Philaster, or, Love lies a bleeding a tragi-comedy, as it is now acted at His Majesty's Theatre Royal ...

PHILASTER.

ACT I.

SCENE I.

Enter Dion, Cleremont, and Tharselin.

Cler.

HERE's no Lords nor Ladies.

Dion.

Credit me, Gentlemen, I wonder at it! They re∣ceiv'd strict Charge from the King to attend here. Besides, it was boldly publish'd, that no Officer should forbid any Gentleman that desir'd, to Attend and Hear.

Cler.

Can you guess the Cause?

Dion.

Sir, 'tis plain, about the Spanish Prince, that's come to marry our Kingdom's Heir, and be our Soveraign.

Thra.

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

Dion.

Faith, 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.

Cler.

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

Dion.

Sir, it is, without Controversie, so meant. But 'twill be a trouble∣some Labour for him to possess both these Kingdoms with Honour and with Safety, Whilst our brave General, the Prince of Arragon, The Conquerour of one of those fair Crowns, Is living; and living too so virtuously, The common Darling of the Peoples Love, His glorious Services so well remember'd,

And all his Injuries so much lamented.

Cler.

Our brave Philaster.

Dion.

Yes, that Galant Hero, Who in our late Calabrian Wars, when our Inglorious King in two set Battels lost, Our Armies broken, and our Glory tottering, Was sent by Heaven our Champion and Protector; Took up the falling Sword our feeble Monarch dropt, And led us on to that prodigious Victory, As washt off all our Stains, and more than heal'd Our Nation's Bleeding Honour.

Thra.

Ay, my Lord, There spoke the Voice of Truth. The bold Philaster, Whose Sword has planted us those Fields of Lawrel, No less a Trophy than the fair Calabrian Diadem Laid at the Feet of this ungrateful King.

Cler.

Troth, Gentlemen, my Ignorance in State Politicks Will not let me know, why our forgetful King, When this most generous Stranger, The Atlas of our Kingdom, had not only Repar'd our Loss, retriev'd our Fame, won him A Crown, and shielded ev'n the very Head that wore it. Our King, I say, in a Return for all This Prodigy of Obligations, shou'd refuse him So reasonable and modest a Request, As only lending him part of those Forces, For the recovery of his lost Arragon, Which his own Hand had taught the Trade of War, Torn from him in his weak and sleeping Infancy By Spain's encroaching Monarch. Nay, and still Our King to heap those daily Slights upon him, Making his Services so poor a Payment, As if he studied to inform the World He never ow'd him any thing.

Dion.

Right, Sir. Philaster won him a Crown; and still the old Custom, The Founder of the Feast has least part of the Banquet. But, Gentlemen, you have not nickt the Mark yet. For his refusing him to lend him Arms For the recovery of his lost Arragon, There's twenty State Excuses: As perhaps, He was not willing to provoke a Neighbour So Potent as the Spaniard. Or what not! But here's a Slight a hundred times more barbarous. Who must he choose a Husband for his Daughter, The Heir of both those Crowns, but this young Spaniard? All the Proud Trophies of Philaster's Sword,

Made the fair Prize of his insulting Enemy. Such an Affront! Indignity like this, Not all the whole State-Rhetorick can soften.

Cler.

But, Sir, how does the wrong'd Philaster bear it!

Dion.

But ill enough, no doubt; I must confess, His Modesty and Virtue are too Dumb Complainants: Yet, his Murmurs have but whisper'd. But when th' Alarm of our Cries shall wake him, We hope to see that Day, when we shall teach him To make his Wrongs talk louder.

Enter Gallatea, Megra, and Ladies.

Thra.

See, the Ladies! By this good Light a jolly Troop of fair ones. What's the first?

Dion.

A wise and modest Gentlewoman, that attends the Princess.

Cler.

The Second?

Dion.

Faith, I think she is one whom the State keeps for the Agents of our Confederate Princes: Her Name is common through the Kingdom, and the ••rophies of her Dishonour, advanc'd beyond Hercules's Pillars. She loves to ••y the several Constitutions of Mens Bodies, for the good of the Common∣••ealth.

Cler.

She's a prositable Member.

Meg.

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? Why, if they should, I say, they were ne∣••er abroad; what Forreigner would do so? It writes them directly 〈◊〉〈◊〉 travell'd.

Cler.

Madam, your best Desires attend you.

Gal.

So attended, my Train's a very fair one.

Cler.

How fair, Madam?

Gal.

As Virgin Innocence, Sir.

Cler.

O fye! such blooming Youth, and smiling Charms, And sleep in melancholy Virgin-Sheets! 〈◊〉〈◊〉 is a Fault, sweet Lady.

Gal.

That you would mend, sweet Lord.

Cler.

With all my Soul, dear Angel.

[Offering to embrace her.

Gal.

Nay, hold Sir, Distance and cool Air are Summer Blessings, ••nd I shall be very angry if you rob me of them.

Cler.

By this right Hand, a Gypsie.

Gal.

What! for telling you your slender Fortune, Sir?

Thra.

Why, Cleremont, look to your self, she'll be too hard for you.

Gal.

Not too easie, Sir, and the other Fault's more pardonable.

Meg.

Why how now, Gallatea, all the Hearts your own? ••e shall grow envious presently, indeed we shall. ••is you that carry the whole Court away.

Gal.

As much of it as I can bear, Madam; and truly

A very little tires me. But envious Madam, Not quite to lose your Kindness, Nor engross all the Love; my tender Weakness Is ready to resign the heavier weight of it, To your more able strength.

Meg.

Say you so, pert one? You are very brisk, methinks, but I shall match you.

Gal.

At your own Play, no doubt; for I am no Gamester.

Meg.

Well, well, the time may come—

Gal.

When yon and I may laugh together: You at making the Jest, and I at marring it.

Thra.

But see the King.

Enter King, Pharamond, Arethusa, Guards, &c.

King.

To give a stronger Testimony of our 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 wonder'd 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 you) 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. 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.

Cler.

It must be ill done, if it be done.

Dion.

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

Thra.

I fear.

Cler.

Who does not?

Dion.

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 Virtues, you would wed your Kingdoms; You in me have your Wishes. Gentlemen, Believe me in a Word, a Prince's Word, There shall be nothing to make up a Kingdom Mighty and flourishing, defenc'd, and feard, Equal to be Commanded and Obey'd; But through the Travels of my Life I'll find it, And tye it to this Country. 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 Ev'n Queens must die.

