheek, she should be quick and stirring In this same business; ha?

Amin. I cannot tell; I ne’er tried other, sir; but I perceive She is as quick as you delivered.

King. Well, you ’ll trust me then, Amintor, to choose 140 A wife for you again?

Amin. No, never, sir.

King. Why, like you this so ill?

Amin. So well I like her. For this I bow my knee in thanks to you, And unto Heaven will pay my grateful tribute Hourly; and do hope we shall draw out 145 A long contented life together here, And die both, full of grey hairs, in one day: For which the thanks is yours. But if the powers That rule us please to call her first away, Without pride spoke, this world holds not a wife 150 Worthy to take her room.

King. I do not like this.—All forbear the room, But you, Amintor, and your lady. [Exeunt all but the KING, AMINTOR, and EVADNE.] I have some speech with you, that may concern Your after living well. 155

Amin. [Aside.] ’A will not tell me that he lies with her! If he do, something heavenly stay my heart, For I shall be apt to thrust this arm of mine To acts unlawful!

King. You will suffer me To talk with her, Amintor, and not have 160 A jealous pang?

Amin. Sir, I dare trust my wife With whom she dares to talk, and not be jealous. [Retires.]

King. How do you like Amintor?

Evad. As I did, sir.

King. How ’s that?

Evad. As one that, to fulfil your will and pleasure, 165 I have given leave to call me wife and love.

King. I see there is no lasting faith in sin; They that break word with Heaven will break again With all the world, and so dost thou with me.

Evad. How, sir?

King. This subtle woman’s ignorance 170 Will not excuse you: thou hast taken oaths, So great that, methought, they did misbecome A woman’s mouth, that thou wouldst ne’er enjoy A man but me.

Evad. I never did swear so; You do me wrong.

King. Day and night have heard it. 175

Evad. I swore indeed that I would never love A man of lower place; but, if your fortune Should throw you from this height, I bade you trust I would forsake you, and would bend to him That won your throne. I love with my ambition, 180 Not with my eyes. But, if I ever yet Toucht any other, leprosy light here Upon my face! which for your royalty I would not stain!

King. Why, thou dissemblest, and It is in me to punish thee.

Evad. Why, it is in me, 185 Then, not to love you, which will more afflict Your body than your punishment can mine.

King. But thou hast let Amintor lie with thee.

Evad. I ha’ not.

King. Impudence! he says himself so.

Evad. ’A lies.

King. ’A does not.

Evad. By this light, he does, 190 Strangely and basely! and I ’ll prove it so. I did not only shun him for a night, But told him I would never close with him.

King. Speak lower; it is false.

Evad. I am no man To answer with a blow; or, if I were, 195 You are the King. But urge me not; ’t is most true.

King. Do not I know the uncontrolled thoughts That youth brings with him, when his blood is high With expectation and desire of that He long hath waited for? Is not his spirit, 200 Though he be temperate, of a valiant strain As this our age hath known? What could he do, If such a sudden speech had met his blood, But ruin thee for ever, if he had not kill’d thee? He could not bear it thus: he is as we, 205 Or any other wrong’d man.

Evad. It is dissembling.

King. Take him! farewell: henceforth I am thy foe; And what disgraces I can blot thee with, look for.

Evad. Stay, sir!—Amintor!—You shall hear.—Amintor!

Amin. [coming forward.] What, my love. 210

Evad. Amintor, thou hast an ingenious[3365] look, And shouldst be virtuous: it amazeth me That thou canst make such base malicious lies!

Amin. What, my dear wife?

Evad. Dear wife! I do despise thee. Why, nothing can be baser than to sow 215 Dissension amongst lovers.

Amin. Lovers! Who?

Evad. The king and me—

Amin. Oh, God!

Evad. Who should live long, and love without distaste, Were it not for such pickthanks[3366] as thyself. Did you lie with me? Swear now, and be punisht 220 In hell for this!

Amin. The faithless sin I made To fair Aspatia is not yet reveng’d; It follows me.—I will not lose a word To this vile woman: but to you, my King, 224 The anguish of my soul thrusts out this truth: You ’re a tyrant! and not so much to wrong An honest man thus, as to take a pride In talking with him of it.

Evad. Now, sir, see How loud this fellow lied!

Amin. You that can know to wrong, should know how men 230 Must right themselves. What punishment is due From me to him that shall abuse my bed? Is it not death? Nor can that satisfy, Unless I send your limbs[3367] through all the land, To show how nobly I have freed myself. 235

King. Draw not thy sword; thou know’st I cannot fear A subject’s hand; but thou shalt feel the weight Of this, if thou dost rage.

Amin. The weight of that! If you have any worth, for Heaven’s sake, think I fear not swords; for, as you are mere man, 240 I dare as easily kill you for this deed, As you dare think to do it. But there is Divinity about you that strikes dead My rising passions: as you are my King, I fall before you, and present my sword 245 To cut mine own flesh, if it be your will. Alas, I am nothing but a multitude Of walking griefs! Yet, should I murder you, I might before the world take the excuse Of madness: for, compare my injuries, 250 And they will well appear too sad a weight For reason to endure. But, fall I first Amongst my sorrows, ere my treacherous hand Touch holy things! But why (I know not what I have to say), why did you choose out me 255 To make thus wretched? There were thousands, fools Easy to work on, and of state enough, Within the island.

Evad. I would not have a fool; It were no credit for me.

Amin. Worse and worse! 259 Thou, that dar’st talk unto thy husband thus, Profess thyself a whore, and, more than so, Resolve to be so still!——It is my fate To bear and bow beneath a thousand griefs, To keep that little credit with the world!— But there were wise ones too; you might have ta’en 265 Another.

King. No: for I believ’d thee honest, As thou wert valiant.

Amin. All the happiness[3368] Bestow’d upon me turns into disgrace. Gods, take your honesty again, for I 270 Am loaden with it!—Good my lord the King, Be private in it.

King. Thou mayst live, Amintor, Free as thy king, if thou wilt wink at this, And be a means that we may meet in secret.

Amin. A bawd! Hold, hold, my breast! A bitter curse 275 Seize me, if I forget not all respects That are religious, on another word Sounded like that; and through a sea of sins Will wade to my revenge, though I should call Pains here and after life upon my soul! 280

King. Well, I am resolute[3369] you lay not with her; And so I leave you. Exit.

Evad. You must needs be prating; And see what follows!

Amin. Prithee, vex me not. Leave me; I am afraid some sudden start Will pull a murder on me.

Evad. I am gone; 285 I love my life well. Exit.

Amin. I hate mine as much. This ’t is to break a troth! I should be glad, If all this tide of grief would make me mad. Exit.

[SCENE II.][3370]

Enter MELANTIUS.

Mel. I ’ll know the cause of all Amintor’s griefs, Or friendship shall be idle.

Enter CALIANAX.

Cal. Oh, Melantius, My daughter will die!

Mel. Trust me, I am sorry: Would thou hadst ta’en her room!

Cal. Thou art a slave, A cut-throat slave, a bloody treacherous slave! 5

Mel. Take heed, old man; thou wilt be heard to rave, And lose thine offices.

Cal. I am valiant grown At all these years, and thou art but a slave!

Mel. Leave! Some company will come, and I respect 10 Thy years, not thee, so much, that I could wish To laugh at thee alone.

Cal. I ’ll spoil your mirth: I mean to fight with thee. There lie, my cloak. This was my father’s sword, and he durst fight. Are you prepar’d?

Mel. Why wilt thou dote thyself 15 Out of thy life? Hence, get thee to bed, Have careful looking-to, and eat warm things, And trouble not me: my head is full of thoughts More weighty than thy life or death can be.

Cal. You have a name in war, where you stand safe 20 Amongst a multitude; but I will try What you dare do unto a weak old man In single fight. You will give ground, I fear. Come, draw.

Mel. I will not draw, unless thou pull’st thy death 25 Upon thee with a stroke. There ’s no one blow, That thou canst give hath strength enough to kill me. Tempt me not so far, then: the power of earth Shall not redeem thee.

Cal. [Aside.] I must let him alone; He ’s stout and able; and, to say the truth, 30 However I may set a face and talk, I am not valiant. When I was a youth, I kept my credit with a testy trick I had ’mongst cowards, but durst never fight.

Mel. I will not promise to preserve your life, If you do stay.

Cal. [Aside.] I would give half my land 36 That I durst fight with that proud man a little. If I had men to hold him, I would beat him Till he askt me mercy.

Mel. Sir, will you be gone?

Cal. [Aside.] I dare not stay; but I will go home, and beat 40 My servants all over for this. Exit.

Mel. This old fellow haunts me. But the distracted carriage of mine Amintor Takes deeply on me.[3371] I will find the cause: 44 I fear his conscience cries, he wrong’d Aspatia.

Enter AMINTOR.

Amin. [Aside.] Men’s eyes are not so subtle to perceive My inward misery: I bear my grief Hid from the world. How art thou wretched then? For aught I know, all husbands are like me; And every one I talk with of his wife 50 Is but a well dissembler of his woes, As I am. Would I knew it! for the rareness Afflicts me now.

Mel. Amintor, we have not enjoy’d our 54 friendship of late, for we were wont to change our souls in talk.

Amin. Melantius, I can tell thee a good jest of Strato and a lady the last day.

Mel. How was ’t?

Amin. Why, such an odd one! 60

Mel. I have long’d to speak with you; not of an idle jest, that’s forc’d, but of matter you are bound to utter to me.

