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Philaster - Love Lies a Bleeding
by Francis Beaumont and John Fletcher
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PHILASTER:

OR,

Love lies a Bleeding.



Francis Beaumont and John Fletcher

* * * * *

The Scene being in Cicilie.

* * * * *

Persons Represented in the Play.

The King.

Philaster, Heir to the Crown.

Pharamond, Prince of Spain.

Dion, a Lord.

Cleremont } Noble Gentlemen his Thrasiline } Associates.

Arethusa, the King's Daughter.

Galatea, a wise modest Lady attending the Princess.

Megra, a lascivious Lady.

An old wanton Lady, or Croan.

Another Lady attending the Princess.

Eufrasia, Daughter of Dion, but disguised like a Page, and called Bellario.

An old Captain.

Five Citizens.

A Countrey fellow.

Two Woodmen.

The Kings Guard and Train.

* * * * *



Actus primus. Scena prima.

_Enter Dion, Cleremont, _and_ Thrasiline.

Cler. Here's not Lords nor Ladies.

Dion. Credit me Gentlemen, I wonder at it. They receiv'd strict charge from the King to attend here: Besides it was boldly published, that no Officer should forbid any Gentlemen that desire to attend and hear.

Cle. Can you guess the cause?

Di. Sir, it is plain about the Spanish Prince, that's come to marry our Kingdoms Heir, and be our Soveraign.

Thra. Many (that will seem to know much) say, she looks not on him like a Maid in Love.

Di. O Sir, the multitude (that seldom know any thing but their own opinions) speak that they would have; but the Prince, before his own approach, receiv'd so many confident messages from the State, that I think she's resolv'd to be rul'd.

Cle. Sir, it is thought, with her he shall enjoy both these Kingdoms of Cicilie and Calabria.

Di. Sir, it is (without controversie) so meant. But 'twill be a troublesome labour for him to enjoy both these Kingdoms, with safetie, the right Heir to one of them living, and living so vertuously, especially the people admiring the bravery of his mind, and lamenting his injuries.

Cle. Who, Philaster?

Di. Yes, whose Father we all know, was by our late King of Calabria, unrighteously deposed from his fruitful Cicilie. My self drew some blood in those Wars, which I would give my hand to be washed from.

Cle. Sir, my ignorance in State-policy, will not let me know why Philaster being Heir to one of these Kingdoms, the King should suffer him to walk abroad with such free liberty.

Di. Sir, it seems your nature is more constant than to enquire after State news. But the King (of late) made a hazard of both the Kingdoms, of Cicilie and his own, with offering but to imprison Philaster. At which the City was in arms, not to be charm'd down by any State-order or Proclamation, till they saw Philaster ride through the streets pleas'd, and without a guard; at which they threw their Hats, and their arms from them; some to make bonefires, some to drink, all for his deliverance. Which (wise men say) is the cause, the King labours to bring in the power of a Foreign Nation to aw his own with.

[ Enter Galatea, Megra, and a Lady.

Thra. See, the Ladies, what's the first?

Di. A wise and modest Gentlwoman that attends the Princess.

Cle. The second?

Di. She is one that may stand still discreetly enough, and ill favour'dly Dance her Measure; simper when she is Courted by her Friend, and slight her Husband.

Cle. The last?

Di. Marry I think she is one whom the State keeps for the Agents of our confederate Princes: she'll cog and lie with a whole army before the League shall break: her name is common through the Kingdom, and the Trophies of her dishonour, advanced beyond Hercules-pillars. She loves to try the several constitutions of mens bodies; and indeed has destroyed the worth of her own body, by making experiment upon it, for the good of the Common-wealth.

Cle. She's a profitable member.

La. Peace, if you love me: you shall see these Gentlemen stand their ground, and not Court us.

Gal. What if they should?

Meg. What if they should?

La. Nay, let her alone; what if they should? why, if they should, I say, they were never abroad: what Foreigner would do so? it writes them directly untravel'd.

Gal. Why, what if they be?

Meg. What if they be?

La. Good Madam let her go on; what if they be? Why if they be I will justifie, they cannot maintain discourse with a judicious Lady, nor make a Leg, nor say Excuse me.

Gal. Ha, ha, ha.

La. Do you laugh Madam?

Di. Your desires upon you Ladies.

La. Then you must sit beside us.

Di. I shall sit near you then Lady.

La. Near me perhaps: But there's a Lady indures no stranger; and to me you appear a very strange fellow.

Meg. Me thinks he's not so strange, he would quickly be acquainted.

Thra. Peace, the King.

[ Enter King, Pharamond, Arethusa, and Train.

King. To give a stronger testimony of love Than sickly promises (which commonly In Princes find both birth and burial In one breath) we have drawn you worthy Sir, To make your fair indearments to [our] daughter, And worthy services known to our subjects, Now lov'd and wondered at. Next, our intent, To plant you deeply, our immediate Heir, Both to our Blood and Kingdoms. For this Lady, (The best part of your life, as you confirm me, And I believe) though her few years and sex Yet teach her nothing but her fears and blushes, Desires without desire, discourse and knowledge Only of what her self is to her self, Make her feel moderate health: and when she sleeps, In making no ill day, knows no ill dreams. Think not (dear Sir) these undivided parts, That must mould up a Virgin, are put on To shew her so, as borrowed ornaments, To speak her perfect love to you, or add An Artificial shadow to her nature: No Sir; I boldly dare proclaim her, yet No Woman. But woo her still, and think her modesty A sweeter mistress than the offer'd Language Of any Dame, were she a Queen whose eye Speaks common loves and comforts to her servants. Last, noble son, (for so I now must call you) What I have done thus publick, is not only To add a comfort in particular To you or me, but all; and to confirm The Nobles, and the Gentry of these Kingdoms, By oath to your succession, which shall be Within this month at most.

Thra. This will be hardly done.

Cle. It must be ill done, if it be done.

Di. When 'tis at best, 'twill be but half done, Whilst so brave a Gentleman's wrong'd and flung off.

Thra. I fear.

Cle. Who does not?

Di. I fear not for my self, and yet I fear too: Well, we shall see, we shall see: no more.

Pha. Kissing your white hand (Mistress) I take leave, To thank your Royal Father: and thus far, To be my own free Trumpet. Understand Great King, and these your subjects, mine that must be, (For so deserving you have spoke me Sir, And so deserving I dare speak my self) To what a person, of what eminence, Ripe expectation of what faculties, Manners and vertues you would wed your Kingdoms? You in me have your wishes. Oh this Country, By more than all my hopes I hold it Happy, in their dear memories that have been Kings great and good, happy in yours, that is, And from you (as a Chronicle to keep Your Noble name from eating age) do I Opine myself most happy. Gentlemen, Believe me in a word, a Princes word, There shall be nothing to make up a Kingdom Mighty, and flourishing, defenced, fear'd, Equall to be commanded and obey'd, But through the travels of my life I'le find it, And tye it to this Country. And I vow My reign shall be so easie to the subject, That every man shall be his Prince himself, And his own law (yet I his Prince and law.) And dearest Lady, to your dearest self (Dear, in the choice of him, whose name and lustre Must make you more and mightier) let me say, You are the blessed'st living; for sweet Princess, You shall enjoy a man of men, to be Your servant; you shall make him yours, for whom Great Queens must die.

Thra. Miraculous.

Cle. This speech calls him Spaniard, being nothing but A large inventory of his own commendations.

[Enter Philaster.

Di. I wonder what's his price? For certainly he'll tell himself he has so prais'd his shape: But here comes one more worthy those large speeches, than the large speaker of them? let me be swallowed quick, if I can find, in all the Anatomy of yon mans vertues, one sinew sound enough to promise for him, he shall be Constable. By this Sun, he'll ne're make King unless it be for trifles, in my poor judgment.

Phi. Right Noble Sir, as low as my obedience, And with a heart as Loyal as my knee, I beg your favour.

King. Rise, you have it Sir.

Di. Mark but the King how pale he looks with fear. Oh! this same whorson Conscience, how it jades us!

King. Speak your intents Sir.

Phi. Shall I speak 'um freely? Be still my royal Soveraign.

King. As a subject We give you freedom.

Di. Now it heats.

Phi. Then thus I turn My language to you Prince, you foreign man. Ne're stare nor put on wonder, for you must Indure me, and you shall. This earth you tread upon (A dowry as you hope with this fair Princess, Whose memory I bow to) was not left By my dead Father (Oh, I had a Father) To your inheritance, and I up and living, Having my self about me and my sword, The souls of all my name, and memories, These arms and some few friends, besides the gods, To part so calmly with it, and sit still, And say I might have been! I tell thee Pharamond, When thou art King, look I be dead and rotten, And my name ashes; For, hear me Pharamond, This very ground thou goest on, this fat earth, My Fathers friends made fertile with their faiths, Before that day of shame, shall gape and swallow Thee and thy Nation, like a hungry grave, Into her hidden bowels: Prince, it shall; By Nemesis it shall.