Thra.

Miraculous!

Cler.

This Speech calls him Spaniard, being nothing but a large Inventory of his own Commendations.

Enter Philaster.

Dion.

I wonder what's his Price? for certainly he'll sell 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 swallow'd quick, if I can find in all the Anatomy of yon Man's Virtues, one Sinnew sound enough to pro∣mise for him, He shall be Constable. By this Sun, he'll ne're make King, unless it be of Trifles, in my poor Judgment.

Phi.

Right noble Sir, as low as my Obedience, I bend to beg your Favour.

K.

Sir, you have it.

Dion.

Mark but the King, how pale he looks, he fears! Oh! this same whoreson Conscience, how it jades us!

K.

Speak your Intents, Sir.

Phi.

Shall I speak 'em freely?

K.

Free as good Manners will allow, you may.

Phi.

Then, Sir, if Truth without the Sin of Vanity May be its own Remonstrance, I come To tell you (not that I upbraid, or boast) That I have serv'd you, King. And tho' the fair Calabrian Diadem was that poor Offering,

That the Acceptance more than paid the Present: However, Sir, the humblest Modesty May claim this Merit from a conquer'd Crown, To say, 'twas hard, from the adoring World To choose no Homager for those fair Eyes, But th' only Person of the whole Creation Th' ungrateful Object of my deepest Hate: Not that I think the Man he wears about him Is worth my Angry Thought: But as the Spaniard, The Son and Heir of that low Spirited Father That took th' Advantage of my sleeping Cradle, To dispossess me of my native Arragon; Him to be call'd to wear my Wreaths, my Trophies: Oh! King, this is too cruel!

Dion.

Now it heats.

Phi.

And now, Sir, for you, Prince, you Forreign Man: Ne're stare, nor put on wonder; for you must ••ndure me, and you shall. This Earth you tread on, A Dowry as you hope with this fair Princess, Whose Name I bow to) is a Soyl too Rich ••or thy 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, ••o see thee calmly reap the Royal Harvest My Sweat and Blood have planted. 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, 〈◊〉〈◊〉 and my Friends made Fertile with their Faiths, Before that Day of Shame, shall gape and swallow Thee and thy Nation, like a hungry Grave, ••••to her hidden Bowels: Prince it shall; By the just Gods it shall.

Pha.

He's Mad, beyond cure, Mad.

Dion.

Here's a Fellow has some Fire in's Veins: ••he Out-landish Prince looks like a Tooth-drawer.

Phi.

Sir Prince of Popinjayes, I'll make it well appear ••o you, I am not Mad.

K.

You displease us, ••ou are too bold.

Phi.

No, Sir, I am too tame, ••oo much a Turtle, a thing born without Passion, 〈◊〉〈◊〉 faint Shadow, that every drunken Cloud sails over, ••nd makes nothing.

K.

I do not fancy this,

Call our Phisicians? Sure he's somewhat tainted.

Thra.

I do not think 'twill prove so.

Dion.

Does he intend to give him a general Purge for all the Pains 〈◊〉〈◊〉 suffers, or means to let him Blood? Be constant, Gentlemen, by Heave•• I'll run his Hazard, although I run my Name out of the Kingdom.

Cler.

Peace, we are all one Soul.

Pha.

What you have seen in me, to stir Offence, I cannot find, unless it be this Lady, Offer'd into my Arms, with the Succession, Which I must keep: tho' it hath pleas'd your Fury To mutiny within you: 'Tis sufficient, 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 thing, but thine: were Pharamond As truly Valiant, as I feel him cold, And ring'd amongst the choicest of his Friends, And from this Presence: Spight of all these Boasts, You should hear farther from me.

K.

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.

Ladies, This would have been a Pattern of Succession, Could Merit but claim Diadems. 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 my Eye: Oh! 'tis a Prince of Wax.

Gal.

A Dog, it is.

Phi.

Oh! King! my Griefs and Sufferance.

K.

Give me your Grievances in private.

[They Whisper.

Phi.

Take them, And case me of a Load, would bow strong Atlas.

Cler.

He dares not stand the Shock.

Dion.

I cannot blame him, There's Danger in't. Every Man in this Age has not a Soul of Chrystal, 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 hi•• Bravery, and feel him shake; if he give not back his Crown again, upon th•• report of an Elder Gun, I have no Augury.

K.

Go to: Be more your self, as you respect our Favour; You'll stir us else: Smooth your Brow, or by the Gods—

Phi.

I am dead, Sir, y'are my Fate: It was not I Said I was 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 Virtuos?

K.

Sure he's possest!

Phi.

Yes, with my Father's Spirit: It's here, O King, A dangerous Spirit: now he tells me, King, I was a King's Heir, bids me be a King, And whispers to me, I was born to Empire. '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: Tho' that Proud Daw struts in my borrow'd Plumes. What tho' I've fixt a Crown on other's Brows, And want an aiding Hand to claim my own? What tho' ungrateful Man denies me Justice: Yet there are Gods will hear, and do me Right. But I'll suppress him, he's a factious Spirit, And will undo me; noble Sir, your Hand, I am your Servant.

K.

Away, I do not like this: I'll make you tamer, or I'll dispossess you you Both of Life and Spirit.

[Exeunt K. Pha. Are.

Dion.

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 he not a fine compleat Gentleman? O these Strangers, I do affect them strangely; as I live, I could love all the Nation over and over for his sake.

Gal.

Comfort your poor Head-piece, Lady, 'tis a weak one.

[Exeunt Ladies.

Dion.

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:

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 the Merit of your Glories to you, In whose fair Name we'll waken all the Gods, To arm for your Protection.

Phi.

Friends, no more; Our Ears may be corrupted: Do you love me?

Thra.

Do we love Heav'n, and Honour?

Phi.

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

Dion.

Most honour'd Sir, she is: But for the Penance of an idle Dream, Has undertook a tedious Pilgrimage.

Enter Galatea.

Phi.

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

Gal.

To you, my Lord: The Princess would intreat Your present Company.

Phi.

The Princess send for me? You are mistaken.

Gal.

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

[Ex. Gal.

Phi.

Kiss her fair Hand, and say I will attend her.