Amin. What is that, my friend?

Mel. I have observ’d your words fall from your tongue 65 Wildly; and all your carriage Like one that strove to shew his merry mood, When he were ill dispos’d. You were not wont To put such scorn into your speech, or wear Upon your face ridiculous jollity. 70 Some sadness sits here, which your cunning would Cover o’er with smiles, and ’t will not be. What is it?

Amin. A sadness here! What cause Can fate provide for me to make me so? 74 Am I not lov’d through all this isle? The King Rains greatness on me. Have I not received A lady to my bed, that in her eye Keeps mounting fire, and on her tender cheeks Inevitable[3372] colour, in her heart A prison for all virtue? Are not you, 80 Which is above all joys, my constant friend? What sadness can I have? No; I am light, And feel the courses of my blood more warm And stirring than they were. Faith, marry too; And you will feel so unexprest a joy 85 In chaste embraces, that you will indeed Appear another.

Mel. You may shape, Amintor, Causes to cozen the whole world withal, And you yourself too: but ’t is not like a friend To hide your soul from me. ’T is not your nature 90 To be thus idle. I have seen you stand As you were blasted ’midst of all your mirth; Call thrice aloud, and then start, feigning joy So coldly!—World, what do I here? A friend Is nothing. Heaven, I would ha’ told that man My secret sins! I ’ll search an unknown land, 96 And there plant friendship; all is withered here. Come with a compliment! I would have fought, Or told my friend ’a lied, ere sooth’d[3373] him so.— Out of my bosom! 100

Amin. But there is nothing.

Mel. Worse and worse! farewell: From this time have acquaintance, but no friend.

Amin. Melantius, stay: you shall know what that is.

Mel. See how you play’d with friendship! Be advis’d How you give cause unto yourself to say 105 You ha’ lost a friend.

Amin. Forgive what I ha’ done; For I am so o’ergone with injuries Unheard of, that I lose consideration Of what I ought to do. Oh, oh!

Mel. Do not weep. What is ’t? May I once but know the man 110 Hath turn’d my friend thus!

Amin. I had spoke at first. But that——

Mel. But what?

Amin. I held it most unfit For you to know. Faith, do not know it yet.

Mel. Thou see’st my love, that will keep company 114 With thee in tears; hide nothing, then, from me; For when I know the cause of thy distemper, With mine old armour I ’ll adorn myself, My resolution, and cut through thy foes, Unto thy quiet, till I place thy heart As peaceable as spotless innocence. 120 What is it?

Amin. Why, ’tis this——it is too big To get out——let my tears make way awhile.

Mel. Punish me strangely, Heaven, if he escape Of life or fame, that brought this youth to this!

Amin. Your sister——

Mel. Well said.

Amin. You will wish ’t unknown, 125 When you have heard it.

Mel. No.

Amin. Is much to blame, And to the King has given her honour up, And lives in whoredom with him.

Mel. How’s this? Thou art run mad with injury indeed; Thou couldst not utter this else. Speak again; For I forgive it freely; tell thy griefs. 131

Amin. She’s wanton: I am loth to say, a whore, Though it be true.

Mel. Speak yet again, before mine anger grow Up beyond throwing down. What are thy griefs? 135

Amin. By all our friendship, these.

Mel. What, am I tame? After mine actions, shall the name of friend Blot all our family, and strike the brand Of whore upon my sister, unreveng’d? My shaking flesh, be thou a witness for me, 140 With what unwillingness I go to scourge This railer, whom my folly hath call’d friend? I will not take thee basely: thy sword [Draws his sword.] 143 Hangs near thy hand: draw it, that I may whip Thy rashness to repentance; draw thy sword!

Amin. Not on thee, did thine anger go as high As the wild surges. Thou shouldst do me ease Here and eternally, if thy noble hand Would cut me from my sorrows.

Mel. This is base And fearful.[3374] They that use to utter lies 150 Provide not blows but words to qualify[3375] The men they wrong’d. Thou hast a guilty cause.

Amin. Thou pleasest me; for so much more like this Will raise my anger up above my griefs, (Which is a passion easier to be borne,) 155 And I shall then be happy.

Mel. Take, then, more To raise thine anger: ’tis mere cowardice Makes thee not draw; and I will leave thee dead, However. But if thou art so much prest With guilt and fear as not to dare to fight, 160 I’ll make thy memory loath’d, and fix a scandal Upon thy name forever.

Amin. [drawing his sword.] Then I draw, As justly as our magistrates their swords To cut offenders off. I knew before ’T would grate your ears; but it was base in you To urge a weighty secret from your friend, 166 And then rage at it. I shall be at ease, If I be kill’d; and, if you fall by me, I shall not long outlive you.

Mel. Stay awhile.— The name of friend is more than family, 170 Or all the world besides: I was a fool. Thou searching human nature, that didst wake To do me wrong, thou art inquisitive, 173 And thrusts me upon questions that will take My sleep away! Would I had died, ere known This sad dishonour!—Pardon me, my friend! [Sheaths his sword.] If thou wilt strike, here is a faithful heart; Pierce it, for I will never heave my hand To thine. Behold the power thou hast in me! I do believe my sister is a whore, 180 A leprous one. Put up thy sword, young man.

Amin. How should I bear it, then, she being so? I fear, my friend, that you will lose me shortly; [Sheaths his sword.] And I shall do a foul act on myself, Through these disgraces.

Mel. Better half the land 185 Were buried quick[3376] together. No, Amintor; Thou shalt have ease. Oh, this adulterous King, That drew her to ’t! Where got he the spirit To wrong me so?

Amin. What is it, then, to me, If it be wrong to you?

Mel. Why, not so much. 190 The credit of our house is thrown away. But from his iron den I’ll waken Death, And hurl him on this King. My honesty Shall steel my sword: and on its horrid point I’ll wear my cause, that shall amaze the eyes Of this proud man, and be too glitt’ring 196 For him to look on.

Amin. I have quite undone my fame.

Mel. Dry up thy watery eyes, And cast a manly look upon my face; 200 For nothing is so wild as I, thy friend, Till I have freed thee. Still this swelling breast. I go thus from thee, and will never cease My vengeance till I find thy heart at peace.

Amin. It must not be so. Stay. Mine eyes would tell 205 How loth I am to this; but, love and tears, Leave me awhile! for I have hazarded All that this world calls happy.—Thou hast wrought A secret from me, under name of friend, Which art could ne’er have found, nor torture wrung 210 From out my bosom. Give it me again; For I will find it, wheresoe’er it lies, Hid in the mortal’st part. Invent a way To give it back.

Mel. Why would you have it back? I will to death pursue him with revenge, 215

Amin. Therefore I call it back from thee; for I know Thy blood so high, that thou wilt stir in this, And shame me to posterity. Take to thy weapon! [Draws his sword.]

Mel. Hear thy friend, that bears more years than thou.

Amin. I will not hear: but draw, or I——

Mel. Amintor! 220

Amin. Draw, then; for I am full as resolute As fame and honour can enforce me be: I cannot linger. Draw!

Mel. I do. But is not My share of credit equal with thine, It I do stir?

Amin. No; for it will be call’d 225 Honour in thee to spill thy sister’s blood, If she her birth abuse; and, on the King A brave revenge: but on me, that have walkt With patience in it, it will fix the name Of fearful cuckold. Oh, that word! Be quick.

Mel. Then, join with me.

Amin. I dare not do a sin, 231 Or else I would. Be speedy.

Mel. Then, dare not fight with me; for that’s a sin.— His grief distracts him.—Call thy thoughts again, 234 And to thyself pronounce the name of friend, And see what that will work. I will not fight.

Amin. You must.

Mel. [sheathing his sword.] I will be kill’d first. Though my passions Offered the like to you, ’t is not this earth Shall buy my reason to it. Think awhile, 240 For you are (I must weep when I speak that) Almost besides yourself.

Amin. [sheathing his sword.] Oh, my soft temper! So many sweet words from thy sister’s mouth, I am afraid would make me take her to 245 Embrace, and pardon her. I am mad indeed, And know not what I do. Yet, have a care Of me in what thou dost.

Mel. Why, thinks my friend I will forget his honour? or, to save The bravery of our house, will lose his fame, 250 And fear to touch the throne of majesty?

Amin. A curse will follow that; but rather live And suffer with me.

Mel. I will do what worth Shall bid me, and no more.

Amin. Faith, I am sick, And desperately I hope; yet, leaning thus, 255 I feel a kind of ease.

Mel. Come, take again Your mirth about you.

Amin. I shall never do ’t.

Mel. I warrant you; look up; we’ll walk together; Put thine arm here; all shall be well again.

Amin. Thy love (oh, wretched!) ay, thy love Melantius; 260 Why, I have nothing else.

Mel. Be merry, then. Exeunt.

Re-enter MELANTIUS.

Mel. This worthy young man may do violence Upon himself; but I have cherisht him To my best power, and sent him smiling from me, To counterfeit again. Sword, hold thine edge; My heart will never fail me. Enter DIPHILUS. Diphilus! 266 Thou com’st as sent.

Diph. Yonder has been such laughing.

Mel. Betwixt whom?

Diph. Why, our sister and the King. I thought their spleens would break; they laught us all Out of the room. 270

Mel. They must weep, Diphilus.

Diph. Must they?

Mel. They must. Thou art my brother; and, if I did believe Thou hadst a base thought, I would rip it out, Lie where it durst.

Diph. You should not; I would first Mangle myself and find it.