Pha. He's mad beyond cure, mad.

Di. Here's a fellow has some fire in's veins: The outlandish Prince looks like a Tooth-drawer.

Phi. Sir, Prince of Poppingjayes, I'le make it well appear To you I am not mad.

King. You displease us. You are too bold.

Phi. No Sir, I am too tame, Too much a Turtle, a thing born without passion, A faint shadow, that every drunken cloud sails over, And makes nothing.

King. I do not fancy this, Call our Physicians: sure he is somewhat tainted.

Thra. I do not think 'twill prove so.

Di. H'as given him a general purge already, for all the right he has, and now he means to let him blood: Be constant Gentlemen; by these hilts I'le run his hazard, although I run my name out of the Kingdom.

Cle. Peace, we are one soul.

Pha. What you have seen in me, to stir offence, I cannot find, unless it be this Lady Offer'd into mine arms, with the succession, Which I must keep though it hath pleas'd your fury To mutiny within you; without disputing Your Genealogies, or taking knowledge Whose branch you are. The King will leave it me; And I dare make it mine; you have your answer.

Phi. If thou wert sole inheritor to him, That made the world his; and couldst see no sun Shine upon any but thine: were Pharamond As truly valiant, as I feel him cold, And ring'd among the choicest of his friends, Such as would blush to talk such serious follies, Or back such bellied commendations, And from this present, spight of all these bugs, You should hear further from me.

King. Sir, you wrong the Prince: I gave you not this freedom to brave our best friends, You deserve our frown: go to, be better temper'd.

Phi. It must be Sir, when I am nobler us'd.

Gal. Ladyes, This would have been a pattern of succession, Had he ne're met this mischief. By my life, He is the worthiest the true name of man This day within my knowledge.

Meg. I cannot tell what you may call your knowledge, But the other is the man set in mine eye; Oh! 'tis a Prince of wax.

Gal. A Dog it is.

King. Philaster, tell me, The injuries you aim at in your riddles.

Phi. If you had my eyes Sir, and sufferance, My griefs upon you and my broken fortunes, My want's great, and now nought but hopes and fears, My wrongs would make ill riddles to be laught at. Dare you be still my King and right me not?

King. Give me your wrongs in private.

[They whisper.

Phi. Take them, and ease me of a load would bow strong Atlas.

Di. He dares not stand the shock.

Di. I cannot blame, him, there's danger in't. Every man in this age, has not a soul of Crystal for all men to read their actions through: mens hearts and faces are so far asunder, that they hold no intelligence. Do but view yon stranger well, and you shall see a Feaver through all his bravery, and feel him shake like a true Tenant; if he give not back his Crown again, upon the report of an Elder Gun, I have no augury.

King. Go to: Be more your self, as you respect our favour: You'I stir us else: Sir, I must have you know That y'are and shall be at our pleasure, what fashion we Will put upon you: smooth your brow, or by the gods.

Phi. I am dead Sir, y'are my fate: it was not I Said I was not wrong'd: I carry all about me, My weak stars led me to all my weak fortunes. Who dares in all this presence speak (that is But man of flesh and may be mortal) tell me I do not most intirely love this Prince, And honour his full vertues!

King. Sure he's possest.

Phi. Yes, with my Fathers spirit; It's here O King! A dangerous spirit; now he tells me King, I was a Kings heir, bids me be a King, And whispers to me, these be all my Subjects. 'Tis strange, he will not let me sleep, but dives Into my fancy, and there gives me shapes That kneel, and do me service, cry me King: But I'le suppress him, he's a factious spirit, And will undo me: noble Sir, [your] hand, I am your servant.

King. Away, I do not like this: I'le make you tamer, or I'le dispossess you Both of life and spirit: For this time I pardon your wild speech, without so much As your imprisonment.

[Ex. King, Pha. and Are.

Di. I thank you Sir, you dare not for the people.

Gal. Ladies, what think you now of this brave fellow?

Meg. A pretty talking fellow, hot at hand; but eye yon stranger, is not he a fine compleat Gentleman? O these strangers, I do affect them strangely: they do the rarest home things, and please the fullest! as I live, could love all the Nation over and over for his sake.

Gal. Pride comfort your poor head-piece Lady: 'tis a weak one, and had need of a Night-cap.

Di. See how his fancy labours, has he not spoke Home, and bravely? what a dangerous train Did he give fire to! How he shook the King, Made his soul melt within him, and his blood Run into whay! it stood upon his brow, Like a cold winter dew.

Phi. Gentlemen, You have no suit to me? I am no minion: You stand (methinks) like men that would be Courtiers, If you could well be fiatter'd at a price, Not to undo your Children: y'are all honest: Go get you home again, and make your Country A vertuous Court, to which your great ones may, In their Diseased age, retire, and live recluse.

Cle. How do you worthy Sir?

Phi. Well, very well; And so well, that if the King please, I find I may live many years.

Di. The King must please, Whilst we know what you are, and who you are, Your wrongs and [injuries]: shrink not, worthy Sir, But add your Father to you: in whose name, We'll waken all the gods, and conjure up The rods of vengeance, the abused people, Who like to raging torrents shall swell high, And so begirt the dens of these Male-dragons, That through the strongest safety, they shall beg For mercy at your swords point.

Phi. Friends, no more, Our years may he corrupted: 'Tis an age We dare not trust our wills to: do you love me?

Thra. Do we love Heaven and honour?

Phi. My Lord Dion, you had A vertuous Gentlewoman call'd you Father; Is she yet alive?

Di. Most honour'd Sir, she is: And for the penance but of an idle dream, Has undertook a tedious Pilgrimage.

[ Enter a Lady.

Phi. Is it to me, or any of these Gentlemen you come?

La. To you, brave Lord; the Princess would intreat Your present company.

Phi. The Princess send for me! y'are mistaken.

La. If you be call'd Philaster, 'tis to you.

Phi. Kiss her hand, and say I will attend her.

Di. Do you know what you do?

Phi. Yes, go to see a woman.

Cle. But do you weigh the danger you are in?

Phi. Danger in a sweet face? By Jupiter I must not fear a woman.

Thra. But are you sure it was the Princess sent? It may be some foul train to catch your life.

Phi. I do not think it Gentlemen: she's noble, Her eye may shoot me dead, or those true red And white friends in her face may steal my soul out: There's all the danger in't: but be what may, Her single name hath arm'd me.

[Ex. Phil.

Di. Go on: And be as truly happy as thou art fearless: Come Gentlemen, let's make our friends acquainted, Lest the King prove false.

[Ex. Gentlemen.

Enter Arethusa and a Lady.

Are. Comes he not?

La. Madam?

Are. Will Philaster come?

La. Dear Madam, you were wont To credit me at first.

Are. But didst thou tell me so? I am forgetful, and my womans strength Is so o'recharg'd with danger like to grow About my Marriage that these under-things Dare not abide in such a troubled sea: How look't he, when he told thee he would come?

La. Why, well.

Are. And not a little fearful?

La. Fear Madam? sure he knows not what it is.

Are. You are all of his Faction; the whole Court Is bold in praise of him, whilst I May live neglected: and do noble things, As fools in strife throw gold into the Sea, Drown'd in the doing: but I know he fears.

La. Fear? Madam (me thought) his looks hid more Of love than fear.

Are. Of love? To whom? to you? Did you deliver those plain words I sent, With such a winning gesture, and quick look That you have caught him?

La. Madam, I mean to you.

Are. Of love to me? Alas! thy ignorance Lets thee not see the crosses of our births: Nature, that loves not to be questioned Why she did this, or that, but has her ends, And knows she does well; never gave the world Two things so opposite, so contrary, As he and I am: If a bowl of blood Drawn from this arm of mine, would poyson thee, A draught of his would cure thee. Of love to me?

La. Madam, I think I hear him.

Are. Bring him in: You gods that would not have your dooms withstood, Whose holy wisdoms at this time it is, To make the passion of a feeble maid The way unto your justice, I obey.

[ Enter Phil.

La. Here is my Lord Philaster.

Are. Oh! 'tis well: Withdraw your self.

Phi. Madam, your messenger Made me believe, you wisht to speak with me.

Are. 'Tis true Philaster, but the words are such, I have to say, and do so ill beseem The mouth of woman, that I wish them said, And yet am loth to speak them. Have you known That I have ought detracted from your worth? Have I in person wrong'd you? or have set My baser instruments to throw disgrace Upon your vertues?

Phi. Never Madam you.

Are. Why then should you in such a publick place, Injure a Princess and a scandal lay Upon my fortunes, fam'd to be so great: Calling a great part of my dowry in question.