Dion.

Do you know what you do?

Phi.

Yes, go to see a Woman.

Cler.

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 soul Train to catch your Life.

Phi.

I do not think it, Gentlemen: She's Noble. Hear Eye may shoot me Dead, or those true red And white Fiends in her Face may steal my Soul out: There's all the Danger in't: but be what may, Her single name has arm'd me.

[Exit Phi.

Dion.

Go on: And be as truly Happy, as th'art Fearless.

[Exeunt.

Enter Arethusa and Galatea.

Are.

Comes he not?

Gal.

Madam?

Are.

Will Philaster come?

Gal.

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 Dangers like to grow About my Marriage, that these Under-things Dare not abide in such a troubled Sea. How lookt he, when he told thee he would come?

Gal.

Why, well.

Are.

And not a little fearful?

Gal.

Fear, Madam! sure he knows not what it is.

Are.

You all are 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, Drowned in the doing: But I know he fears.

Gal.

Fear, Madam! (methought) his looks had 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?

Gal.

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. Love to me!

Gal.

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 Passions of a feeble Maid The way to your bright Justice; I Obey.

Enter Philaster.

Gal.

Here is my Lord Philaster.

Are.

Oh, 'tis well. Withdraw your self.

[Exit Galatea.

Phi.

Madam, your Messenger Made me believe you wish'd 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. Oh! Philaster,

Tho' by my own rich Veins born Heir to this Fair Cicily, and by thy richer Glories Intituled to the no less Fair Calabria, Yet that unsatisfied Ambition haunts me, And whispers me, I must enjoy thy Arragon.

Phi.

My Arragon!

Are.

Thine, or I die, by Heaven I die, Philaster, If I not calmly may enjoy thy Right.

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 to a Royal Scepter, tho' a broken one, To save a Ladies longing.

Are.

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

Phi.

What more?

Are.

Or lose that little Life the Gods prepared, To trouble this poor piece of Earth withal.

Phi.

Madam what more?

Are.

Turn then away thy Face.

Phi.

No.

Are.

Do.

Phi.

Turn away my Face! I never yet saw Enemy that lookt So dreadfully, but that I thought my self As great a Basalisk as he; or spake So horrible, 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 'tis of me A thing so loath'd, and to your self 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 that, and thee.

Phi.

And me?

Are.

Thy Love: without which all the Land Discover'd yet, will serve me for no use, But to be buried in.

Phi.

Is't possible?

Are.

Now, my Philaster, if my blushing Weakness, Has not made cheap the easy Heart I've given thee, I have unript my Breast.

Phi.

Madam, you are too full of noble thoughts,

To lay a Train for so contemn'd a 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 generous Goodness should proceed From you, those lovely Eyes to smile so kind, And shine so warm upon the lost Philaster, By Heav'n, is all amazing!

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 Heaven Is mingled with it. Thou hast been wrong'd Philaster, And fated by the Powers that reward Vertue, 'Tis I am born to right thee.

Phi.

Brightest Excellence!

From those dear Charms there pours such Blessings on me, Thus kneeling let me catch the golden Shower.

Are.

Rise, my Philaster, and forgive the Cruelty Of our hard Stars, when I am forc'd to tell you, That there's a thousand dangerous Eyes upon us: Nor must we give our Foes the Power to hurt us. Since then our happy Meetings must be few: Say, how shall we devise To hold Intelligence? That our true Loves On any new Occasion may consult 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; By him a Garland lay, 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 'em, he would weep, As if he meant to make 'em 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 died, 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 wish'd. I gladly entertain'd him, Who was as glad to follow; and have got The trustiest, lovingst, and the gentlest Boy, That ever Master kept. Him will I send To wait on you, and bear our hidden love.

Enter a 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 appoint 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▪ To a Foreign 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 liel.

Are.

Then, good Philaster, give him scope and way In what he says; 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 answer?

Are.

To his Claim to the Crown of Arragon.

Pha.

Sir I forbore 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, Tho' it be scarce habitable.

Phi.

Good Sir, let me go.

Pha.

And, by the Gods!

Phi.

Peace, Pharamond: If thou—

Are.

Leave us, Philaster.

Phi.

I have done.

Pha.

You are Gone: by Heaven I'll 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 farther, 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.

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; but yet so slow The Ceremonies of State are, that 'twill be long Before our Hands be so: A Month, an Age! So long a Fast, and not one Taste of Love.

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 out elsewhere.

[Exit Pha.

ACT II.

SCENE I.

Enter Philaster and Bellario.

Phi.

AND thou shalt find her honourable, Boy, Full of regard to thy sweet tender Youth, For thine own Modesty, and for my sake, Apter to give, than thou wilt be to ask, I, or deserve.

Bel.

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 were apt To conster, a simple Innocence in me, Perhaps might have been Craft: The Cunning of a Boy Harden'd 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 over-flowing Love To them that clap thy Cheeks, and speak thee fair; 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.

Bel.

In that small time that I have seen the World, I never knew a Man hasty to part With a Servant he thought trusty; I remember My Father would prefer the Boys he kept 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.

Bel.

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 Stubborness, if it be so, Rather than turn me off, and I shall mend.

Phi.

Thy Love does 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 does call thee hence, And when thou art with her, thou dwell'st with me: Think so, and 'tis so: And when time is full, That thou hast well discharg'd this heavy Trust, Laid on so weak a one; I will again With Joy receive thee; as I live, I will: Nay, weep not, gentle Boy: 'Tis more than time Thou didst attend the Princess.

Bel.

I am gone: But since I am to part with you, my Lord, And none knows whether I live shall 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 Heaven hate those you curse, tho' I be one.

[Exit.

Phi.

The Love of Boys to their dear 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 Princess employs 'em not, for the reverend Mother sent me word, they would be all for the Garden. If they should all prove honest now, I were in a fair taking.

Enter Galatea, crossing the Stage in haste.

Pha.

So, here's one bolted: Now for a fair Chace.

[Aside.

Whither so fast, fair Lady? What, running Races to catch Hearts?

Gal.

Catch Hearts! Catch Woodcocks.

Pha.

How, Madam! Are poor Lovers—

Gal.

O'th' two, the more brainless Animals,

Pha.