Mel. That was spoke 275 According to our strain.[3377] Come, join thy hands to mine, And swear a firmness to what project I Shall lay before thee.

Diph. You do wrong us both. People hereafter shall not say there past A bond, more than our loves, to tie our lives And deaths together. 281

Mel. It is as nobly said as I would wish. Anon I’ll tell you wonders: we are wrong’d.

Diph. But I will tell you now, we’ll right ourselves.

Mel. Stay not: prepare the armour in my house; 285 And what friends you can draw unto our side, Not knowing of the cause, make ready too. Haste, Diphilus, the time requires it, haste!— Exit DIPHILUS. I hope my cause is just; I know my blood Tells me it is; and I will credit it. 290 To take revenge, and lose myself withal, Were idle; and to scape impossible, Without I had the fort, which (misery!) Remaining in the hands of my old enemy Calianax——but I must have it. See 295 Re-enter CALIANAX. Where he comes shaking by me!—Good my lord, Forget your spleen to me. I never wrong’d you, But would have peace with every man.

Cal. ’T is well; If I durst fight, your tongue would lie at quiet.

Mel. You’re touchy without all cause.

Cal. Do, mock me. 200

Mel. By mine honour, I speak truth.

Cal. Honour! where is ’t?

Mel. See, what starts you make Into your idle hatred, to my love And freedom to you. I come with resolution To obtain a suit of you.

Cal. A suit of me! 205 ’T is very like it should be granted, sir.

Mel. Nay, go not hence. ’T is this; you have the keeping of the fort, And I would wish you, by the love you ought To bear unto me, to deliver it 310 Into my hands.

Cal. I am in hope thou art mad, To talk to me thus.

Mel. But there is a reason To move you to it: I would kill the King, That wrong’d you and your daughter.

Cal. Out, traitor!

Mel. Nay, but stay: I cannot scape, the deed once done, 315 Without I have this fort.

Cal. And should I help thee? Now thy treacherous mind betrays itself.

Mel. Come, delay me not; Give me a sudden answer, or already Thy last is spoke! Refuse not offered love 320 When it comes clad in secrets.

Cal. [Aside.] If I say I will not, he will kill me; I do see ’t Writ in his looks; and should I say I will, He ’ll run and tell the King.—I do not shun Your friendship, dear Melantius; but this cause Is weighty: give me but an hour to think. 326

Mel. Take it.—[Aside.] I know this goes unto the King; But I am arm’d. Exit.

Cal. Methinks I feel myself But twenty now again. This fighting fool Wants policy: I shall revenge my girl, 330 And make her red again. I pray my legs Will last that pace that I will carry them: I shall want breath before I find the King. Exit.

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Act IV

[SCENE I.][3378]

Enter MELANTIUS, EVADNE, and Ladies.

Mel. Save you!

Evad. Save you, sweet brother.

Mel. In my blunt eye, methinks, you look, Evadne—

Evad. Come, you would make me blush.

Mel. I would, Evadne; I shall displease my ends else.

Evad. You shall, if you Commend me; I am bashful. Come, sir, how do 5 I look?

Mel. I would not have your women hear me Break into commendation of you; ’t is not Seemly.

Evad. Go wait me in the gallery. Exeunt Ladies. Now speak.

Mel. I ’ll lock the door first.

Evad. Why?

Mel. I will not have your gilded things, that dance 10 In visitation with their Milan skins,[3379] Choke up my business.

Evad. You are strangely dispos’d, sir.

Mel. Good madam, not to make you merry.

Evad. No; if you praise me, it will make me sad.

Mel. Such a sad commendation I have for you.

Evad. Brother, 16 The court hath made you witty, and learn to riddle.

Mel. I praise the court for ’t: has it learn’d you nothing?

Evad. Me!

Mel. Ay, Evadne; thou art young and handsome, A lady of a sweet complexion, 20 And such a flowing carriage, that it cannot Choose but inflame a kingdom.

Evad. Gentle brother!

Mel. ’T is yet in thy repentance, foolish woman, To make me gentle.

Evad. How is this?

Mel. ’T is base; 24 And I could blush, at these years, through all My honour’d scars, to come to such a parley.

Evad. I understand you not.

Mel. You dare not, fool! They that commit thy faults fly the remembrance.

Evad. My faults, sir! I would have you know, I care not 29 If they were written here, here in my forehead.

Mel. Thy body is too little for the story; The lusts of which would fill another woman, Though[3380] she had twins within her.

Evad. This is saucy: Look you intrude no more! There ’s your way.

Mel. Thou art my way, and I will tread upon thee, 35 Till I find truth out.

Evad. What truth is that you look for?

Mel. Thy long-lost honour. Would the gods had set me Rather to grapple with the plague, or stand One of their loudest bolts! Come, tell me quickly, Do it without enforcement, and take heed 40 You swell me not above my temper.

Evad. How, sir! Where got you this report?

Mel. Where there was people, In every place.

Evad. They and the seconds of it Are base people: believe them not, they lied. 44

Mel. Do not play with mine anger; do not, wretch! [Seizes her.] I come to know that desperate fool that drew thee From thy fair life. Be wise, and lay him open.

Evad. Unhand me, and learn manners! Such another Forgetfulness forfeits your life.

Mel. Quench me this mighty humour, and then tell me 50 Whose whore you are; for you are one, I know it. Let all mine honours perish but I’ll find him Though he lie lock’d up in thy blood! Be sudden; There is no facing it; and be not flattered. The burnt air, when the Dog[3381] reigns, is not fouler 55 Than thy contagious name, till thy repentance (If the gods grant thee any) purge thy sickness.

Evad. Begone! you are my brother; that’s your safety.

Mel. I’ll be a wolf first. ’T is, to be thy brother, An infamy below the sin of coward. 60 I am as far from being part of thee As thou art from thy virtue. Seek a kindred ’Mongst sensual beasts, and make a goat thy brother; A goat is cooler. Will you tell me yet?

Evad. If you stay here and rail thus, I shall tell you 65 I’ll ha’ you whipt! Get you to your command, And there preach to your sentinels, and tell them What a brave man you are: I shall laugh at you.

Mel. You’re grown a glorious whore! Where be your fighters? 69 What mortal fool durst raise thee to this daring, And I alive! By my just sword, he’d safer Bestrid a billow when the angry North Ploughs up the sea, or made Heaven’s fire his foe! Work me no higher. Will you discover yet?

Evad. The fellow’s mad. Sleep, and speak sense. 75

Mel. Force my swol’n heart no further; I would save thee. Your great maintainers are not here, they dare not. Would they were all, and armed! I would speak loud; Here’s one should thunder to ’em! Will you tell me?— Thou hast no hope to scape. He that dares most, 80 And damns away his soul to do thee service, Will sooner snatch meat from a hungry lion Than come to rescue thee. Thou hast death about thee;— Has undone thine honour, poison’d thy virtue, And, of a lovely rose, left thee a canker.[3382] 85

Evad. Let me consider.

Mel. Do, whose child thou wert, Whose honour thou hast murdered, whose grave opened, And so pull’d on the gods that in their justice They must restore him flesh again and life, 89 And raise his dry bones to revenge this scandal.

Evad. The gods are not of my mind; they had better Let ’em lie sweet still in the earth; they’ll stink here.

Mel. Do you raise mirth out of my easiness? Forsake me, then, all weaknesses of nature, [Draws his sword.] That make men women! Speak, you whore, speak truth, 95 Or, by the dear soul of thy sleeping father, This sword shall be thy lover! Tell, or I’ll kill thee; And, when thou hast told all, thou wilt deserve it.

Evad. You will not murder me?

Mel. No; ’t is a justice, and a noble one, 100 To put the light out of such base offenders.

Evad. Help!

Mel. By thy foul self, no human help shall help thee, If thou criest! When I have kill’d thee, as I Have vow’d to do, if thou confess not, naked 105 As thou hast left thine honour will I leave thee, That on thy branded flesh the world may read Thy black shame and my justice. Wilt thou bend yet?

Evad. Yes.

Mel. Up, and begin your story. 110

Evad. Oh, I am miserable!

Mel. ’T is true, thou art. Speak truth still.

Evad. I have offended: noble sir, forgive me!

Mel. With what secure slave?

Evad. Do not ask me, sir; Mine own remembrance is a misery 115 Too mighty for me.

Mel. Do not fall back again; My sword’s unsheathed yet.

Evad. What shall I do?

Mel. Be true, and make your fault less.

Evad. I dare not tell.

Mel. Tell, or I’ll be this day a-killing thee.

Evad. Will you forgive me, then? 120

Mel. Stay; I must ask mine honour first. I have too much foolish nature in me: speak.

Evad. Is there none else here?

Mel. None but a fearful[3383] conscience; that’s too many. Who is ’t?

Evad. Oh, hear me gently! It was the King.

Mel. No more. My worthy father’s and my services 126 Are liberally rewarded! King, I thank thee! For all my dangers and my wounds thou hast paid me In my own metal: these are soldiers’ thanks!— How long have you liv’d thus, Evadne?

Evad. Too long. 130

Mel. Too late you find it. Can you be sorry?[3384]

Evad. Would I were half as blameless!

Mel. Evadne, thou wilt to thy trade again.

Evad. First to my grave.

Mel. Would gods thou hadst been so blest! Dost thou not hate this King now? Prithee, hate him: 135 Couldst thou not curse him? I command thee, curse him; Curse till the gods hear, and deliver him To thy just wishes. Yet I fear, Evadne, You had rather play your game out.