Phi. Madam, this truth which I shall speak, will be Foolish: but for your fair and vertuous self, I could afford my self to have no right To any thing you wish'd.

Are. Philaster, know I must enjoy these Kingdoms.

Phi. Madam, both?

Are. Both or I die: by Fate I die Philaster, If I not calmly may enjoy them both.

Phi. I would do much to save that Noble life: Yet would be loth to have posterity Find in our stories, that Philaster gave His right unto a Scepter, and a Crown, To save a Ladies longing.

Are. Nay then hear: I must, and will have them, and more.

Phi. What more?

Are. Or lose that little life the gods prepared, To trouble this poor piece of earth withall.

Phi. Madam, what more?

Are. Turn then away thy face.

Phi. No.

Are. Do.

Phi. I cannot endure it: turn away my face? I never yet saw enemy that lookt So dreadful, but that I thought my self As great a Basilisk as he; or spake So horribly, but that I thought my tongue Bore Thunder underneath, as much as his: Nor beast that I could turn from: shall I then Begin to fear sweet sounds? a Ladies voice, Whom I do love? Say you would have my life, Why, I will give it you; for it is of me A thing so loath'd, and unto you that ask Of so poor use, that I shall make no price If you intreat, I will unmov'dly hear.

Are. Yet for my sake a little bend thy looks.

Phi. I do.

Are. Then know I must have them and thee.

Phi. And me?

Are. Thy love: without which, all the Land Discovered yet, will serve me for no use, But to be buried in.

Phi. Is't possible?

Are. With it, it were too little to bestow On thee: Now, though thy breath doth strike me dead (Which know it may) I have unript my breast.

Phi. Madam, you are too full of noble thoughts, To lay a train for this contemned life, Which you may have for asking: to suspect Were base, where I deserve no ill: love you! By all my hopes I do, above my life: But how this passion should proceed from you So violently, would amaze a man, that would be jealous.

Are. Another soul into my body shot, Could not have fill'd me with more strength and spirit, Than this thy breath: but spend not hasty time, In seeking how I came thus: 'tis the gods, The gods, that make me so; and sure our love Will be the nobler, and the better blest, In that the secret justice of the gods Is mingled with it. Let us leave and kiss, Lest some unwelcome guest should fall betwixt us, And we should part without it. Phi. 'Twill be ill I should abide here long.

Are. 'Tis true, and worse You should come often: How shall we devise To hold intelligence? That our true lovers, On any new occasion may agree, what path is best to tread?

Phi. I have a boy sent by the gods, I hope to this intent, Not yet seen in the Court; hunting the Buck, I found him sitting by a Fountain side, Of which he borrow'd some to quench his thirst, And paid the Nymph again as much in tears; A Garland lay him by, made by himself, Of many several flowers, bred in the bay, Stuck in that mystick order, that the rareness Delighted me: but ever when he turned His tender eyes upon 'um, he would weep, As if he meant to make 'um grow again. Seeing such pretty helpless innocence Dwell in his face, I ask'd him all his story; He told me that his Parents gentle dyed, Leaving him to the mercy of the fields, Which gave him roots; and of the Crystal springs, Which did not stop their courses: and the Sun, Which still, he thank'd him, yielded him his light, Then took he up his Garland and did shew, What every flower as Country people hold, Did signifie: and how all ordered thus, Exprest his grief: and to my thoughts did read The prettiest lecture of his Country Art That could be wisht: so that, me thought, I could Have studied it. I gladly entertain'd him, Who was glad to follow; and have got The trustiest, loving'st, and the gentlest boy, That ever Master kept: Him will I send To wait on you, and bear our hidden love.

[ Enter Lady.

Are. 'Tis well, no more.

La. Madam, the Prince is come to do his service.

Are. What will you do Philaster with your self?

Phi. Why, that which all the gods have appointed out for me.

Are. Dear, hide thy self. Bring in the Prince.

Phi. Hide me from Pharamond! When Thunder speaks, which is the voice of Jove, Though I do reverence, yet I hide me not; And shall a stranger Prince have leave to brag Unto a forreign Nation, that he made Philaster hide himself?

Are. He cannot know it.

Phi. Though it should sleep for ever to the world, It is a simple sin to hide my self, Which will for ever on my conscience lie.

Are. Then good Philaster, give him scope and way In what he saies: for he is apt to speak What you are loth to hear: for my sake do.

Phi. I will.

[ Enter Pharamond.

Pha. My Princely Mistress, as true lovers ought, I come to kiss these fair hands; and to shew In outward Ceremonies, the dear love Writ in my heart.

Phi. If I shall have an answer no directlier, I am gone.

Pha. To what would he have an answer?

Are. To his claim unto the Kingdom.

Pha. Sirrah, I forbear you before the King.

Phi. Good Sir, do so still, I would not talk with you.

Pha. But now the time is fitter, do but offer To make mention of right to any Kingdom, Though it be scarce habitable.

Phi. Good Sir, let me go.

Pha. And by my sword.

Phi. Peace Pharamond: if thou—

Are. Leave us Philaster.

Phi. I have done.

Pha. You are gone, by heaven I'le fetch you back.

Phi. You shall not need.

Pha. What now?

Phi. Know Pharamond, I loath to brawl with such a blast as thou, Who art nought but a valiant voice: But if Thou shalt provoke me further, men shall say Thou wert, and not lament it. Pha. Do you slight My greatness so, and in the Chamber of the Princess!

Phi. It is a place to which I must confess I owe a reverence: but wer't the Church, I, at the Altar, there's no place so safe, Where thou dar'st injure me, but I dare kill thee: And for your greatness; know Sir, I can grasp You, and your greatness thus, thus into nothing: Give not a word, not a word back: Farewell.

[Exit Phi.

Pha. 'Tis an odd fellow Madam, we must stop His mouth with some Office, when we are married.

Are. You were best make him your Controuler.

Pha. I think he would discharge it well. But Madam, I hope our hearts are knit; and yet so slow The Ceremonies of State are, that 'twill be long Before our hands be so: If then you please, Being agreed in heart, let us not wait For dreaming for me, but take a little stoln Delights, and so prevent our joyes to come.

Are. If you dare speak such thoughts, I must withdraw in honour.

[Exit Are.

Pha. The constitution of my body will never hold out till the wedding; I must seek elsewhere.

[Exit Pha.



Actus Secundus. Scena Prima.

Enter Philaster and Bellario.

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

Bell. Sir, you did take me up when I was nothing; And only yet am something, by being yours; You trusted me unknown; and that which you are apt To conster a simple innocence in me, Perhaps, might have been craft; the cunning of a boy Hardened in lies and theft; yet ventur'd you, To part my miseries and me: for which, I never can expect to serve a Lady That bears more honour in her breast than you.

Phi. But boy, it will prefer thee; thou art young, And bearest a childish overflowing love To them that clap thy cheeks, and speak thee fair yet: But when thy judgment comes to rule those passions, Thou wilt remember best those careful friends That plac'd thee in the noblest way of life; She is a Princess I prefer thee to.

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

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

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

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

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

[Exit.

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

[Exit Phi.

Enter Pharamond.

Pha. Why should these Ladies stay so long? They must come this way; I know the Queen imployes 'em not, for the Reverend Mother sent me word they would all be for the Garden. If they should all prove honest now, I were in a fair taking; I was never so long without sport in my life, and in my conscience 'tis not my fault: Oh, for our Country Ladies! Here's one boulted, I'le hound at her.

Enter Galatea.

Gal. Your Grace!

Pha. Shall I not be a trouble?

Gal. Not to me Sir.

Pha. Nay, nay, you are too quick; by this sweet hand.

Gal. You'l be forsworn Sir, 'tis but an old glove. If you will talk at distance, I am for you: but good Prince, be not bawdy, nor do not brag; these two I bar, and then I think, I shall have sence enough to answer all the weighty Apothegmes your Royal blood shall manage.

Pha. Dear Lady, can you love?

Gal. Dear, Prince, how dear! I ne're cost you a Coach yet, nor put you to the dear repentance of a Banquet; here's no Scarlet Sir, to blush the sin out it was given for: This wyer mine own hair covers: and this face has been so far from being dear to any, that it ne're cost penny painting: And for the rest of my poor Wardrobe, such as you see, it leaves no hand behind it, to make the jealous Mercers wife curse our good doings.

Pha. You mistake me Lady.

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

Pha. Do Ladies of this Country use to give no more respect to men of my full being?

Gal. Full being! I understand you not, unless your Grace means growing to fatness; and then your only remedy (upon my knowledge, Prince) is in a morning a Cup of neat White-wine brew'd with Carduus, then fast till supper, about eight you may eat; use exercise, and keep a Sparrow-hawk, you can shoot in a Tiller; but of all, your Grace must flie Phlebotomie, fresh Pork, Conger, and clarified Whay; They are all dullers of the vital spirits.