Nay, Madam, speak not so contemptibly Of your poor Captives, nor that noble Passion, Love: It is the daily Work of your Creation: Those Eyes can't look abroad without inspiring A Thousand Sighs, and melting Souls. No, Madam, Those lovely Eyes, with all their Heaven of Charms, Must have one starry Spark of Mercy shine too. Yes, you can love a little.

Gal.

I love! Yes, Sir, most passionately. I love a Mornings Ramble, an Evening's Play, gay Mirth, and flowing Joys; soft Hours, sweet sleeps, and golden Dreams to crown 'em; provided I have neither Fops, Fools, nor Fiddles to wake me out of 'em.

Pha.

Nay, Madam, if Fops and Fools are only excluded, then Wit and Sense, belike, those happier Favourites, may hope a kinder Treatment.

Gal.

Nay, Sir, I cant tell that neither; For Wit and Sense are such Strangers to this part of the World, that I declare I am that young Traveller, as never went far enough to meet with either of 'em.

Pha.

Nay, my fair Critick, now you are too severe. But, Madam, not to lose th' important Minute, But come a little seriously To the great business Love and Beauty's born for; Should a bold pushing Lover pitch before you, What with a fair Challenge and a fair Field, is there no hopes of drawing you to a fair Battel too.

Gal.

Faith, Sir, none at all: For, to answer you in your own Martial Di∣alect, there's Policy in Love, as well as War: And wise Ladies act like prudent Generals; we love, as they fight; never engage, but upon Advantage.

Pha.

Nay, then, there's no way left but down-right Canonading.

Gal.

Nay, troth, Sir, that will do but little service neither: For to tell you the Truth, what between a little natural Pride, feminine Honour, and some other Virgin Ramparts about me, my Out-works are so very strong, that all your Canonading will do but feeble Execution.

Pha.

This is a crafty Wench, I like her Wit well: She's a Danae, and must be courted in a Shower of Gold. Madam, look here, all these, and more,—

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'll send my Man with Silver, and keep your Gold for you.

Pha.

Lady, Lady.

Gall.

She's coming, Sir, behind, will take white Money. Yet for all this I'll watch ye.

[Exit Gal. behind the Hangings.

Pha.

If there be but two such more in this Kingdom, and near the Court, we may ev'n hang up our Harps; ten such Champhier Constitutions as this, would call the Golden Age again in question,

Enter Megra.

Here's another. Many fair Mornings, Lady.

Meg.

As many Mornings bring as many Days, 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 talk an Hour

Out quickly.

Meg.

What would your grace talk of?

Pha.

Of some such pretty Subject as your self. I'll go no farther than your Eye or Lip; There's Theme enough for one Man for an Age.

Meg.

Sir, they stand right, and my Lips are yet even, Smooth, young enough, ripe enough, and red enough; Or my Glass wrongs me.

Pha.

O they are two twin Cherrries 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 has Snow enough about her Heart To take the wanton Spring of ten such Lines off, May be a Nun without Probation.

Pha.

But we lose time, dear Madam: Can you love?

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. This is all; love me, and lye with me.

Meg.

Was it lye 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'll go to Bed; I'll lose my royal Blood for't.

Meg.

Why, Prince, you have a Lady of your own, that yet wants teach∣ing.

Pha.

I'll 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.

Pha.

And for any other I see, excepting your dear self, dearest Lady—

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. 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. Come, I know you are bashful, speak in my Ear, will you be mine? Keep this, and with it me, at Night I'll visit you.

Meg.

My Lord, my Chamber's most unsafe, but when 'tis Night, I'll 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'll 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 done't?

La.

Yes, Madam.

Are.

'Tis a pretty sad talking Boy, is it not? Asked 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 says she has done that you would have wish'd.

Are.

Hast thou discovered?

Gal.

I have strain'd a point of Modesty for you.

Are.

I prithee how?

Gal.

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

Are.

With whom?

Gal.

Why, with the Lady I suspected: 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: Where's the Boy?

Enter Bellario.

La.

Here, Madam.

Are.

Sir, you are sad to change your Service, is't not so?

Bel.

Madam, I have not chang'd: I wait on you, To do him Service.

Are.

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 Breath troubles them: Believe me, Boy, Care seeks out wrinckled 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 deceived, Boy; does he speak of me as if he wish'd me well?

Bell.

If it be Love, To forget all respect to his own Friends, With thinking of your Face; if it be Love To sit cross-arm'd, and think away the Day, Mingled with Starts, crying your Name as loud And hastily, as Men i'th' 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 says, to name you once, As others drop a Bead; if this be to be in Love; Then, Madam, I dare swear he loves you.

Are.

O, y'are a cunning Boy, and taught to lye For your Lord's credit; but thou knowest a lye That bears this found is welcomer to me, Than any Truth that says he loves me not. Lead the way, Boy, do you attend me too: 'Tis thy Lord's business hastes me thus, away.

[Exeunt.

Enter Dion, Cleremont, Thraselin, Megra, Galatea.

Dion.

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

Gal.

'Tis late.

Meg.

'Tis all My Eyes will do to lead me to my Bed.

Gal.

I fear they are so heavy, you'll scarce find The way to your own Lodging with 'em to night.

Enter Pharamond.

Thra.

The Prince!

Pha.

Not a-Bed, Ladies, y'are good Sitters up; What think you of a pleasant Dream to last Till Morning?

Meg.

I should chuse, 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?

Cler.

Yes, Madam.

Are.

Wait you there.

[Exit Are.

Meg.

She's jealous, as I live: look you, my Lord, The Princess has a Hylas, 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.

Dion.

Serves he the Princess?

Thra.

Yes.

Dion.

'Tis a sweet Boy, how brave she keeps him!

Pha.

Ladies all, good rest; I mean to kill a Buck To Morrow Morning e're y'ave done your Dreams.

[Exit.

Meg.

All happiness attend your Grace: Gentlemen, good rest. Come, shall we to Bed?

Gal.

Yes. All good night.

[Ex. Gal. Meg.

Dion.

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.

K.

Look your Intelligence be true.

Are.

Upon my Life it is.

K.

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

[Exit Dion.

Cler.

Sir, she parted hence but now with other Ladies.

K.

If she be there, we shall not need to make A vain Discovery of our Suspicion.

Are.

But, Sir, I hope your Highness will not tye 〈◊〉〈◊〉 to a Man That in the heat of woing throws me off, And takes another.