Evad. No, I feel Too many sad confusions here, to let in 140 Any loose flame hereafter.

Mel. Dost thou not feel, ’mongst all those, one brave anger, That breaks out nobly, and directs thine arm To kill this base King?

Evad. All the gods forbid it!

Mel. No, all the gods require it; 145 They are dishonoured in him.

Evad. ’Tis too fearful.

Mel. You’re valiant in his bed, and bold enough To be a stale whore, and have your madam’s name Discourse for grooms and pages: and hereafter, When his cool majesty hath laid you by, 150 To be at pension with some needy sir For meat and coarser clothes; thus far you know No fear. Come, you shall kill him.

Evad. Good sir!

Mel. An ’t were to kiss him dead, thou ’dst smother him: Be wise, and kill him. Canst thou live, and know 155 What noble minds shall make thee, see thyself Found out with every finger, made the shame Of all successions, and in this great ruin Thy brother and thy noble husband broken? Thou shalt not live thus. Kneel, and swear to help me, 160 When I shall call thee to it; or, by all Holy in Heaven and earth, thou shalt not live To breathe a full hour longer; not a thought! Come ’t is a righteous oath. Give me thy hands, And, both to Heaven held up, swear, by that wealth 165 This lustful thief stole from thee, when I say it, To let his foul soul out.

Evad. Here I swear it; [Kneels.] And, all you spirits of abused ladies, Help me in this performance!

Mel. [raising her.] Enough. This must be known to none 170 But you and I, Evadne; not to your lord, Though he be wise and noble, and a fellow Dares step as far into a worthy action As the most daring, ay, as far as justice. Ask me not why. Farewell. Exit. 175

Evad. Would I could say so to my black disgrace! Oh, where have I been all this time? How friended, That I should lose myself thus desperately. And none for pity show me how I wand’red? There is not in the compass of the light 180 A more unhappy creature: sure, I am monstrous; For I have done those follies, those mad mischiefs, Would dare[3385] a woman. Oh, my loaden soul, Be not so cruel to me; choke not up The way to my repentance! Enter AMINTOR. Oh, my lord! 185

Amin. How now?

Evad. My much abused lord! [Kneels.]

Amin. This cannot be!

Evad. I do not kneel to live; I dare not hope it; The wrongs I did are greater. Look upon me, Though I appear with all my faults.

Amin. Stand up. This is a new way to beget more sorrow; 190 Heaven knows I have too many. Do not mock me: Though I am tame, and bred up with my wrongs, Which are my foster-brothers, I may leap, Like a hand-wolf,[3386] into my natural-wildness, 194 And do an outrage. Prithee, do not mock me.

Evad. My whole life is so leprous, it infects All my repentance. I would buy your pardon, Though at the highest set,[3387] even with my life: That slight contrition, that’s no sacrifice 199 For what I have committed.

Amin. Sure, I dazzle; There cannot be a faith in that foul woman, That knows no god more mighty than her mischiefs. Thou dost still worse, still number on thy faults, To press my poor heart thus. Can I believe There ’s any seed of virtue in that woman 205 Left to shoot up, that dares go on in sin Known, and so known as thine is? Oh, Evadne! Would there were any safety in thy sex, That I might put a thousand sorrows off, And credit thy repentance! but I must not. 210 Thou hast brought me to that dull calamity, To that strange misbelief of all the world And all things that are in it, that I fear I shall fall like a tree, and find my grave, Only rememb’ring that I grieve.

Evad. My lord, 215 Give me your griefs: you are an innocent, A soul as white as Heaven; let not my sins Perish your noble youth. I do not fall here To shadow by dissembling with my tears, (As all say women can,) or to make less 220 What my hot will hath done, which Heaven and you Know to be tougher than the hand of time Can cut from man’s remembrance; no, I do not; I do appear the same, the same Evadne, Drest in the shames I liv’d in, the same monster. 225 But these are names of honour to what I am; I do present myself the foulest creature, Most poisonous, dangerous, and despis’d of men, Lerna[3388] e’er bred or Nilus. I am hell, 229 Till you, my dear lord, shoot your light into me, The beams of your forgiveness; I am soul-sick, And wither with the fear of one condemn’d, Till I have got your pardon.

Amin. Rise, Evadne. Those heavenly powers that put this good into thee Grant a continuance of it! I forgive thee: 235 Make thyself worthy of it; and take heed, Take heed, Evadne, this be serious. Mock not the powers above, that can and dare Give thee a great example of their justice To all ensuing ages,[3389] if thou play’st 240 With thy repentance, the best sacrifice.

Evad. I have done nothing good to win belief, My life hath been so faithless. All the creatures, Made for Heaven’s honours, have their ends, and good ones All but the cozening crocodiles, false women. They reign here like those plagues, those killing sores, 246 Men pray against; and when they die, like tales Ill told and unbeliev’d, they pass away, And go to dust forgotten. But, my lord, Those short days I shall number to my rest 250 (As many must not see me) shall, though too late, Though in my evening, yet perceive a will, Since I can do no good, because a woman, Reach constantly at something that is near it: I will redeem one minute of my age, 255 Or, like another Niobe, I ’ll weep, Till I am water.

Amin. I am now dissolved: My frozen soul melts. May each sin thou hast, Find a new mercy! Rise; I am at peace. Hadst thou been thus, thus excellently good, 260 Before that devil-king tempted thy frailty, Sure thou hadst made a star. Give me thy hand: From this time I will know thee; and, as far As honour gives me leave, be thy Amintor. When we meet next, I will salute thee fairly, 265 And pray the gods to give thee happy days: My charity shall go along with thee, Though my embraces must be far from thee. I should ha’ kill’d thee, but this sweet repentance Locks up my vengeance: for which thus I kiss thee— 270 The last kiss we must take: and would to Heaven The holy priest that gave our hands together Had given us equal virtues! Go, Evadne; The gods thus part our bodies. Have a care My honour falls no farther: I am well, then.

Evad. All the dear joys here, and above hereafter, 276 Crown thy fair soul! Thus I take leave, my lord; And never shall you see the foul Evadne, Till she have tried all honoured means, that may Set her in rest and wash her stains away. Exeunt [severally]. 280

[SCENE II.][3390]

A Banquet spread. Enter KING and CALIANAX. Hautboys play within.

King. I cannot tell how I should credit this From you, that are his enemy.

Cal. I am sure He said it to me; and I ’ll justify it What way he dares oppose—but with my sword.

King. But did he break, without all circumstance, To you, his foe, that he would have the fort, 6 To kill me, and then scape?

Cal. If he deny it, I ’ll make him blush.

King. It sounds incredibly.

Cal. Ay, so does every thing I say of late.

King. Not so, Calianax.

Cal. Yes, I should sit 10 Mute, whilst a rogue with strong arms cuts your throat.

King. Well, I will try him; and, if this be true, I ’ll pawn my life I ’ll find it; if ’t be false, And that you clothe your hate in such a lie, You shall hereafter dote in your own house, 15 Not in the court.

Cal. Why, if it be a lie. Mine ears are false, for I ’ll be sworn I heard it. Old men are good for nothing; you were best Put me to death for hearing, and free him For meaning it. You would ha’ trusted me 20 Once, but the time is altered.

King. And will still, Where I may do with justice to the world. You have no witness.

Cal. Yes, myself.

King. No more, I mean, there were that heard it.

Cal. How? no more! Would you have more? Why, am not I enough 25 To hang a thousand rogues?

King. But so you may Hang honest men too, if you please.

Cal. I may! ’T is like I will do so: there are a hundred Will swear it for a need too, if I say it——

King. Such witnesses we need not.

Cal. And ’t is hard 30 If my word cannot hang a boisterous knave.

King. Enough.—Where ’s Strato?

Enter STRATO.

Strato. Sir?

King. Why, where ’s all the company? Call Amintor in; Evadne. Where ’s my brother, and Melantius? Bid him come too; and Diphilus. Call all 35 That are without there. Exit STRATO. If he should desire The combat of you, ’t is not in the power Of all our laws to hinder it, unless We mean to quit ’em.

Cal. Why, if you do think ’T is fit an old man and a councillor 40 To fight for what he says, then you may grant it.

Enter AMINTOR, EVADNE, MELANTIUS, DIPHILUS, LYSIPPUS, CLEON, STRATO, and DIAGORAS.

King. Come, sirs!—Amintor, thou art yet a bridegroom, And I will use thee so; thou shalt sit down.— Evadne, sit;—and you, Amintor, too; This banquet is for you, sir.—Who has brought 45 A merry tale about him, to raise laughter Amongst our wine? Why, Strato, where art thou? Thou wilt chop out with them unseasonably, When I desire ’em not.

Stra. ’T is my ill luck, sir, so to spend them, then. 50

King. Reach me a bowl of wine.—Melantius, thou Art sad.

Mel. I should be, sir, the merriest here, But I ha’ ne’er a story of mine own Worth telling at this time.

King. Give me the wine.— 55 Melantius, I am now considering How easy ’t were for any man we trust To poison one of us in such a bowl.

Mel. I think it were not hard, sir, for a knave.

Cal. [Aside.] Such as you are. 60

King. I’ faith, ’t were easy. It becomes us well To get plain-dealing men about ourselves; Such as you all are here.—Amintor, to thee; And to thy fair Evadne. [Drinks.]

Mel. [Aside.] Have you thought Of this, Calianax?