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

Gal. 'Tis very true Sir, I talk of you.

Pha. This is a crafty wench, I like her wit well, 'twill be rare to stir up a leaden appetite, she's a Danae, and must be courted in a showr of gold. Madam, look here, all these and more, than—

Gal. What have you there, my Lord? Gold? Now, as I live tis fair gold; you would have silver for it to play with the Pages; you could not have taken me in a worse time; But if you have present use my Lord, I'le send my man with silver and keep your gold for you.

Pha. Lady, Lady.

Gal. She's coming Sir behind, will take white mony. Yet for all this I'le match ye.

[Exit Gal. behind the hangings.

Pha. If there be two such more in this Kingdom, and near the Court, we may even hang up our Harps: ten such Camphire constitutions as this, would call the golden age again in question, and teach the old way for every ill fac't Husband to get his own Children, and what a mischief that will breed, let all consider.

[ Enter Megra.

Here's another; if she be of the same last, the Devil shall pluck her on. Many fair mornings, Lady.

Meg. As many mornings bring as many dayes, Fair, sweet, and hopeful to your Grace.

Pha. She gives good words yet; Sure this wench is free. If your more serious business do not call you, Let me hold quarter with you, we'll take an hour Out quickly.

Meg. What would your Grace talk of?

Pha. Of some such pretty subject as your self. I'le go no further than your eye, or lip, There's theme enough for one man for an age.

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

Pha. O they are two twin'd Cherries died in blushes, Which those fair suns above, with their bright beams Reflect upon, and ripen: sweetest beauty, Bow down those branches, that the longing taste, Of the faint looker on, may meet those blessings, And taste and live.

Meg. O delicate sweet Prince; She that hath snow enough about her heart, To take the wanton spring of ten such lines off, May be a Nun without probation. Sir, you have in such neat poetry, gathered a kiss, That if I had but five lines of that number, Such pretty begging blanks, I should commend Your fore-head, or your cheeks, and kiss you too.

Pha. Do it in prose; you cannot miss it Madam.

Meg. I shall, I shall.

Pha. By my life you shall not. I'le prompt you first: Can you do it now?

Meg. Methinks 'tis easie, now I ha' don't before; But yet I should stick at it.

Pha. Stick till to morrow. I'le ne'r part you sweetest. But we lose time, Can you love me?

Meg. Love you my Lord? How would you have me love you?

Pha. I'le teach you in a short sentence, cause I will not load your memory, that is all; love me, and lie with me.

Meg. Was it lie with you that you said? 'Tis impossible.

Pha. Not to a willing mind, that will endeavour; if I do not teach you to do it as easily in one night, as you'l go to bed, I'le lose my Royal blood for't.

Meg. Why Prince, you have a Lady of your own, that yet wants teaching.

Pha. I'le sooner teach a Mare the old measures, than teach her any thing belonging to the function; she's afraid to lie with her self, if she have but any masculine imaginations about her; I know when we are married, I must ravish her.

Meg. By my honour, that's a foul fault indeed, but time and your good help will wear it out Sir.

Pha. And for any other I see, excepting your dear self, dearest Lady, I had rather be Sir Tim the Schoolmaster, and leap a Dairy-maid.

Meg. Has your Grace seen the Court-star Galatea?

Pha. Out upon her; she's as cold of her favour as an apoplex: she sail'd by but now.

Meg. And how do you hold her wit Sir?

Pha. I hold her wit? The strength of all the Guard cannot hold it, if they were tied to it, she would blow 'em out of the Kingdom, they talk of Jupiter, he's but a squib cracker to her: Look well about you, and you may find a tongue-bolt. But speak sweet Lady, shall I be freely welcome?

Meg. Whither?

Pha. To your bed; if you mistrust my faith, you do me the unnoblest wrong.

Meg. I dare not Prince, I dare not.

Pha. Make your own conditions, my purse shall seal 'em, and what you dare imagine you can want, I'le furnish you withal: give two hours to your thoughts every morning about it. Come, I know you are bashful, speak in my ear, will you be mine? keep this, and with it me: soon I will visit you.

Meg. My Lord, my Chamber's most unsafe, but when 'tis night I'le find some means to slip into your lodging: till when—

Pha. Till when, this, and my heart go with thee.

[Ex. several ways.

Enter Galatea from behind the hangings.

Gal. Oh thou pernicious Petticoat Prince, are these your vertues? Well, if I do not lay a train to blow your sport up, I am no woman; and Lady Towsabel I'le fit you for't.

[Exit Gal.

Enter Arethusa and a Lady.

Are. Where's the boy?

La. Within Madam.

Are. Gave you him gold to buy him cloaths?

La. I did.

Are. And has he don't?

La. Yes Madam.

Are. 'Tis a pretty sad talking lad, is it not? Askt you his name?

La. No Madam.

[ Enter Galatea.

Are. O you are welcome, what good news?

Gal. As good as any one can tell your Grace, That saies she hath done that you would have wish'd.

Are. Hast thou discovered?

Gal. I have strained a point of modesty for you.

Are. I prethee how?

Gal. In listning after bawdery; I see, let a Lady live never so modestly, she shall be sure to find a lawful time, to harken after bawdery; your Prince, brave Pharamond, was so hot on't.

Are. With whom?

Gal. Why, with the Lady I suspect: I can tell the time and place.

Are. O when, and where?

Gal. To night, his Lodging.

Are. Run thy self into the presence, mingle there again With other Ladies, leave the rest to me: If destiny (to whom we dare not say, Why thou didst this) have not decreed it so In lasting leaves (whose smallest Characters Were never altered:) yet, this match shall break. Where's the boy?

La. Here Madam.

[ Enter Bellario.

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

Bell. Madam, I have not chang'd; I wait on you, To do him service.

Are. Thou disclaim'st in me; Tell me thy name.

Bell. Bellario.

Are. Thou canst sing, and play?

Bell. If grief will give me leave, Madam, I can.

Are. Alas! what kind of grief can thy years know? Hadst thou a curst master, when thou went'st to School? Thou art not capable of other grief; Thy brows and cheeks are smooth as waters be, When no [b]reath troubles them: believe me boy, Care seeks out wrinkled brows, and hollow eyes, And builds himself caves to abide in them. Come Sir, tell me truly, does your Lord love me?

Bell. Love Madam? I know not what it is.

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

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

Are. O y'are a cunning boy, and taught to lie, For your Lords credit; but thou knowest, a lie, That bears this sound, is welcomer to me, Than any truth that saies he loves me not. Lead the way Boy: Do you attend me too; 'Tis thy Lords business hasts me thus; Away.

[Exeunt.

Enter Dion, Cleremont, Thrasilin, Megra and Galatea.

Di. Come Ladies, shall we talk a round? As men Do walk a mile, women should take an hour After supper: 'Tis their exercise.

Gal. Tis late.

Meg. 'Tis all My eyes will do to lead me to my bed.

Gal. I fear they are so heavy, you'l scarce find The way to your lodging with 'em to night.

[ Enter Pharamond.

Thra. The Prince.

Pha. Not a bed Ladies? y'are good sitters up; What think you of a pleasant dream to last Till morning?

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

[Enter Arethusa and Bellario.

Are. 'Tis well my Lord y'are courting of Ladies. Is't not late Gentlemen?

Cle. Yes Madam.

Are. Wait you there. [Exit Arethusa.

Meg. She's jealous, as I live; look you my Lord, The Princess has a Hilas, an Adonis.

Pha. His form is Angel-like.

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

Pha. I find no musick in these boys.

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

Di. Serves he the Princess?

Thra. Yes.

Di. 'Tis a sweet boy, how brave she keeps him!

Pha. Ladies all good rest; I mean to kill a Buck To morrow morning, ere y'ave done your dreams.

Meg. All happiness attend your Grace, Gentlemen good rest, Come shall we to bed?

Gal. Yes, all good night.

[Ex. Gal. and Meg.

Di. May your dreams be true to you; What shall we do Gallants? 'Tis late, the King Is up still, see, he comes, a Guard along With him.

[Enter King, Arethusa and Guard.

King. Look your intelligence be true.

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

Di. What should this mean?

King. If it be true, That Lady had been better have embrac'd Cureless Diseases; get you to your rest,

[Ex. Are. and Bel.

You shall be righted: Gentlemen draw near, We shall imploy you: Is young Pharamond Come to his lodging?

Di. I saw him enter there.

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

Cle. Sir, She parted hence but now with other Ladies.

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

[ Enter Dion.

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

King. 'Tis then no time to dally: you o'th' Guard, Wait at the back door of the Princes lodging, And see that none pass thence upon your lives. Knock Gentlemen: knock loud: louder yet: What, has their pleasure taken off their hearing? I'le break your meditations: knock again: Not yet? I do not think he sleeps, having this Larum by him; once more, Pharamond, Prince.