Cler.

What should this mean!

King.

If it be true That Lady had much better have embraced Cureless Diseases. Get you to your Rest,

[Exeunt Areth. Bel. &c.

You shall be righted. Gentlemen, draw near, We shall employ you. Is Young Pharamond Come to his Lodging?

Thra.

I saw him enter there.

King.

Well; a few Minutes Shall solve this lowring Riddle. And if this Lascivious Syren Fiend has play'd the Traytress—

Enter Dion.

Dion.

Sir, I have asked, and her Women swear she is within; but they I think are Bawds; I told 'em I must speak with her; they laught, and said their Lady lay speechless. I said, my business was important. They said, their Lady was about it: I grew hot, and cry'd, my business was a matter that concern'd Life and Death. They answer'd, so was Sleeping, at which their Lady was. I urg'd again, she had scarce time to be so since I last saw her. They smil'd again, and seem'd to instruct me, that sleeping was no∣thing 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 Prince's 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? By my vexed Soul, He meets his Death, that meets me, for this boldness,

K.

Prince, you wrong our thoughts, we are your Friends, Come down.

Pha.

The King?

K.

The same, Sir; come down,

[Enter Pharamond below.

We have cause of present Counsel with you.

Pha.

If your Grace please of use me, I'le attend you To your Chamber.

K.

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

Pha.

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

K.

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 Renegadoes to my Chamber, As these unseason'd Hours.

K.

Why do you Chafe your self so? You are nor wrong'd, not shall be: Only 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.

K.

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.

K.

Will you come down?

Meg.

Yes, to laugh at your worst: but I shall wring you, If my Skill fail me not.

K.

Sir, I must dearly chide you for this Looseness, You have wrong'd a worthy Lady; but no more, Conduct him to his Lodging, and to Bed.

Cle.

Get him another Wench, and you bring him to Bed indeed.

Dion.

'Tis strange a Man cannot ride a Stage Or two, to breathe himself, without a Warrant: If this Geer hold, that Lodgings be search'd thus, Pray Heaven we may lie with our Wives in safety, That they be not by some trick of State mistaken.

Enter Megra.

K.

Now Lady of Honour, where's your Honour now? No man can fit your Pallat, but the Prince; Thou most ill shrowded rottenness. 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 fear thy Name with Candles upon Walls: Do ye 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 those 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, out-layes, 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 Woman's Madness, The glory of a fury; and if I do not Do it to the height!

K.

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 Languge they Are born in, as free and commonly; I'll 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, travail with it, till they find No Tongue to make it more, nor no more People; And then behold the fall of your fair Princess.

K.

Has she a Boy?

Cler.

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

K.

Go, get you to your Quarter: For this time I'll study to forget you.

Meg.

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

[Ex. K. Meg. Guard.

Cler.

Why here's a male spirit for Hercules, if ever there be nine Worthies of Women, this Wench shall ride a stride and be their Captain.

Dion.

Sure she has a Garrison of Devils in her Tongue, she uttered 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 Infections; that Boy, that Princess's Boy; that brave chaste, vertuous Lady's 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'll go wander with you.

[Exeunt.

ACT. III.

SCENE I.

Enter Cler. Dion, Thra.

Cler.

NAY, doubtless 'tis true.

Dion.

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 Free-Men, to behold A Man, that is the bravery of his Age, Philaster, prest down by a thousand Injuries By this ungrateful 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.

Cler.

The Gentry do all wait it; and the People All like a field of standing Corn, that's moved With a stiff Gale; their Heads bow all before him.

Dion.

But that which we have too much Ground to fear, Will hold Philaster back from joyning us In this Attempt, is the fair Princess Love, Which he admires, and we can now confute.

Thra.

Perhaps he'll not believe it.

Dion.

Why, Gentlemen, 'tis without question so.

Cler.

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

Thra.

We are all satisfied within our selves.

Dion.

Since it is true, and tends to his own Good, I'll make this new Report to be my Knowledge, I'll say I know it: Nay, I'll swear I saw it.

Cler.

It will be best.

Thra.

'Twill move him.

Enter Philaster.

Dion.

Here he comes. Good morrow to your Honour; We have spent some time in seeking you.

Phi.

My worthy Friends, you that can keep your Memories To know your Friend in Miseries; a good Day Attend you all.

Dion.

My ever honoured Lord, We come to urge that Virtue which we know Lives in your Breast: 'Forth, rise, and make a Head, The Nobles and the Peope are all dull'd With this ungrateful King: And not a Man That ever heard the Word, or knew such a Thing As Virtue, but will second your Attempts.

Phi.

What do I live to hear? Oh! Gentlemen, As you would have your Names, your deathless Names, Fill the fair Annals of recorded Glory, Blot not your Memories with a Stain so impious.

Dion.

No, thou too matchless Honour, can we live Those Galless-doves, thus to behold such Virtue Loaded and crusht beneath thy Weight of Injuries.

Phi.

My Injuries! No, my too generous Friends, I have no Wrongs; you do not hear me murmur.

Dion.

No Wrongs! And such prodigious Services Thus barbarously paid! thy Toyls, thy Victories, A conquer'd Kingdom! and so lean a Harvest From such a Field of Lawrels.

Phi.

Conquer'd! Name it not. The Chance of War, meer Providence. Consider, It was my stars that battel'd, and not I. But say, that I have conquer'd, grant me all Your utmost love can give: Say, I've won Empires, Worn Crowns upon my Sword in your King's Cause; And he, perhaps, forgets me! 'Las, Gentlemen, I want not his Remembrance. If I've done well, the Glory of well-doing Repays it self; Virtue's its own Reward, In its rich self a fair and ample Patrimony; And stands above the poor and sordid thought Of mercenary Hope.

Dion.

Oh thou bright Miracle Of unexampled Worth! Suppose that we Can bear thy Wrongs, can we support our own? Those poor Hen-hearted Slaves, that abject Patience, To see the fair Succession of a Crown, Power's Soveraign Regalia made th' Inheritance Of Lust and Shame: Perhaps a base-got Brood, Rais'd up to tread upon the Necks of Honour. The Princess, Sir, that once lov'd Beauty, now The universal Hate—

Phi.

Why, what of her!

Dion.

Is loath'd as much as he.

Phi.

By what strange means?

Dion.

She's known a Whore.

Phi.