Cal. Yes, marry, have I. 65

Mel. And what ’s your resolution?

Cal. You shall have it,— [Aside.] Soundly, I warrant you.

King. Reach to Amintor, Strato.

Amin. Here, my love; [Drinks and then hands the cup to EVADNE.] This wine will do thee wrong, for it will set Blushes upon thy cheeks; and, till thou dost 70 A fault, ’t were pity.

King. Yet I wonder much [At] the strange desperation of these men, That dare attempt such acts here in our state: He could not scape that did it.

Mel. Were he known, Unpossible.

King. It would be known, Melantius. 75

Mel. It ought to be. If he got then away, He must wear all our lives upon his sword: He need not fly the island; he must leave No one alive.

King. No; I should think no man Could kill me, and scape clear, but that old man. 80

Cal. But I! Heaven bless me! I! should I, my liege?

King. I do not think thou wouldst; but yet thou mightst, For thou hast in thy hands the means to scape, By keeping of the fort.—He has, Melantius, And he has kept it well.

Mel. From cobwebs, sir, 85 ’T is clean swept; I can find no other art In keeping of it now. ’T was ne’er besieg’d Since he commanded.

Cal. I shall be sure Of your good word; but I have kept it safe From such as you.

Mel. Keep your ill temper in: 90 I speak no malice; had my brother kept it, I should ha’ said as much.

King. You are not merry. Brother, drink wine. Sit you all still:—(Aside.) Calianax, I cannot trust this. I have thrown out words, That would have fetcht warm blood upon the cheeks 95 Of guilty men, and he is never mov’d; He knows no such thing.

Cal. Impudence may scape, When feeble virtue is accus’d.

King. ’A must, If he were guilty, feel an alteration At this our whisper, whilst we point at him: You see he does not.

Cal. Let him hang himself; 101 What care I what he does? This he did say.

King. Melantius, you can easily conceive What I have meant; for men that are in fault Can subtly apprehend when others aim 105 At what they do amiss: but I forgive Freely before this man,—Heaven do so too! I will not touch thee, so much as with shame Of telling it. Let it be so no more.

Cal. Why, this is very fine!

Mel. I cannot tell 110 What ’t is you mean; but I am apt enough Rudely to thrust into an ignorant fault. But let me know it. Happily[3391] ’t is nought But misconstruction; and, where I am clear, I will not take forgiveness of the gods, 115 Much less of you.

King. Nay, if you stand so stiff, I shall call back my mercy.

Mel. I want smoothness To thank a man for pardoning of a crime I never knew.

King. Not to instruct your knowledge, but to show you 120 My ears are every where; you meant to kill me, And get the fort to scape.

Mel. Pardon me, sir; My bluntness will be pardoned. You preserve A race of idle people here about you, Facers[3392] and talkers, to defame the worth 125 Of those that do things worthy. The man that uttered this Had perisht without food, be ’t who it will, But for this arm, that fenc’d him from the foe; And if I thought you gave a faith to this, The plainness of my nature would speak more. Give me a pardon (for you ought to do ’t) 131 To kill him that spake this.

Cal. [Aside.] Ay, that will be The end of all; then I am fairly paid For all my care and service.

Mel. That old man, Who calls me enemy, and of whom I 135 (Though I will never match my hate so low) Have no good thought, would yet, I think, excuse me, And swear he thought me wrong’d in this.

Cal. Who, I? Thou shameless fellow! didst thou not speak to me Of it thyself?

Mel. Oh, then it came from him! 140

Cal. From me! who should it come from but from me?

Mel. Nay, I believe your malice is enough; But I have lost my anger.—Sir, I hope You are well satisfied.

King. Lysippus, cheer Amintor and his lady.—There ’s no sound 145 Comes from you; I will come and do ’t myself.

Amin. [Aside.] You have done already, sir, for me, I thank you.

King. Melantius, I do credit this from him, How slight soe’er you make ’t.

Mel. ’T is strange you should.

Cal. ’T is strange ’a should believe an old man’s word 150 That never lied in ’s life!

Mel. I talk not to thee.— Shall the wild words of this distempered man, Frantic with age and sorrow, make a breach Betwixt your majesty and me? ’T was wrong To hearken to him; but to credit him, 155 As much at least as I have power to bear, But pardon me—whilst I speak only truth, I may commend myself—I have bestow’d My careless blood with you, and should be loth To think an action that would make me lose 160 That and my thanks too. When I was a boy, I thrust myself into my country’s cause, And did a deed that pluckt five years from time, And styl’d me man then. And for you, my King, Your subjects all have fed by virtue of 165 My arm. This sword of mine hath plough’d the ground, And reapt the fruit in peace; And you yourself have liv’d at home in ease. So terrible I grew, that without swords, My name hath fetcht you conquest: and my heart 170 And limbs are still the same; my will as great To do you service. Let me not be paid With such a strange distrust.

King. Melantius, I held it great injustice to believe Thine enemy, and did not; if I did, 175 I do not; let that satisfy.—What, struck With sadness all? More wine!

Cal. A few fine words Have overthrown my truth. Ah, thou ’rt a villain!

Mel. (Aside.) Why, thou wert better let me have the fort: Dotard, I will disgrace thee thus for ever; 180 There shall no credit lie upon thy words. Think better, and deliver it.

Cal. My liege, He ’s at me now again to do it.—Speak; Deny it, if thou canst.—Examine him Whilst he is hot; for, if he cool again, 185 He will forswear it.

King. This is lunacy, I hope, Melantius.

Mel. He hath lost himself Much, since his daughter mist the happiness My sister gain’d; and, though he call me foe, I pity him.

Cal. Pity! A pox upon you! 190

Mel. Mark his disordered words: and at the masque Diagoras knows he rag’d and rail’d at me, And call’d a lady “whore,” so innocent She understood him not. But it becomes Both you and me too to forgive distraction: 195 Pardon him, as I do.

Cal. I ’ll not speak for thee, For all thy cunning.—If you will be safe, Chop off his head; for there was never known So impudent a rascal.

King. Some, that love him, Get him to bed. Why, pity should not let 200 Age make itself contemptible; we must be All old. Have him away.

Mel. [Aside.] Calianax, The king believes you; come, you shall go home, And rest; you ha’ done well. You ’ll give it up, When I have us’d you thus a month, I hope. 205

Cal. Now, now, ’t is plain, sir; he does move me still. He says, he knows I ’ll give him up the fort. When he has us’d me thus a month. I am mad, Am I not, still?

All. Ha, ha, ha!

Cal. I shall be mad indeed, if you do thus. Why should you trust a sturdy fellow there 211 (That has no virtue in him, all ’s in his sword) Before me? Do but take his weapons from him, And he ’s an ass; and I am a very fool, Both with ’em[3393] and without ’em,[3393] as you use me. 215

All. Ha, ha, ha!

King. ’T is well, Calianax: but if you use This once again, I shall entreat some other To see your offices be well discharg’d.— Be merry, gentlemen.—It grows somewhat late.— 220 Amintor, thou wouldst be a-bed again.

Amin. Yes, sir.

King. And you, Evadne.—Let me take Thee in my arms, Melantius, and believe Thou art, as thou deserv’st to be, my friend Still and for ever.—Good Calianax, 225 Sleep soundly; it will bring thee to thyself. Exeunt all except MELANTIUS and CALIANAX.

Cal. Sleep soundly! I sleep soundly now, I hope; I could not be thus else.—How dar’st thou stay Alone with me, knowing how thou hast us’d me?

Mel. You cannot blast me with your tongue, and that ’s 230 The strongest part you have about you.

Cal. I Do look for some great punishment for this; For I begin to forget all my hate, And take ’t unkindly that mine enemy Should use me so extraordinarily scurvily. 235

Mel. I shall melt too, if you begin to take Unkindnesses: I never meant you hurt.

Cal. Thou ’lt anger me again. Thou wretched rogue, Meant me no hurt! Disgrace me with the King! Lose all my offices! This is no hurt, 240 Is it? I prithee, what dost thou call hurt?

Mel. To poison men, because they love me not; To call the credit of men’s wives in question; To murder children betwixt me and land; 244 This is all hurt.

Cal. All this thou think’st is sport; For mine is worse: but use thy will with me; For betwixt grief and anger I could cry.

Mel. Be wise, then, and be safe; thou may’st revenge—

Cal. Ay, o’ the King: I would revenge of thee.

Mel. That you must plot yourself.

Cal. I ’m a fine plotter.

Mel. The short is, I will hold thee with the King 251 In this perplexity, till peevishness And thy disgrace have laid thee in thy grave. But if thou wilt deliver up the fort, I ’ll take thy trembling body in my arms, 255 And bear thee over dangers. Thou shalt hold Thy wonted state.

Cal. If I should tell the King, Canst thou deny ’t again?

Mel. Try, and believe.

Cal. Nay, then, thou canst bring any thing about. Melantius, thou shalt have the fort.

Mel. Why, well. Here let our hate be buried; and this hand 261 Shall right us both. Give me thy aged breast To compass.

Cal. Nay, I do not love thee yet; I cannot well endure to look on thee; And if I thought it were a courtesy, 265 Thou shouldst not have it. But I am disgrac’d; My offices are to be ta’en away; And, if I did but hold this fort a day, I do believe the King would take it from me, And give it thee, things are so strangely carried. 270 Ne’er thank me for ’t; but yet the King shall know There was some such thing in ’t I told him of, And that I was an honest man.