[Pharamond above.

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

K. Prince, you wrong your thoughts, we are your friends, Come down.

Pha. The King?

King. The same Sir, come down, We have cause of present Counsel with you.

Pha. If your Grace please to use me, I'le attend you To your Chamber. [Pha. below.

King. No, 'tis too late Prince, I'le make bold with yours.

Pha. I have some private reasons to my self, Makes me unmannerly, and say you cannot; Nay, press not forward Gentlemen, he must come Through my life, that comes here.

King. Sir be resolv'd, I must and will come. Enter.

Pha. I will not be dishonour'd; He that enters, enters upon his death; Sir, 'tis a sign you make no stranger of me, To bring these Renegados to my Chamber, At these unseason'd hours.

King. Why do you Chafe your self so? you are not wrong'd, nor shall be; Onely I'le search your lodging, for some cause To our self known: Enter I say.

Pha. I say no. [Meg. Above.

Meg. Let 'em enter Prince, Let 'em enter, I am up, and ready; I know their business, 'Tis the poor breaking of a Ladies honour, They hunt so hotly after; let 'em enjoy it. You have your business Gentlemen, I lay here. O my Lord the King, this is not noble in you To make publick the weakness of a Woman.

King. Come down.

Meg. I dare my Lord; your whootings and your clamors, Your private whispers, and your broad fleerings, Can no more vex my soul, than this base carriage; But I have vengeance yet in store for some, Shall in the most contempt you can have of me, Be joy and nourishment.

King. Will you come down?

Meg. Yes, to laugh at your worst: but I shall wrong you, If my skill fail me not.

King. Sir, I must dearly chide you for this looseness, You have wrong'd a worthy Lady; but no more, Conduct him to my lodging, and to bed.

Cle. Get him another wench, and you bring him to bed in deed.

Di. 'Tis strange a man cannot ride a Stagg Or two, to breath himself, without a warrant: If this geer hold, that lodgings be search'd thus, Pray heaven we may lie with our own wives in safety, That they be not by some trick of State mistaken.

[ Enter with Megra.

King. Now Lady of honour, where's your honour now? No man can fit your palat, but the Prince. Thou most ill shrowded rottenness; thou piece Made by a Painter and a Pothecary; Thou troubled sea of lust; thou wilderness, Inhabited by wild thoughts; thou swoln cloud Of Infection; them ripe Mine of all Diseases; Thou all Sin, all Hell, and last, all Devils, tell me, Had you none to pull on with your courtesies, But he that must be mine, and wrong my Daughter? By all the gods, all these, and all the Pages, And all the Court shall hoot thee through the Court, Fling rotten Oranges, make ribald Rimes, And sear thy name with Candles upon walls: Do you laugh Lady Venus?

Meg. Faith Sir, you must pardon me; I cannot chuse but laugh to see you merry. If you do this, O King; nay, if you dare do it; By all these gods you swore by, and as many More of my own; I will have fellows, and such Fellows in it, as shall make noble mirth; The Princess, your dear Daughter, shall stand by me On walls, and sung in ballads, any thing: Urge me no more, I know her, and her haunts, Her layes, leaps, and outlayes, and will discover all; Nay will dishonour her. I know the boy She keeps, a handsome boy; about eighteen: Know what she does with him, where, and when. Come Sir, you put me to a womans madness, The glory of a fury; and if I do not Do it to the height?

King. What boy is this she raves at?

Meg. Alas! good minded Prince, you know not these things? I am loth to reveal 'em. Keep this fault As you would keep your health from the hot air Of the corrupted people, or by heaven, I will not fall alone: what I have known, Shall be as publick as a print: all tongues Shall speak it as they do the language they Are born in, as free and commonly; I'le set it Like a prodigious star for all to gaze at, And so high and glowing, that other Kingdoms far and Forreign Shall read it there, nay travel with it, till they find No tongue to make it more, nor no more people; And then behold the fall of your fair Princess.

King. Has she a boy?

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

King. Go get you to your quarter: For this time I'le study to forget you.

Meg. Do you study to forget me, and I'le study To forget you.

[Ex. King, Meg. and Guard.

Cle. Why here's a Male spirit for Hercules, if ever there be nine worthies of women, this wench shall ride astride, and be their Captain.

Di. Sure she hath a garrison of Devils in her tongue, she uttereth such balls of wild-fire. She has so netled the King, that all the Doctors in the Country will scarce cure him. That boy was a strange found out antidote to cure her infection: that boy, that Princess boy: that brave, chast, vertuous Ladies boy: and a fair boy, a well spoken boy: All these considered, can make nothing else—but there I leave you Gentlemen.

Thra. Nay we'l go wander with you.

[Exeunt.



Actus Tertius. Scena Prima.

Enter Cle. Di. and Thra.

Cle. Nay doubtless 'tis true.

Di. I, and 'tis the gods That rais'd this Punishment to scourge the King With his own issue: Is it not a shame For us, that should write noble in the land; For us, that should be freemen, to behold A man, that is the bravery of his age, Philaster, prest down from his Royal right, By this regardless King; and only look, And see the Scepter ready to be cast Into the hands of that lascivious Lady, That lives in lust with a smooth boy, now to be Married to yon strange Prince, who, but that people Please to let him be a Prince, is born a slave, In that which should be his most noble part, His mind?

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

Cle. Philaster is too backward in't himself; The Gentry do await it, and the people Against their nature are all bent for him, And like a field of standing Corn, that's mov'd With a stiff gale, their heads bow all one way.

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

Thra. Perhaps he'l not believe it.

Di. Why Gentlemen, 'tis without question so.

Cle. I 'tis past speech, she lives dishonestly. But how shall we, if he be curious, work Upon his faith?

Thra. We all are satisfied within our selves.

Di. Since it is true, and tends to his own good, I'le make this new report to be my knowledge, I'le say I know it, nay, I'le swear I saw it.

Cle. It will be best.

Thra. 'Twill move him.

[ Enter Philaster.

Di. Here he comes. Good morrow to your honour, We have spent some time in seeking you.

Phi. My worthy friends, You that can keep your memories to know Your friend in miseries, and cannot frown On men disgrac'd for vertue: A good day Attend you all. What service may I do worthy your acceptation?

Di. My good Lord, We come to urge that vertue which we know Lives in your breast, forth, rise, and make a head, The Nobles, and the people are all dull'd With this usurping King: and not a man That ever heard the word, or knew such a thing As vertue, but will second your attempts.

Phi. How honourable is this love in you To me that have deserv'd none? Know my friends (You that were born to shame your poor Philaster, With too much courtesie) I could afford To melt my self in thanks; but my designs Are not yet ripe, suffice it, that ere long I shall imploy your loves: but yet the time is short of what I would.

Di. The time is fuller Sir, than you expect; That which hereafter will not perhaps be reach'd By violence, may now be caught; As for the King, You know the people have long hated him; But now the Princess, whom they lov'd.

Phi. Why, what of her?

Di. Is loath'd as much as he.

Phi. By what strange means?

Di. She's known a Whore.

Phi. Thou lyest.

Di. My Lord—

Phi. Thou lyest,

[Offers to draw and is held.

And thou shalt feel it; I had thought thy mind Had been of honour; thus to rob a Lady Of her good name, is an infectious sin, Not to be pardon'd; be it false as hell, 'Twill never be redeem'd, if it be sown Amongst the people, fruitful to increase All evil they shall hear. Let me alone, That I may cut off falshood, whilst it springs. Set hills on hills betwixt me and the man That utters this, and I will scale them all, And from the utmost top fall on his neck, Like Thunder from a Cloud.

Di. This is most strange; Sure he does love her.

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

Thra. Nay, good my Lord be patient.

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

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

Di. But this my Lord is truth.

Phi. O say not so, good Sir forbear to say so, 'Tis the truth that all womenkind is false; Urge it no more, it is impossible; Why should you think the Princess light?

Di. Why, she was taken at it.

Phi. 'Tis false, O Heaven 'tis false: it cannot be, Can it? Speak Gentlemen, for love of truth speak; Is't possible? can women all be damn'd?

Di. Why no, my Lord.

Phi. Why then it cannot be.

Di. And she was taken with her boy.

Phi. What boy?

Di. A Page, a boy that serves her.

Phi. Oh good gods, a little boy?

Di. I, know you him my Lord?

Phi. Hell and sin know him? Sir, you are deceiv'd; I'le reason it a little coldly with you; If she were lustful, would she take a boy, That knows not yet desire? she would have one Should meet her thoughts and knows the sin he acts, Which is the great delight of wickedness; You are abus'd, and so is she, and I.

Di. How you my Lord?