Thou liest—

Dion.

My Lord—

Phi.

Thou liest. 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 Clowd.

Dion.

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.

Cler.

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.

Dion.

But this, my Lord, is Truth.

Phi.

O say not so, good Sir, forbear to say so. Is it then truth, that Woman-kind is false? Urge me no more, it is impossible. Why should you think the Princess light?

Dion.

Why, she was taken at it.

Phi.

'Tis false, by Heaven 'tis false: It cannot be, Can it? Speak Gentlemen, for Heaven's Love speak; Is't possible? can Women all be damn'd?

Dion.

Why no, my Lord:

Phi.

Why then it cannot be.

Dion.

And she was taken with her Boy.

Phi.

What Boy?

Dion.

A Page, a Boy that serves her.

Phi.

Oh good Gods, a little Boy!

Dion.

I, know you him, my Lord?

Phi.

Hell and Sin, know him! Sir, you are deceiv'd: I'll reason it a little coldy 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 know the Sin he acts, Which is the great delight of Wickedness: You are abus'd, and so is she, and I.

Dion.

How you, my Lord?

Phi.

Why, all the World's abus'd In an unjust Report.

Dion.

Oh, noble Sir, your Vertues Can't look into the subtle Thoughts of Woman. In short, my Lord, I took them: I my self.

Phi.

Now all the Devils thou didst, fly from my Rage, Would thou hadst ta'ne Furies 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?

Cler:

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?

Dion.

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

Phi.

When any fall from Vertue; I am distracted, I have an Interest in't.

Dion.

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

Phi.

I thank you, I will do it: Please you to leave me, I'll consider of it; To-morrow I will find your Lodging forth, And give you answer.

Dion.

All the Gods direct you▪ The readiest way.

Thra.

He was extream impatient.

Cler.

It was his Virtue and his noble, Mind,

[Ex. Dion, Cler. Thra.

Phi.

I had forgot to ask him where he took them: I'll follow him. O that I had a Sea Within my Breast, to quench the Flames 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 To their fair Pastures, growing fresh and fat, And taste the Waters of the Springs as sweet As 'twas before. They find no start in sleep.

Enter Bellario.

But miserable Man! See, see—you Gods, He walks still, and the Face you let him wear When he was Innocent, is still the same, Not blasted; Is this Justice? Do you mean To intrap Mortality, that you allow Treason so smooth a Brow? I cannot now Think he is guilty.

Bel.

Health to you, my Lord: The Princess does commend her Love, her Life, And this to your dear Hand.

Phi.

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

Bel.

My Lord, she has attir'd me past my Wish, Past my Desert, most fit for her Attendant, Tho' 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, in this Paper. She does write to me, As if her Heart were Mines of Adamant To all the World besides, but to me only, A Maiden-snow that melted with my looks. Tell me, my Boy, how does the Princess use thee? For I shall guess her Love to me by that.

Bel.

Scarce like her Servant, but as if I were Something allied to her; Or had preserv'd Her Life three times by my Fidelity; As Mothers fond do use their only Sons: As I'de use one left to my careful Trust, For whom my Life should pay, if he met harm: So she does use me.

Phi.

Why this is wondrous well: But what kind Language does she feed thee with?

Bel.

Why, she does tell me, she will trust my Youth With all her loving Secrets; and does call me Her pretty Servant, bids me weep no more For leaving you; she'll see my Services

Rewarded; and such words of that soft strain; That I am nearer weeping when she ends, Than e're she spake.

Phi.

This is much better still.

Bel.

Are you not ill, my Lord?

Phi.

Ill? No Bellario.

Bel.

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

Phi.

Thou art deceiv'd, Boy: And she strokes thy head?

Bel.

Yes.

Phi.

And she does clap thy cheeks?

Bel.

She does, my Lord.

Phi.

And she does kiss thee, Boy? ha?

Bel.

How, my Lord?

Phi.

She kisses thee?

Bel.

Never, my Lord, by Heav'n.

Phi.

That's strange: I know she does.

Bel.

No, by my life.

Phi.

Why then she does not love me; come, she does; I bad 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 paralless? is not her breath Sweet as Arabian winds? Are not her Breasts, Two Sunny Banks of Paradise, Pillows For Revelling Love to melt a Soul in Extasies: Is she not all a lasting Mine of Joy?

Bel.

I, now I see, why my disturbed thoughts Where so perplext. When first I went to her My heart held augury; you are abus'd, Some Villain has abus'd you: now I fee To what you tend: fall Rocks upon his head, That put this to you: 'tis some subtle train, To bring that noble Frame of yours to naught.

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 placed thee there, To pry with narrow eyes into her deeds: Hast thou discovered; is she faln to lust, As I would wish her? speak some comfort to me.

Bel.

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 now thy face.

Bel.

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.

Bel.

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 didst enjoy her, Or let plagues fall on me, if I destroy thee not.

Bel.

By Heaven 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 those limbs, Because you made 'em so.

Phi.

Fear'st thou not death? Can Boys contemn that?

Bel.

Oh, what Boy is he Can be content to live to be a man, That sees the best of men thus passionate, Thus without Reason?

Phi.

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

Bel.

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 those, and then

Thy Heart will melt, and thou wilt utter all.

Bel.

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

Phi.

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 farther; but thou wert Too blame to injure me: 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.

Bel.

I will flie as far As there is Morning, e're I give distaste To that most honoured Mind. But through these Tears Shed at my hopeless parting, I can see A world of Treason practised upon you, And her, and me. Farewel for evermore: If you shall hear that ••••••row struck me dead, And after find me 〈…〉〈…〉 there be A Tear shed from 〈…〉〈…〉 memory, And I shall rest at peace.

{Exit Bel.

Phi.

Blessings be with thee, What ever thou deservest. Oh, where shall I Go bathe this Body? Nature too unkind, That made no Medicine for a troubled Mind.

Enter Arethusa.

Are.

I marvel my Boy comes not back again; But that I know my Love will question him, Over and over; how I slept, wak'd, talk'd; How I remember'd 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.

K.

What, at your Meditations? Who attends you?

Are.

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

K.

Tell me, have you not a Boy?

Are.

Yes, Sir.

K.

What kind of Boy?

Are.

A Page, a waiting Boy.

K.

A handsom Boy?

Are.