Mel. He ’ll buy That knowledge very dearly. Re-enter DIPHILUS. Diphilus, What news with thee?

Diph. This were a night indeed To do it in: the King hath sent for her. 276

Mel. She shall perform it then.—Go, Diphilus, And take from this good man, my worthy friend, The fort; he ’ll give it thee.

Diph. Ha’ you got that?

Cal. Art thou of the same breed? Canst thou deny 280 This to the King too?

Diph. With a confidence As great as his.

Cal. Faith, like enough.

Mel. Away, and use him kindly.

Cal. Touch not me; I hate the whole strain.[3394] If thou follow me A great way off, I ’ll give thee up the fort; 285 And hang yourselves.

Mel. Begone.

Diph. He ’s finely wrought. Exeunt CALIANAX and DIPHILUS.

Mel. This is a night, spite of astronomers,[3395] To do the deed in. I will wash the stain That rests upon our house off with his blood.

Re-enter AMINTOR.

Amin. Melantius, now assist me: if thou be’st 290 That which thou say’st, assist me. I have lost All my distempers, and have found a rage So pleasing! Help me.

Mel. [Aside.] Who can see him thus. And not swear vengeance?—What ’s the matter, friend?

Amin. Out with thy sword; and, hand in hand with me, 295 Rush to the chamber of this hated King, And sink him with the weight of all his sins To hell for ever.

Mel. ’T were a rash attempt, Not to be done with safety. Let your reason Plot your revenge, and not your passion. 300

Amin. If thou refusest me in these extremes, Thou art no friend. He sent for her to me; By Heaven, to me, myself! and, I must tell you, I love her as a stranger: there is worth In that vile woman, worthy things, Melantius; And she repents. I ’ll do ’t myself alone, 306 Though I be slain. Farewell.

Mel. [Aside.] He ’ll overthrow My whole design with madness.—Amintor, Think what thou dost: I dare as much as valour; But ’t is the King, the King, the King, Amintor, 310 With whom thou fightest! (Aside.)—I know he is honest,[3396] And this will work with him.

Amin. I cannot tell What thou hast said; but thou hast charm’d my sword Out of my hand, and left me shaking here, Defenceless.

Mel. I will take it up for thee. 315

Amin. What a wild beast is uncollected[3397] man! The thing that we call honour bears us all Headlong unto sin, and yet itself is nothing.

Mel. Alas, how variable are thy thoughts!

Amin. Just like my fortunes. I was run to that 320 I purpos’d to have chid thee for. Some plot, I did distrust, thou hadst against the King, By that old fellow’s carriage. But take heed; There ’s not the least limb growing to a King But carries thunder in ’t.

Mel. I have none 325 Against him.

Amin. Why, come, then; and still remember We may not think revenge.

Mel. I will remember. Exeunt.

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

Act V

[SCENE I.][3398]

Enter EVADNE and a Gentleman [of the Bedchamber].

Evad. Sir, is the King a-bed?

Gent. Madam, an hour ago.

Evad. Give me the key, then, and let none be near; ’T is the King’s pleasure.

Gent. I understand you, madam; would ’t were mine! I must not wish good rest unto your ladyship. 5

Evad. You talk, you talk.

Gent. ’T is all I dare do, madam; but the King Will wake, and then, methinks—

Evad. Saving your imagination, pray, good night, sir.

Gent. A good night be it, then, and a long one, madam. 10 I am gone. Exit.

Evad.[3399] The night grows horrible; and all about me Like my black purpose. Oh, the conscience King abed. Of a lost virgin,[3400] whither wilt thou pull me? To what things dismal as the depth of hell 15 Wilt thou provoke me? Let no woman dare From this hour be disloyal, if her heart be flesh, If she have blood, and can fear. ’T is a daring Above that desperate fool’s that left his peace, And went to sea to fight: ’t is so many sins, 20 An age cannot repent ’em; and so great, The gods want mercy for. Yet I must through ’em: I have begun a slaughter on my honour, And I must end it there.—’A sleeps. Good Heavens! 24 Why give you peace to this untemperate beast, That hath so long transgrest you? I must kill him, And I will do it bravely: the mere joy Tells me, I merit in it. Yet I must not Thus tamely do it as he sleeps—that were To rock him to another world: my vengeance 30 Shall take him waking, and then lay before him The number of his wrongs and punishments. I ’ll shape his sins like Furies, till I waken His evil angel, his sick conscience, And then I ’ll strike him dead.—King, by your leave;— Ties his arms to the bed. 35 I dare not trust your strength; your grace and I Must grapple upon even terms no more. So, if he rail me not from my resolution, I shall be strong enough.—My lord the King! My lord!—’A sleeps, as if he meant to wake 40 No more.—My lord!—Is he not dead already?— Sir! My lord!

King. Who ’s that?

Evad. Oh, you sleep soundly sir!

King. My dear Evadne, I have been dreaming of thee; come to bed.

Evad. I am come at length, sir; but how welcome? 45

King. What pretty new device is this, Evadne? What, do you tie me to you? By my love, This is a quaint one. Come, my dear, and kiss me; I ’ll be thy Mars; to bed, my queen of love. Let us be caught together, that the gods 50 May see and envy our embraces.

Evad. Stay, sir, stay; You are too hot, and I have brought you physic To temper your high veins.

King. Prithee, to bed, then; let me take it warm; There thou shalt know the state of my body better. 55

Evad. I know you have a surfeited foul body; And you must bleed. [Draws a knife.]

King. Bleed!

Evad. Ay, you shall bleed. Lie still; and, if the devil, Your lust, will give you leave, repent. This steel Comes to redeem the honour that you stole, 60 King, my fair name; which nothing but thy death Can answer to the world.

King. How ’s this, Evadne?

Evad. I am not she; nor bear I in this breast So much cold spirit to be call’d a woman: I am a tiger; I am any thing 65 That knows not pity. Stir not! If thou dost, I ’ll take thee unprepar’d, thy fears upon thee, That make thy sins look double, and so send thee (By my revenge, I will!) to look those torments Prepar’d for such black souls. 70

King. Thou dost not mean this; ’t is impossible; Thou art too sweet and gentle.

Evad. No, I am not: I am as foul as thou art, and can number As many such hells here. I was once fair, Once I was lovely; not a blowing rose 75 More chastely sweet, till thou, thou, thou, foul canker,[3401] (Stir not!) didst poison me. I was a world of virtue, Till your curst court and you (Hell bless you for ’t!) With your temptations on temptations Made me give up mine honour; for which, King, 80 I am come to kill thee.

King. No!

Evad. I am.

King. Thou art not! I prithee speak not these things. Thou art gentle, And wert not meant thus rugged.

Evad. Peace, and hear me. Stir nothing but your tongue, and that for mercy To those above us; by whose lights I vow, 85 Those blessed fires[3402] that shot to see our sin, If thy hot soul had substance with thy blood, I would kill that too; which, being past my steel, My tongue shall reach. Thou art a shameless villain; A thing out of the overcharge of nature 90 Sent, like a thick cloud, to disperse a plague Upon weak catching[3403] women; such a tyrant, That for his lust would sell away his subjects, Ay, all his Heaven hereafter!

King. Hear, Evadne, Thou soul of sweetness, hear! I am thy King.

Evad. Thou art my shame! Lie still; there ’s none about you, 96 Within your cries; all promises of safety Are but deluding dreams. Thus, thus, thou foul man, Thus I begin my vengeance! Stabs him.

King. Hold, Evadne! I do command thee hold.

Evad. I do not mean, sir, 100 To part so fairly with you; we must change More of these love-tricks yet.

King. What bloody villain Provokt thee to this murder?

Evad. Thou, thou monster!

King. Oh!

Evad. Thou kept’st me brave[3404] at court, and whor’d me, King; 105 Then married me to a young noble gentleman, And whor’d me still.

King. Evadne, pity me!

Evad. Hell take me, then! This for my lord Amintor. This for my noble brother! And this stroke For the most wrong’d of women! Kills him.

King. Oh! I die. 110

Evad. Die all our faults together! I forgive thee. Exit.

Enter two [Gentlemen] of the bed-chamber.

1 Gent. Come, now she ’s gone, let ’s enter; the King expects it, and will be angry.

2 Gent. ’T is a fine wench; we ’ll have a snap at her one of these nights, as she goes from (115) him.

1 Gent. Content. How quickly he had done with her! I see kings can do no more that way than other mortal people.

2 Gent. How fast he is! I cannot hear him breathe. 120

1 Gent. Either the tapers give a feeble light, Or he looks very pale.

2 Gent. And so he does: Pray Heaven he be well; let ’s look.—Alas! He ’s stiff, wounded, and dead! Treason, treason!

1 Gent. Run forth and call. 125

2 Gent. Treason, treason! Exit.

1 Gent. This will be laid on us: Who can believe a woman could do this?

Enter CLEON and LYSIPPUS.

Cleon. How now! where ’s the traitor?

1 Gent. Fled, fled away; but there her woeful act Lies still. 130

Cleon. Her act! a woman!

Lys. Where’s the body?

1 Gent. There.

Lys. Farewell, thou worthy man! There were two bonds That tied our loves, a brother and a king. The least of which might fetch a flood of tears; But such the misery of greatness is, 136 They have no time to mourn; then, pardon me! Sirs, which way went she?

Enter STRATO.

Stra. Never follow her; For she, alas! was but the instrument. News is now brought in that Melantius 140 Has got the fort, and stands upon the wall, And with a loud voice calls those few that pass At this dead time of night, delivering The innocence of this act.