Phi. Why all the world's abus'd In an unjust report.

Di. Oh noble Sir your vertues Cannot look into the subtil thoughts of woman. In short my Lord, I took them: I my self.

Phi. Now all the Devils thou didst flie from my rage, Would thou hadst ta'ne devils ingendring plagues: When thou didst take them, hide thee from my eyes, Would thou hadst taken Thunder on thy breast, When thou didst take them, or been strucken dumb For ever: that this foul deed might have slept in silence.

Thra. Have you known him so ill temper'd?

Cle. Never before.

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

Di. Why, my Lord, are you so mov'd at this?

Phi. When any falls from vertue I am distract, I have an interest in't.

Di. But good my Lord recal your self, And think what's best to be done.

Phi. I thank you. I will do it; Please you to leave me, I'le consider of it: Tomorrow I will find your lodging forth, And give you answer The readiest way.

Di. All the gods direct you.

Thra. He was extream impatient.

Cle. It was his vertue and his noble mind.

[Exeunt Di. Cle. and Thra.

Phi. I had forgot to ask him where he took them, I'le follow him. O that I had a sea Within my breast, to quench the fire I feel; More circumstances will but fan this fire; It more afflicts me now, to know by whom This deed is done, than simply that 'tis done: And he that tells me this is honourable, As far from lies, as she is far from truth. O that like beasts, we could not grieve our selves, With that we see not; Bulls and Rams will fight, To keep their Females standing in their sight; But take 'em from them, and you take at once Their spleens away; and they will fall again Unto their Pastures, growing fresh and fat, And taste the waters of the springs as sweet, As 'twas before, finding no start in sleep. But miserable man; See, see you gods,

[Enter Bellario.

He walks still; and the face you let him wear When he was innocent, is still the same, Not blasted; is this justice? Do you mean To intrap mortality, that you allow Treason so smooth a brow? I cannot now Think he is guilty.

Bell. Health to you my Lord; The Princess doth commend her love, her life, And this unto you.

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

Bell. My Lord she has attired me past my wish, Past my desert, more fit for her attendant, Though far unfit for me, who do attend.

Phi. Thou art grown courtly boy. O let all women That love black deeds, learn to dissemble here, Here, by this paper she does write to me, As if her heart were Mines of Adamant To all the world besides, but unto me, A maiden snow that melted with my looks. Tell me my boy how doth the Princess use thee? For I shall guess her love to me by that.

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

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

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

Phi. This is much better still.

Bell. Are you ill my Lord?

Phi. Ill? No Bellario.

Bell. Me thinks your words Fall not from off your tongue so evenly, Nor is there in your looks that quietness, That I was wont to see.

Phi. Thou art deceiv'd boy: And she stroakes thy head?

Bell. Yes.

Phi. And she does clap thy cheeks?

Bell. She does my Lord.

Phi. And she does kiss thee boy? ha!

Bell. How my Lord?

Phi. She kisses thee?

Bell. Not so my Lord.

Phi. Come, come, I know she does.

Bell. No by my life.

Phi. Why then she does not love me; come, she does, I had her do it; I charg'd her by all charms Of love between us, by the hope of peace We should enjoy, to yield thee all delights Naked, as to her bed: I took her oath Thou should'st enjoy her: Tell me gentle boy, Is she not paralleless? Is not her breath Sweet as Arabian winds, when fruits are ripe? Are not her breasts two liquid Ivory balls? Is she not all a lasting Mine of joy?

Bell. I, now I see why my disturbed thoughts Were so perplext. When first I went to her, My heart held augury; you are abus'd, Some villain has abus'd you; I do see Whereto you tend; fall Rocks upon his head, That put this to you; 'tis some subtil train, To bring that noble frame of yours to nought.

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

Bell. My Lord, you did mistake the boy you sent: Had she the lust of Sparrows, or of Goats; Had she a sin that way, hid from the world, Beyond the name of lust, I would not aid Her base desires; but what I came to know As servant to her, I would not reveal, to make my life last ages.

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

Bell. Why, so you do. She is (for ought I know) by all the gods, As chaste as Ice; but were she foul as Hell And I did know it, thus; the breath of Kings, The points of Swords, Tortures nor Bulls of Brass, Should draw it from me.

Phi. Then 'tis no time to dally with thee; I will take thy life, for I do hate thee; I could curse thee now.

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

Phi. Fie, fie, so young and so dissembling; Tell me when and where thou di[d]st enjoy her, Or let plagues fall on me, if I destroy thee not.

Bell. Heaven knows I never did: and when I lie To save my life, may I live long and loath'd. Hew me asunder, and whilst I can think I'le love those pieces you have cut away, Better than those that grow: and kiss these limbs, Because you made 'em so.

Phi. Fearest thou not death? Can boys contemn that?

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

Phi. Oh, but thou dost not know what 'tis to die.

Bell. Yes, I do know my Lord; 'Tis less than to be born; a lasting sleep, A quiet resting from all jealousie; A thing we all pursue; I know besides, It is but giving over of a game that must be lost.

Phi. But there are pains, false boy, For perjur'd souls; think but on these, and then Thy heart will melt, and thou wilt utter all.

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

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

Bell. I will fly as far As there is morning, ere I give distaste To that most honour'd mind. But through these tears Shed at my hopeless parting, I can see A world of Treason practis'd upon you, And her and me. Farewel for evermore; If you shall hear, that sorrow struck me dead, And after find me Loyal, let there be A tear shed from you in my memorie, And I shall rest at peace.

[Exit Bel.

Phi. Blessing be with thee, What ever thou deserv'st. Oh, where shall I Go bath thy body? Nature too unkind, That made no medicine for a troubled mind!

[Exit. Phi.

Enter Arethuse.

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

[Enter King.

King. What are your meditations? who attends you?

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

King. Tell me: have you not a boy?

Are. Yes Sir.

King. What kind of boy?

Are. A Page, a waiting boy.

King. A handsome boy?

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

King. He speaks, and sings and plays?

Are. Yes Sir.

King. About Eighteen?

Are. I never ask'd his age.

King. Is he full of service?

Are. By your pardon why do you ask?

King. Put him away.

Are. Sir?

King. Put him away, h'as done you that good service, Shames me to speak of.

Are. Good Sir let me understand you.

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

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

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

Are. What have I done my Lord?

King. 'Tis a new language, that all love to learn, The common people speak it well already, They need no Grammer; understand me well, There be foul whispers stirring; cast him off! And suddenly do it: Farewel.

[Exit King.

Are. Where may a Maiden live securely free, Keeping her Honour safe? Not with the living, They feed upon opinions, errours, dreams, And make 'em truths: they draw a nourishment Out of defamings, grow upon disgraces, And when they see a vertue fortified Strongly above the battery of their tongues; Oh, how they cast to sink it; and defeated (Soul sick with Poyson) strike the Monuments Where noble names lie sleeping: till they sweat, And the cold Marble melt.

Enter Philaster.

Phi. Peace to your fairest thoughts, dearest Mistress.

Are. Oh, my dearest servant I have a War within me.

Phi. He must be more than man, that makes these Crystals Run into Rivers; sweetest fair, the cause; And as I am your slave, tied to your goodness, Your creature made again from what I was, And newly spirited, I'le right your honours.

Are. Oh, my best love; that boy!

Phi. What boy?

Are. The pretty boy you gave me.

Phi. What of him?

Are. Must be no more mine.

Phi. Why?

Are. They are jealous of him.

Phi. Jealous, who?

Are. The King.

Phi. Oh, my fortune, Then 'tis no idle jealousie. Let him go.

Are. Oh cruel, are you hard hearted too? Who shall now tell you, how much I lov'd you; Who shall swear it to you, and weep the tears I send? Who shall now bring you Letters, Rings, Bracelets, Lose his health in service? wake tedious nights In stories of your praise? Who shall sing Your crying Elegies? And strike a sad soul Into senseless Pictures, and make them mourn? Who shall take up his Lute, and touch it, till He crown a silent sleep upon my eye-lid, Making me dream and cry, Oh my dear, dear Philaster.

Phi. Oh my heart! Would he had broken thee, that made thee know This Lady was not Loyal. Mistress, forget The boy, I'le get thee a far better.

Are. Oh never, never such a boy again, as my Bellario.

Phi. 'Tis but your fond affection.

Are. With thee my boy, farewel for ever, All secrecy in servants: farewel faith, And all desire to do well for it self: Let all that shall succeed thee, for thy wrongs, Sell and betray chast love.

Phi. And all this passion for a boy?

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

Phi. O thou forgetful woman!

Are. How, my Lord?

Phi. False Arethusa! Hast thou a Medicine to restore my wits, When I have lost 'em? If not, leave to talk, and do thus.

Are. Do what Sir? would you sleep?