I think he is not ugly: Well qualified, and dutiful, I know him, I took him not for Beauty.

K.

He speaks and sings, and plays?

Are.

Yes, Sir.

K.

About eighteen?

Are.

I never ask'd his age.

K.

Is he full of service?

Are.

By your pardon, why do you ask?

K.

Put him away.

Are.

Sir.

K.

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

Are.

Good Sir, let me understand you.

K.

If you fear me, Shew it me in duty; put away that Boy.

Are.

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

K.

Do not you blush to ask it: Cast him off, Or I shall do the same to you.

Are.

What have I done, my Lord?

K.

'Tis a new Language, that all love to learn: The common People speak it well already, They need no Grammar; understand me well, There be soul wispers stirring: cast him off, And suddenly; do it: Farewel.

[Exit King.

Are.

Where may a Maiden live securely free, Keeping her Honour fair? Not with the living, They feed upon Opinions, Errors, Dreams, And make '••m Truths: they draw a Nourishment Out of defamings, grow upon disgraces, And when they see a Virtue fortified Strongly above the batt'ry of their tongues: Oh, how they cast to sink it: and defeated (Soul-sick with poison) strike the Monuments Where noble Names lie sleeping: till they sweat, And the cold Marble melt.

Enter Philaster.

Phi.

Peace to your fairest thoughts, my dearest Mistress.

Are.

Oh, my dear Servant, I have a war within me.

Phi.

He must be more than man, that makes those Crystals Run into Rivers: sweetest fair, the cause? And as I am your sl••••e, tied to your goodness, I'le right your Honour.

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 Fate! Are you hard-hearted too? Who shall now tell you, how I love you? Who Shall Swear it to you, and weep the Tears I send? Who shall now bring you Letters, Rings and Bracelets? Lose his sweet Health in his dear Master's Service; Wake tedious Nights in Stories of your Praise? Who shall take up his Lute, and touch it, till He crown a silent Sleep upon my Eye-lids, Making me dream, and cry, Oh my dear, Dear Philaster.

Phi.

Oh my Heart! Would he had broken thee, that made thee know This Lady was not Loyal. Mistress, forget The Boy, I'll get thee a far better.

Are.

Oh never, never such a Boy again, As my Bellario.

Bel.

'Tis but your fond Affection.

Are.

With thee, my Boy, farewel for ever, All Secresie 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, Sir, you put him to me, And the loss of such a one, 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?

Phi.

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 like a Sea upon me? Have I taken Danger as stern as Death into my Bosom, And laught upon it, made it but a Mirth, And flung it by? And must I sink at length Under a Woman's falshood? Oh that Boy, That cursed Boy! none but a Villain Boy, To meet your shame.

Are.

Nay, then I am betray'd, I feel the Plot cast for my overthrow: Oh I am wretched.

Phi.

Now you may take your Cicily and Calabria,

And give 'em to your Joy, your darling Joy; For I have no Joy left. Some distant Place, Where never Womankind durst set her Foot, For bursting with her Poysons, 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 that foolish Man, That reads the Story of a Woman's Face, And dies believing it, is lost for ever. How all the Good you have, is but a Shadow, I'th' Morning with you, and at Night behind you, Past and forgotten. 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 Woe, 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,

Enter Bellario.

To find out constancy? Save me! how black And guiltily (methinks) 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 most loath'd Office thou hast undergone, Why, thou wouldst hide thee under heaps of Hills, Lest Men should dig and find thee.

Bel.

Oh! what God Angry with Men, has sent this strange Disease Into the noblest Minds? Madam, this Grief You add to me,'s no more than Drops to Seas, For which, alas! they are not seen to swell: My Lord has struck his Anger through my Heart, And let out all the hope of future Joys. You need not bid me flie, 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 abus'd dear Lord, And mine: That he may know your worth; whilst I Go seek out some forgotten Place to die.

[Ex. Bel.

Are.

Peace guide thee: Thou hast overthrown me once, Yet, if I had another Troy to lose, Thou, or another Traytor 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.

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 some fearful Hind, That I may dye pursued by cruel Hounds, And have my Story written in my Wounds.

[Exeunt.

ACT IV.

SCENE I.

Enter King, Pharamond, Arethusa, Galatea, Megra, Dion, Clere∣mont, Trasilin and Attendants.

King.

VVHat, are the Hounds before, and all the Woodmen!

Dion.

All, Sir.

King.

You're cloudy, Sir; Come, we have forgotten your venial Tres∣pass; let not that sit heavy [to Phar.] upon your Spirit: None dare utter it.

Dion.

He looks like an old surfeited Stallion after his leaping: Dull as a Dormouse: See how he sinks, the Wench has shot him betwixt wind and water; and, I hope, sprung a Leak.

Tras.

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'll borrow him.

King.

Is your Boy turn'd away?

Areth.

You did command, Sir, and I obey'd you.

King.

'Tis well done; hark you farther.

Cler.

Is't possible that fellow should repent! Methinks that were not noble in him; and yet he looks like a mortified Member. If a worse Man had done his Fault now, some Physical Justice or other wou'd presently, without the help of an Almanack, have open'd the Obstructions of his Liver, and let him blood with a Dog-whip.

Dion.

See, see, how modestly yond 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?

Tras.

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

Dion.

See how they muster one another! Oh there's a rank Regiment, where the Devil carries the Colours, and his Dam Drum-Major. Now the World and the Flesh come behind with the Carriage.

King.

To Horse, to Horse, we lose the Morning, Gentlemen.

[Exeunt.

Enter Two Wood-men.

1 Wood.

What, have you lodg'd the Deer!

2 Wood.

Yes, they are ready for the Bow.

1 VVood.

Who shoots!

2 VVood.

The Princess.

1 VVood.

No, she'll hunt.

2 VVood.

She'll take a stand, I say.

1 VVood.

Who else!

2 VVood.

Why, the young Stranger Prince.

1 VVood.

He, out on him! I never loved his beyon'd-Sea-ship, since he forsook the Stag once to strike a Rascal milking in a Meadow; and her he kill'd i'th'Eye. Who shoots else?

2 VVood.

The Lady Galatea.

1 VVood.

That's a good Wench, and she wou'd 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. VVood.

No, one more, Megra.