Lys. Gentlemen, I am your King.

Stra. We do acknowledge it. 145

Lys. I would I were not! Follow, all; for this Must have a sudden stop. Exeunt.

[SCENE II.][3405]

Enter MELANTIUS, DIPHILUS, and CALIANAX, on the Walls.

Mel. If the dull people can believe I am arm’d, (Be constant, Diphilus.) now we have time Either to bring our banisht honours home, Or create new ones in our ends.

Diph. I fear not; My spirit lies not that way.—Courage, Calianax! 5

Cal. Would I had any! you should quickly know it.

Mel. Speak to the people; thou art eloquent.

Cal. ‘’T is a fine eloquence to come to the gallows: You were born to be my end; the devil take you! Now must I hang for company. ’T is strange, 10 I should be old, and neither wise nor valiant.

Enter LYSIPPUS, DIAGORAS, CLEON, STRATO, and Guard.

Lys. See where he stands, as boldly confident As if he had his full command about him.

Stra. He looks as if he had the better cause, sir; Under your gracious pardon, let me speak it! 15 Though he be mighty-spirited, and forward To all great things, to all things of that danger Worse men shake at the telling of, yet certainly I do believe him noble, and this action Rather pull’d on than sought: his mind was ever 20 As worthy as his hand.

Lys. ’T is my fear, too. Heaven forgive all!—Summon him, Lord Cleon.

Cleon. Ho, from the walls there!

Mel. Worthy Cleon, welcome: We could have wisht you here, lord; you are honest.

Cal. (Aside.) Well, thou art as flattering a knave, though 25 I dare not tell thee so——

Lys. Melantius!

Mel. Sir?

Lys. I am sorry that we meet thus; our old love Never requir’d such distance. Pray to Heaven, You have not left yourself, and sought this safety More out of fear than honour! You have lost 30 A noble master, which your faith, Melantius, Some think might have preserv’d: yet you know best.

Cal. [Aside.] When time was, I was mad: some that dares fight, I hope will pay this rascal.

Mel. Royal young man, those tears look lovely on thee: 35 Had they been shed for a deserving one, They had been lasting monuments. Thy brother, Whilst he was good, I call’d him King, and serv’d him With that strong faith, that most unwearied valour, Pull’d people from the farthest sun to seek him, 40 And buy his friendship. I was then his soldier. But since his hot pride drew him to disgrace me, And brand my noble actions with his lust, (That never-cur’d dishonour of my sister, Base stain of whore, and, which is worse, the joy 45 To make it still so,) like myself, thus I Have flung him off with my allegiance; And stand here, mine own justice, to revenge What I have suffered in him, and this old man Wrong’d almost to lunacy.

Cal. Who, I? 50 You would draw me in. I have had no wrong; I do disclaim ye all.

Mel. The short is this. ’T is no ambition to lift up myself Urgeth me thus; I do desire again To be a subject, so I may be free: 55 If not, I know my strength, and will unbuild This goodly town. Be speedy, and be wise, In a reply.

Stra. Be sudden, sir, to tie All up again. What ’s done is past recall, And past you to revenge; and there are thousands 60 That wait for such a troubled hour as this. Throw him the blank.

Lys. Melantius, write in that Thy choice: my seal is at it. [Throws a paper to MELANTIUS.]

Mel. It was our honours drew us to this act, Not gain; and we will only work our pardons. 65

Cal. Put my name in too.

Diph. You disclaim’d us all But now, Calianax.

Cal. That ’s all one; I ’ll not be hang’d hereafter by a trick: I ’ll have it in.

Mel. You shall, you shall.— Come to the back gate, and we ’ll call you King, 70 And give you up the fort.

Lys. Away, away. Exeunt.

[SCENE III.][3406]

Enter ASPATIA, in man’s apparel, [and with artificial scars on her face.]

Asp. This is my fatal hour. Heaven may forgive My rash attempt, that causelessly hath laid Griefs on me that will never let me rest, And put a woman’s heart into my breast. It is more honour for you that I die; 5 For she that can endure the misery That I have on me, and be patient too, May live and laugh at all that you can do. Enter Servant. God save you, sir!

Ser. And you, sir! What ’s your business?

Asp. With you, sir, now; to do me the fair office 10 To help me to your lord.

Ser. What, would you serve him?

Asp. I ’ll do him any service; but, to haste, For my affairs are earnest, I desire To speak with him.

Ser. Sir, because you are in such haste, I would 15 Be loth delay you longer: you can not.

Asp. It shall become you, though, to tell your lord.

Ser. Sir, he will speak with nobody; [But in particular, I have in charge, About no weighty matters.][3407]

Asp. This is most strange. 20 Art thou gold-proof? There ’s for thee; help me to him. [Gives money.]

Ser. Pray be not angry, sir: I ’ll do my best. Exit.

Asp. How stubbornly this fellow answer’d me! There is a vile dishonest trick in man, More than in women. All the men I meet 25 Appear thus to me, are harsh and rude, And have a subtilty in every thing, Which love could never know; but we fond women Harbour the easiest and the smoothest thoughts. And think all shall go so. It is unjust 30 That men and women should be matcht together.

Enter AMINTOR and his man.

Amin. Where is he?

Ser. There, my lord.

Amin. What would you, sir?

Asp. Please it your lordship to command your man Out of the room, I shall deliver things Worthy your hearing.

Amin. Leave us. [Exit Servant.]

Asp. (Aside.) Oh, that that shape 35 Should bury falsehood in it!

Amin. Now your will, sir.

Asp. When you know me, my lord, you needs must guess My business; and I am not hard to know; For, till the chance of war markt this smooth face With these few blemishes, people would call me 40 My sister’s picture, and her mine. In short, I am brother to the wrong’d Aspatia.

Amin. The wrong’d Aspatia! Would thou wert so too Unto the wrong’d Amintor! Let me kiss That hand of thine, in honour that I bear 45 Unto the wrong’d Aspatia. Here I stand That did it. Would he could not! Gentle youth, Leave me; for there is something in thy looks That calls my sins in a most hideous form Into my mind; and I have grief enough 50 Without thy help.

Asp. I would I could with credit! Since I was twelve years old, I had not seen My sister till this hour I now arriv’d: She sent for me to see her marriage,— A woful one! but they that are above 55 Have ends in everything. She us’d few words, But yet enough to make me understand The baseness of the injuries you did her. That little training I have had is war: I may behave myself rudely in peace; 60 I would not, though. I shall not need to tell you I am but young, and would be loth to lose Honour, that is not easily gain’d again. Fairly I mean to deal: the age is strict For single combats; and we shall be stopt, 65 If it be publisht. If you like your sword, Use it; if mine appear a better to you, Change; for the ground is this, and this the time, To end our difference. [Draws.]

Amin. Charitable youth, If thou be’st such, think not I will maintain 70 So strange a wrong: and, for thy sister’s sake, Know, that I could not think that desperate thing I durst not do; yet, to enjoy this world. I would not see her; for, beholding thee, I am I know not what. If I have aught 75 That may content thee, take it, and begone. For death is not so terrible as thou; Thine eyes shoot guilt into me.

Asp. Thus, she swore, Thou wouldst behave thyself, and give me words That would fetch tears into my eyes; and so 80 Thou dost indeed. But yet she bade me watch Lest I were cozen’d; and be sure to fight Ere I return’d.

Amin. That must not be with me. For her I ’ll die directly; but against her Will never hazard it.

Asp. You must be urg’d. 85 I do not deal uncivilly with those That dare to fight; but such a one as you Must be us’d thus. She strikes him.

Amin. I prithee, youth, take heed. Thy sister is a thing to me so much 90 Above mine honour, that I can endure All this—Good gods! a blow I can endure; But stay not, lest thou draw a timeless [3408] death Upon thyself.

Asp. Thou art some prating fellow; One that hath studied out a trick to talk, 95 And move soft hearted people; to be kickt. She kicks him. Thus to be kickt.—(Aside.) Why should he be so slow In giving me my death?

Amin. A man can bear No more, and keep his flesh. Forgive me, then! I would endure yet, if I could. Now show [Draws.] 100 The spirit thou pretend’st, and understand Thou hast no hour to live. They fight; [ASPATIA is wounded.] What dost thou mean? Thou canst not fight: the blows thou mak’st at me Are quite besides; and those I offer at thee, Thou spread’st thine arms, and tak’st upon thy breast, 105 Alas, defenceless!

Asp. I have got enough. And my desire. There is no place so fit For me to die as here. [Falls.]

Enter EVADNE, her hands bloody, with a knife.

Evad. Amintor, I am loaden with events, That fly to make thee happy; I have joys, 110 That in a moment can call back thy wrongs, And settle thee in thy free state again. It is Evadne still that follows thee, But not her mischiefs. 114

Amin. Thou canst not fool me to believe again; But thou hast looks and things so full of news, That I am stay’d.

Evad. Noble Amintor, put off thy amaze, Let thine eyes loose, and speak. Am I not fair? Looks not Evadne beauteous with these rites now? 120 Were those hours half so lovely in thine eyes When our hands met before the holy man? I was too foul inside to look fair then: Since I knew ill, I was not free till now.

Amin. There is presage of some important thing 125 About thee, which, it seems, thy tongue hath lost. Thy hands are bloody, and thou hast a knife.

Evad. In this consists thy happiness and mine. Joy to Amintor! for the King is dead.