Phi. For ever Arethusa. Oh you gods, Give me a worthy patience; Have I stood Naked, alone the shock of many fortunes? Have I seen mischiefs numberless, and mighty Grow li[k]e a sea upon me? Have I taken Danger as stern as death into my bosom, And laught upon it, made it but a mirth, And flung it by? Do I live now like him, Under this Tyrant King, that languishing Hears his sad Bell, and sees his Mourners? Do I Bear all this bravely, and must sink at length Under a womans falshood? Oh that boy, That cursed boy? None but a villain boy, to ease your lust?

Are. Nay, then I am betray'd, I feel the plot cast for my overthrow; Oh I am wretched.

Phi. Now you may take that little right I have To this poor Kingdom; give it to your Joy, For I have no joy in it. Some far place, Where never womankind durst set her foot, For bursting with her poisons, must I seek, And live to curse you; There dig a Cave, and preach to birds and beasts, What woman is, and help to save them from you. How heaven is in your eyes, but in your hearts, More hell than hell has; how your tongues like Scorpions, Both heal and poyson; how your thoughts are woven With thousand changes in one subtle webb, And worn so by you. How that foolish man, That reads the story of a womans face, And dies believing it, is lost for ever. How all the good you have, is but a shadow, I'th' morning with you, and at night behind you, Past and forgotten. How your vows are frosts, Fast for a night, and with the next sun gone. How you are, being taken all together, A meer confusion, and so dead a Chaos, That love cannot distinguish. These sad Texts Till my last hour, I am bound to utter of you. So farewel all my wo, all my delight.

[Exit Phi.

Are. Be merciful ye gods and strike me dead; What way have I deserv'd this? make my breast Transparent as pure Crystal, that the world Jealous of me, may see the foulest thought My heart holds. Where shall a woman turn her eyes, To find out constancy? Save me, how black,

[Enter Bell.

And guilty (me thinks) that boy looks now? Oh thou dissembler, that before thou spak'st Wert in thy cradle false? sent to make lies, And betray Innocents; thy Lord and thou, May glory in the ashes of a Maid Fool'd by her passion; but the conquest is Nothing so great as wicked. Fly away, Let my command force thee to that, which shame Would do without it. If thou understoodst The loathed Office thou hast undergone, Why, thou wouldst hide thee under heaps of hills, Lest men should dig and find thee.

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

[Exit Bell.

Are. Peace guide thee, th'ast overthrown me once, Yet if I had another Troy to lose, Thou or another villain with thy looks, Might talk me out of it, and send me naked, My hair dishevel'd through the fiery streets.

[ Enter a Lady

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

Are. I am in tune to hunt! Diana if thou canst rage with a maid, As with a man, let me discover thee Bathing, and turn me to a fearful Hind, That I may die pursu'd by cruel Hounds, And have my story written in my wounds.

[Exeunt.



Actus Quartus. Scena Prima.

Enter King, Pharamond, Arethusa, Galatea, Megra, Dion, Cleremont, Thrasilin, and Attendants.

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

Di. All Sir.

King. Y'are cloudy Sir, come we have forgotten Your venial trespass, let not that sit heavy Upon your spirit; none dare utter it.

Di. He looks like an old surfeited Stallion after his leaping, dull as a Dormouse: see how he sinks; the wench has shot him between wind and water, and I hope sprung a leak.

Thra. He needs no teaching, he strikes sure enough; his greatest fault is, he Hunts too much in the Purlues, would he would leave off Poaching.

Di. And for his horn, has left it at the Lodge where he lay late; Oh, he's a precious Lime-hound; turn him loose upon the pursuit of a Lady, and if he lose her, hang him up i'th' slip. When my Fox-bitch Beauty grows proud, I'le borrow him.

King. Is your Boy turn'd away?

Are. You did command Sir, and I obey you.

King. 'Tis well done: Hark ye further.

Cle. Is't possible this fellow should repent? Me thinks that were not noble in him: and yet he looks like a mortified member, as if he had a sick mans Salve in's mouth. If a worse man had done this fault now, some Physical Justice or other, would presently (without the help of an Almanack) have opened the obstructions of his Liver, and let him bloud with a Dog-whip.

Di. See, see, how modestly your Lady looks, as if she came from Churching with her Neighbour; why, what a Devil can a man see in her face, but that she's honest?

Pha. Troth no great matter to speak of, a foolish twinkling with the eye, that spoils her Coat; but he must be a cunning Herald that finds it.

Di. See how they Muster one another! O there's a Rank Regiment where the Devil carries the Colours, and his Dam Drum major, now the world and the flesh come behind with the Carriage.

Cle. Sure this Lady has a good turn done her against her will: before she was common talk, now none dare say, Cantharides can stir her, her face looks like a Warrant, willing and commanding all Tongues, as they will answer it, to be tied up and bolted when this Lady means to let her self loose. As I live she has got her a goodly protection, and a gracious; and may use her body discreetly, for her healths sake, once a week, excepting Lent and Dog-days: Oh if they were to be got for mony, what a great sum would come out of the City for these Licences?

King. To horse, to horse, we lose the morning, Gentlemen.

[Exeunt.

Enter two Woodmen.

1 Wood.What, have you lodged the Deer?

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

1 Wood. Who shoots?

2 Wood. The Princess.

1 Wood. No she'l Hunt.

2 Wood. She'l take a Stand I say.

1 Wood. Who else?

2 Wood. Why the young stranger Prince.

1 Wood. He shall Shoot in a Stone-bow for me. I never lov'd his beyond-sea-ship, since he forsook the Say, for paying Ten shillings: he was there at the fall of a Deer, and would needs (out of his mightiness) give Ten groats for the Dowcers; marry the Steward would have had the Velvet-head into the bargain, to Turf his Hat withal: I think he should love Venery, he is an old Sir Tristram; for if you be remembred, he forsook the Stagg once, to strike a Rascal Milking in a Medow, and her he kill'd in the eye. Who shoots else?

2 Wood. The Lady Galatea.

1 Wood. That's a good wench, and she would not chide us for tumbling of her women in the Brakes. She's liberal, and by my Bow they say she's honest, and whether that be a fault, I have nothing to do. There's all?

2 Wood. No, one more, Megra.

1 Wood. That's a firker I'faith boy; there's a wench will Ride her Haunces as hard after a Kennel of Hounds, as a Hunting-saddle; and when she comes home, get 'em clapt, and all is well again. I have known her lose her self three times in one Afternoon (if the Woods had been answerable) and it has been work enough for one man to find her, and he has sweat for it. She Rides well, and she payes well. Hark, let's go.

[Exeunt.

Enter Philaster.

Phi. Oh, that I had been nourished in these woods With Milk of Goats, and Acorns, and not known The right of Crowns, nor the dissembling Trains Of Womens looks; but dig'd my self a Cave, Where I, my Fire, my Cattel, and my Bed Might have been shut together in one shed; And then had taken me some Mountain Girl, Beaten with Winds, chast as the hardened Rocks Whereon she dwells; that might have strewed my Bed With leaves, and Reeds, and with the Skins of beasts Our Neighbours; and have born at her big breasts My large course issue. This had been a life free from vexation.

[ Enter Bellario.

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

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

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

Phi. Is it thou? be gone: Go sell those misbeseeming Cloaths thou wear'st, And feed thy self with them.

Bell. Alas! my Lord, I can get nothing for them: The silly Country people think 'tis Treason To touch such gay things.

Phi. Now by my life this is Unkindly done, to vex me with thy sight, Th'art fain again to thy dissembling trade: How should'st thou think to cozen me again? Remains there yet a plague untri'd for me? Even so thou wept'st and spok'st when first I took thee up; curse on the time. If thy Commanding tears can work on any other, Use thy art, I'le not betray it. Which way Wilt thou take, that I may shun thee; For thine eyes are poyson to mine; and I Am loth to grow in rage. This way, or that way?

Bell. Any will serve. But I will chuse to have That path in chase that leads unto my grave.

[Exeunt Phil. and Bell. severally.

Enter Dion and the Woodmen.

Di. This is the strangest sudden change! You Woodman.

1 Wood. My Lord Dion.

Di. Saw you a Lady come this way on a Sable-horse stubbed with stars of white?

2 Wood. Was she not young and tall?

Di. Yes; Rode she to the wood, or to the plain?

2 Wood. Faith my Lord we saw none.

[Exeunt Wood.

Enter Cleremont.

Di. Pox of your questions then. What, is she found?

Cle. Nor will be I think.

Di. Let him seek his Daughter himself; she cannot stray about a little necessary natural business, but the whole Court must be in Arms; when she has done, we shall have peace.

Cle. There's already a thousand fatherless tales amongst us; some say her Horse run away with her; some a Wolf pursued her; others, it was a plot to kill her; and that Armed men were seen in the Wood: but questionless, she rode away willingly.