Amin. Those have most power to hurt us, that we love; 130 We lay our sleeping lives within their arms. Why, thou hast rais’d up mischief to his height, And found one to out-name[3409] thy other faults; Thou hast no intermission of thy sins But all thy life is a continued ill. 135 Black is thy colour now, disease thy nature. Joy to Amintor! Thou hast toucht a life, The very name of which had power to chain Up all my rage, and calm my wildest wrongs.

Evad. ’T is done; and, since I could not find a way 140 To meet thy love so clear as through his life, I cannot now repent it.

Amin. Couldst thou procure the gods to speak to me, To bid me love this woman and forgive, 144 I think I should fall out with them. Behold, Here lies a youth whose wounds bleed in my breast, Sent by a violent fate to fetch his death From my slow hand! And, to augment my woe, You now are present, stain’d with a king’s blood Violently shed. This keeps night here, 150 And throws an unknown wilderness[3410] about me.

Asp. Oh, oh, oh!

Amin. No more; pursue me not.

Evad. Forgive me, then, And take me to thy bed: we may not part. [Kneels.]

Amin. Forbear, be wise, and let my rage go this way. 155

Evad. ’T is you that I would stay, not it.

Amin. Take heed; It will return with me.

Evad. If it must be, I shall not fear to meet it. Take me home.

Amin. Thou monster of cruelty, forbear!

Evad. For Heaven’s sake look more calm! Thine eyes are sharper 160 Than thou canst make thy sword.

Amin. Away, away! Thy knees are more to me than violence. I am worse than sick to see knees follow me For that I must not grant. For God’s sake, stand.

Evad. Receive me, then.

Amin. I dare not stay thy language. 165 In midst of all my anger and my grief, Thou dost awake something that troubles me, And says, I lov’d thee once. I dare not stay; There is no end of woman’s reasoning. Leaves her.

Evad. [rising.] Amintor, thou shalt love me now again. 170 Go; I am calm. Farewell, and peace for ever! Evadne, whom thou hat’st, will die for thee. Stabs herself.

Amin. (returning.) I have a little human nature yet, That ’s left for thee, that bids me stay thy hand.

Evad. Thy hand was welcome, but it came too late. 175 Oh, I am lost! the heavy sleep makes haste. She dies.

Asp. Oh, oh, oh!

Amin. This earth of mine doth tremble, and I feel A stark affrighted motion in my blood. My soul grows weary of her house, and I 180 All over am a trouble to myself. There is some hidden power in these dead things, That calls my flesh unto ’em; I am cold. Be resolute and bear ’em company. There ’s something yet, which I am loth to leave: 185 There ’s man enough in me to meet the fears That death can bring; and yet would it were done! I can find nothing in the whole discourse Of death, I durst not meet the boldest way; Yet still, betwixt the reason and the act, 190 The wrong I to Aspatia did stands up; I have not such another fault to answer. Though she may justly arm herself with scorn And hate of me, my soul will part less troubled, When I have paid to her in tears my sorrow, 195 I will not leave this act unsatisfied, If all that ’s left in me can answer it.

Asp. Was it a dream? There stands Amintor still; Or I dream still.

Amin. How dost thou? speak; receive my love and help. 200 Thy blood climbs up to his old place again; There ’s hope of thy recovery.

Asp. Did you not name Aspatia?

Amin. I did.

Asp. And talkt of tears and sorrow unto her?

Amin. ’T is true; and, till these happy signs in thee 205 Did stay my course, ’t was thither I was going.

Asp. Thou art there already, and these wounds are hers. Those threats I brought with me sought not revenge, But came to fetch this blessing from thy hand: I am Aspatia yet. 210

Amin. Dare my soul ever look abroad again?

Asp. I shall sure live, Amintor; I am well; A kind of healthful joy wanders within me.

Amin. The world wants lives to excuse thy loss; 214 Come, let me bear thee to some place of help.

Asp. Amintor, thou must stay; I must rest here; My strength begins to disobey my will. How dost thou, my best soul? I would fain live Now, if I could. Wouldst thou have lov’d me, then?

Amin. Alas, 220 All that I am ’s not worth a hair from thee!

Asp. Give me thy hand; mine hands grope up and down. And cannot find thee; I am wondrous sick. Have I thy hand, Amintor?

Amin. Thou greatest blessing of the world, thou hast. 225

Asp. I do believe thee better than my sense. Oh, I must go! farewell! Dies.

Amin. She swoons.[3411]—Aspatia!—Help! for God’s sake, water, Such as may chain life ever to this frame!— Aspatia, speak!—What, no help yet? I fool! I ’ll chafe her temples. Yet there ’s nothing stirs. 231 Some hidden power tell her, Amintor calls, And let her answer me!—Aspatia, speak!— I have heard, if there be any life, but bow The body thus, and it will show itself. 235 Oh, she is gone! I will not leave her yet. Since out of justice we must challenge nothing, I ’ll call it mercy, if you ’ll pity me, You heavenly powers, and lend for some few years The blessed soul to this fair seat again! 240 No comfort comes; the gods deny me too. I ’ll bow the body once again.—Aspatia!— The soul is fled for ever; and I wrong Myself, so long to lose her company. 244 Must I talk now? Here ’s to be with thee, love! Kills himself.

Re-enter Servant.

Serv. This is a great grace to my lord, to have the new king come to him. I must tell him he is ent’ring.—Oh, God!—Help, help!

Enter LYSIPPUS, MELANTIUS, CALIANAX, CLEON, DIPHILUS, and STRATO.

Lys. Where ’s Amintor?

Stra. Oh, there, there!

Lys. How strange is this!

Cal. What should we do here? 250

Mel. These deaths are such acquainted things with me, That yet my heart dissolves not. May I stand Stiff here for ever!—Eyes, call up your tears! This is Amintor. Heart, he was my friend; Melt! now it flows.—Amintor, give a word 255 To call me to thee.

Amin. Oh!

Mel. Melantius calls his friend Amintor. Oh, Thy arms are kinder to me than thy tongue! Speak, speak! 260

Amin. What?

Mel. That little word was worth all the sounds That ever I shall hear again.

Diph. Oh, brother, Here lies your sister slain! You lose yourself In sorrow there.

Mel. Why, Diphilus, it is 265 A thing to laugh at, in respect of this. Here was my sister, father, brother, son; All that I had.—Speak once again; what youth Lies slain there by thee?

Amin. ’T is Aspatia. My last is said. Let me give up my soul 270 Into thy bosom. [Dies.]

Cal. What ’s that? What ’s that? Aspatia!

Mel. I never did Repent the greatness of my heart till now; It will not burst at need. 274

Cal. My daughter dead here too! And you have all fine new tricks to grieve; but I ne’er knew any but direct crying.

Mel. I am a prattler: but no more. [Offers to stab himself.]

Diph. Hold, brother!

Lys. Stop him.

Diph. Fie, how unmanly was this offer in you! 280 Does this become our strain?[3412]

Cal. I know not what the matter is, but I am grown very kind, and am friends with you all now. You have given me that among you will kill me quickly; but I ’ll go home, and live as long as I can. [Exit.] 286

Mel. His spirit is but poor that can be kept From death for want of weapons. Is not my hands a weapon sharp enough To stop my breath? or, if you tie down those, I vow, Amintor, I will never eat, 291 Or drink, or sleep, or have to do with that That may preserve life! This I swear to keep.

Lys. Look to him, though, and bear those bodies in. May this a fair example be to me 295 To rule with temper; for on lustful kings Unlookt-for sudden deaths from God are sent; But curst is he that is their instrument. [Exeunt.]

THE FAITHFUL SHEPHERDESS

BY JOHN FLETCHER

[DRAMATIS PERSONAE

PERIGOT. THENOT. DAPHNIS. ALEXIS. Sullen Shepherd. Old Shepherd. Priest of Pan. God of the River. Satyr. Shepherds.

CLORIN. AMORET. AMARILLIS. CLOE. Shepherdesses.

SCENE.—Thessaly.]

TO THE READER

If you be not reasonably assur’d of your knowledge in this kind of poem, lay down the book, or read this, which I would wish had been the prologue. It is a pastoral tragi-comedy, which the people seeing when it was play’d, having ever had a singular gift in defining, concluded to be a play of country hired shepherds in gray cloaks, with curtail’d dogs in strings, sometimes laughing together, and sometimes killing one another; and, missing Whitsun-ales, cream, wassail, and morris-dances, began to be angry. In their error I would not have you fall, lest you incur their censure.[3413] Understand, therefore, a pastoral to be a representation of shepherds and shepherdesses with their actions and passions, which must be such as may agree with their natures, at least not exceeding former fictions and vulgar traditions; they are not to be adorn’d with any art, but such improper ones as nature is said to bestow, as singing and poetry; or such as experience may teach them, as the virtues of herbs and fountains, the ordinary course of the sun, moon, and stars, and such like. But you are ever to remember shepherds to be such as all the ancient poets, and modern, of understanding, have received them; that is, the owners of flocks, and not hirelings. A tragi-comedy is not so called in respect of mirth and killing, but in respect it wants deaths, which is enough to make it no tragedy, yet brings some near it, which is enough to make it no comedy, which must be a representation of familiar people, with such kind of trouble as no life be question’d;[3414] so that a god is as lawful in this as in a tragedy, and mean people as in a comedy. Thus much I hope will serve to justify my poem, and make you understand it; to teach you more for nothing, I do not know that I am in conscience bound.

JOHN FLETCHER.

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