Enter King, and Thrasiline.

King. Where is she?

Cle. Sir, I cannot tell.

King. How is that? Answer me so again.

Cle. Sir, shall I lie?

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

Di. Sir, I do not know.

King. Speak that again so boldly, and by Heaven It is thy last. You fellows answer me, Where is she? Mark me all, I am your King. I wish to see my Daughter, shew her me; I do command you all, as you are subjects, To shew her me, what am I not your King? If I, then am I not to be obeyed?

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

King. Things possible and honest! Hear me, thou, Thou Traytor, that darest confine thy King to things Possible and honest; shew her me, Or let me perish, if I cover not all Cicily with bloud.

Di. Indeed I cannot, unless you tell me where she is.

King. You have betray'd me, y'have, let me lose The Jewel of my life, go; bring her me, And set her before me; 'tis the King Will have it so, whose breath can still the winds, Uncloud the Sun, charm down the swelling Sea, And stop the Flouds of Heaven; speak, can it not?

Di. No.

King. No, cannot the breath of Kings do this?

Di. No; nor smell sweet it self, if once the Lungs Be but corrupted.

King. Is it so? Take heed.

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

King. Alas! what are we Kings? Why do you gods place us above the rest; To be serv'd, flatter'd, and ador'd till we Believe we hold within our hands your Thunder, And when we come to try the power we have, There's not a leaf shakes at our threatnings. I have sin'd 'tis true, and here stand to be punish'd; Yet would not thus be punish'd; let me chuse My way, and lay it on.

Di. He Articles with the gods; would some body would draw bonds, for the performance of Covenants betwixt them.

Enter Pha. Galatea, and Megra.

King. What, is she found?

Pha. No, we have ta'ne her Horse. He gallopt empty by: there's some Treason; You Galatea rode with her into the wood; why left you her?

Gal. She did command me.

King. Command! you should not.

Gal. 'Twould ill become my Fortunes and my Birth To disobey the Daughter of my King.

King. Y'are all cunning to obey us for our hurt, But I will have her.

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

Di. What will he carry it to Spain in's pocket?

Pha. I will not leave one man alive, but the King, A Cook and a Taylor.

Di. Yet you may do well to spare your Ladies Bed-fellow, and her you may keep for a Spawner.

King. I see the injuries I have done must be reveng'd.

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

King. Run all, disperse your selves: the man that finds her, Or (if she be kill'd) the Traytor; I'le [make] him great.

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

Pha. Come let us seek.

King. Each man a several way, here I my self.

Di. Come Gentlemen we here.

Cle. Lady you must go search too.

Meg. I had rather be search'd my self.

[Exeunt omnes.

Enter Arethusa.

Are. Where am I now? Feet find me out a way, Without the counsel of my troubled head, I'le follow you boldly about these woods, O're mountains, thorow brambles, pits, and flouds: Heaven I hope will ease me. I am sick.

Enter Bellario.

Bell. Yonder's my Lady; Heaven knows I want nothing; Because I do not wish to live, yet I Will try her Charity. Oh hear, you that have plenty, From that flowing store, drop some on dry ground; see, The lively red is gone to guard her heart; I fear she faints. Madam look up, she breaths not; Open once more those rosie twins, and send Unto my Lord, your latest farewell; Oh, she stirs: How is it Madam? Speak comfort.

Are. 'Tis not gently done, To put me in a miserable life, And hold me there; I pray thee let me go, I shall do best without thee; I am well.

Enter Philaster.

Phil. I am to blame to be so much in rage, I'le tell her coolely, when and where I heard This killing truth. I will be temperate In speaking, and as just in hearing. Oh monstrous! Tempt me not ye gods, good gods Tempt not a frail man, what's he, that has a heart But he must ease it here?

Bell. My Lord, help the Princess.

Are. I am well, forbear.

Phi. Let me love lightning, let me be embrac'd And kist by Scorpions, or adore the eyes Of Basilisks, rather than trust to tongues, And shrink these veins up; stick me here a stone Lasting to ages in the memory Of this damn'd act. Hear me you wicked ones, You have put the hills on fire into this breast, Not to be quench'd with tears, for which may guilt Sit on your bosoms; at your meals, and beds, Despair await you: what, before my face? Poyson of Aspes between your lips; Diseases Be your best issues; Nature make a Curse And throw it on you.

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

Phi. I have done; Forgive my passion, not the calm'd sea, When AEolus locks up his windy brood, Is less disturb'd than I, I'le make you know it. Dear Arethusa, do but take this sword, And search how temperate a heart I have; Then you and this your boy, may live and raign In lust without control; Wilt thou Bellario? I prethee kill me; thou art poor, and maist Nourish ambitious thoughts, when I am dead: This way were freer; Am I raging now? If I were mad I should desire to live; Sirs, feel my pulse; whether have you known A man in a more equal tune to die?

Bel. Alas my Lord, your pulse keeps madmans time, So does your tongue.

Phi. You will not kill me then?

Are. Kill you?

Bell. Not for a world.

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

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

Phi. No.

Are. Shew me then the way.

Phi. Then guide My feeble hand, you that have power to do it, For I must perform a piece of justice. If your youth Have any way offended Heaven, let prayers Short and effectual reconcile you to it.

Are. I am prepared.

Enter a Country-fellow.

Coun. I'le see the King if he be in the Forest, I have hunted him these two hours; if I should come home and not see him my Sisters would laugh at me; I can see nothing but people better horst than my self, that outride me; I can hear nothing but shouting. These Kings had need of good brains, this whooping is able to put a mean man out of his wits. There's a Courtier with his sword drawn, by this hand upon a woman, I think.

Phi. Are you at peace?

Are. With Heavens and Earth.

Phi. May they divide thy soul and body?

Coun. Hold dastard, strike a Woman! th'art a craven I warrant thee, thou wouldst be loth to play half a dozen of venies at wasters with a good fellow for a broken head.

Phi. Leave us good friend.

Are. What ill bred man art thou, to intrude thy self Upon our private sports, our recreations?

Coun. God 'uds, I understand you not, but I know the Rogue has hurt you.

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

Coun. I know not your Rhetorick, but I can lay it on if you touch the woman.

[They fight.

Phi. Slave, take what thou deservest.

Are. Heavens guard my Lord.

Coun. Oh do you breath?

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

[Exit Phil.

Coun. I cannot follow the Rogue. I pray thee wench come and kiss me now.

Enter Phara. Dion, Cle. Thra. and Woodmen.

Pha. What art thou?

Coun. Almost kil'd I am for a foolish woman; a knave has hurt her.

Pha. The Princess Gentlemen! Where's the wound Madam? Is it dangerous?

Are. He has not hurt me.

Coun. I'faith she lies, has hurt her in the breast, look else.

Pha. O sacred spring of innocent blood!

Di. 'Tis above wonder! who should dare this?

Are. I felt it not.

Pha. Speak villain, who has hurt the Princess?

Coun. Is it the Princess?

Di. I.

Coun. Then I have seen something yet.

Pha. But who has hurt her?

Coun. I told you a Rogue I ne're saw him before, I.

Pha. Madam who did it?

Are. Some dishonest wretch, Alas I know him not, And do forgive him.

Coun. He's hurt too, he cannot go far, I made my Fathers old Fox flie about his ears.

Pha. How will you have me kill him?

Are. Not at all, 'tis some distracted fellow.

Pha. By this hand, I'le leave ne'er a piece of him bigger than a Nut, and bring him all in my Hat.

Are. Nay, good Sir; If you do take him, bring him quick to me, And I will study for a punishment, Great as his fault.

Pha. I will.

Are. But swear.

Pha. By all my love I will: Woodmen conduct the Princess to the King, and bear that wounded fellow to dressing: Come Gentlemen, we'l follow the chase close.

[Ex. Are. Pha. Di. Cle. Thra. and 1 Woodman.

Coun. I pray you friend let me see the King.

2 Wood.That you shall, and receive thanks.

[Exeunt.

Coun. If I get clear with this, I'le go see no more gay sights.

Enter Bellario.

Bell. A heaviness near death sits on my brow, And I must sleep: Bear me thou gentle bank, For ever if thou wilt: you sweet ones all, Let me unworthy press you: I could wish I rather were a Coarse strewed o're with you, Than quick above you. Dulness shuts mine eyes, And I am giddy; Oh that I could take So sound a sleep, that I might never wake.

Enter Philaster.

Phi. I have done ill, my conscience calls me false, To strike at her, that would not strike at me: When I did fight, me thought I heard her pray The gods to guard me. She may be abus'd, And I a loathed villain: if she be, She will conceal who hurt her; He has wounds, And cannot follow, neither knows he me. Who's this; Bellario sleeping? If thou beest Guilty, there is no justice that thy sleep

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