1. VVood.

That's a firker 'Ifaith Boy, There's a Wench will ride her Haunches as hard after a Kennel of Hounds as a Hunting Saddle; and when she comes home get 'em Clap't, and all's well again. I have known her lose her self three times in one Afternoon (if the Woods have been answerable), and it has been work enough for a Man to find her, and he has sweat for't. She rides well, and she pays well. Hark, let's go.

[Exeunt.

Scene changes, Enter Philaster.

Phila.

Oh that I had been nourish'd in these Woods With Milk of Goats, and Acorns, and not known The Right of Crowns, nor the dissembling Trains Of Womens looks; but dig'd my self a Cave Where I, my Fire, my Cattle, and my Bed, Might have been shut together in one Shed. And then had taken me some Mountain Girl, Beaten with Winds, chast as the harden'd Rocks Whereon she dwells; that might have strow'd my Bed With Leaves and Reeds, and with the Skins of Beasts, Our Neighbours; and have born at her big Breasts, Issue. My large course Issue. This had been a Life Free from Vexation.

[sits down.]

Enter Bellario.

Bell.

Oh wicked Men! An Innocent may walk safe among Beasts. Nothing assaults me here—See my griev'd Lord Sits as his Soul were searching out a way To leave his Body. Pardon me that must Break thy last commandment: For I must speak. You that are griev'd can pity. Hear my Lord—

Phila.

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, and (if my Service Can merit nothing) so much as may serve

To keep that little piece I hold of Life From Cold and Hunger.

Phila.

Is it Thou! Begone. Go sell those misbecoming Cloaths thou wear'st And feed thy self with them.

Bell.

Alas! my Lord, I can get nothing for 'em; The silly Country People think it Treason To touch such gay Things.

Phil.

Now, by my Life, this is unkindly done, To vex me with thy sight, Thou'rt fal'n again To thy dissembling Trade; even so thou spok'st and look'st When first I took thee up: Curse on the Day! If thy commanded Tears can work belief On any other Credulous heart like mine, Make use of thy false Arts, I'll not betray thee: Now, which way wilt thou take, that I may shun thee, For thou art Poyson to my Eyes, and I Am loath to grow in Rage: This way or that way.

Bell.

Any will serve; but I will chose to have That Path in chase that leads me to my Grave.

[Exeunt several ways.

Scene changes, Enter Dion, and the VVoodmen.

Dion.

This is the strangest suddain Chance! You VVoodmen.

1. VVood.

My Lord Dion!

Dion

Saw you a Lady come this way, on a Sable Horse studded with Stars of white?

2. VVood.

Was she not Young and Tall?

Dion.

Yes, Rid she to the Wood, or to the Plain?

1 VVood.

Faith my Lord, we saw none.

[Exeunt Woodmen.

Enter Cleremond.

Dion.

Pox o' your Question then: What is she found?

Clere.

Nor will be I think.

Dion.

Let him seek her himself; she cannot stray about some necessary business, but the whole Court must be in Arms: When she has done we shall have Peace.

Clere.

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 Arm'd-men were seen in the Wood: But questi∣onless she rode away willingly.

Enter King, and Trasilin.

King.

Where is she?

Clere.

Sir, I cannot tell.

King.

How's that! Answer me that again.

Clere.

Sir, shall I Lye?

King.

Yes, Lye and Damn rather than tell me that. I say again, Where is she? Mutter not: Sir, speak you where she is?

Dion.

Sir, I do not know.

King.

Speak that again so boldly, and by Heav'n It is thy last. 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 ay, Then am I not to be Obey'd?

Dion.

Yes, if you Command things possible and honest.

King.

Things possible and honest! Hear me, then, Thou Traytor, that dar'st confine thy King to Things possible and honest, shew her me, Or let me perish, if I cover not All Sicily in Blood.

Dion.

Indeed I cannot, unless you tell me where.

King.

You have betray'd me, you have let me lose The Jewel of my Life. Go, bring her me, And set her here before me. 'Tis the King Will have it so, whose breath can still the Winds, Uncloud the Sun, charm down the swelling Sea, And stop the Floods of Heav'n; speak, Can it not?

Dion.

No.

King.

No, can't the breath of Kings do this!

Dion.

No, nor smell sweet it self, if once the Lungs Be but Corrupted.

King.

Is it so! take heed.

Dion.

Sir, take you heed how 'tis 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 fin'd, it's true, yet wou'd not thus be punisht.

Dion.

He Articles with the Gods, wou'd some body wou'd draw Bonds for the performance of Covenants between them.

Enter Pharamond, Galatea, and Megra.

King.

What, is she found!

Phar.

No, we have ta'ne her Horse: He Gallopt empty by: You Galatea Rod with her into the Wood, Why left you her?

Gal.

She did Command me.

King.

Command you!—

Gal.

'Twou'd ill become my Fortunes and my Birth, To disobey the Daughter of my King.

King.

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

Phar.

If I have her not, By this Hand there shall be no more Sicily.

Dion.

What, will he carry it to Spain in his Pocket?

King.

I see the Injuries I have done must be reveng'd.

Dion.

Sir, This is not the way to find her out.

King.

Run all, disperse your selves. The Man that finds her or (if she's kill'd) the Traytor, I'll make him Great.

Phar.

Come let us seek.

King.

Each Man a several way, Here I my self.

Dion.

Come, Gentlemen, we here.

[Exeunt severally.

SCENE Changes.

Enter Arethusa.

Areth.

Where am I now! Feet, find me out a way Without the Counsel of my troubled Head; I'll follow you around these wander'd Woods O'er Mountains, thoro' Brambles, Pits, and Floods. A heavyness near Death sits on my Brow, And I must sleep. Kind Heav'n, I hope my Hour

[Lyes down.

Of peace draws on, a dulness shuts my Eyes, And I am giddy: Oh that I cou'd take So sound a sleep that I might never wake.

Enter Bellario.

Bell.

Yonders my Lady. Heav'n 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 tlowing store— But see—the lively Red is gone to guard her Heart, I fear fhe saints—Madam, look up—She breaths not.

Open once more those Rosy twins, and send My Lord your last farewell—But see, she stirs: How is it, Madam—speak comfort

[Kneeling to help her.

Areth.

'Tis not gently done, To put me in a miserable Life, And hold me there. I prethee let me go; I shall do best without thee.

Enter Philaster.

Phil.

I was to blame to be so much in rage, I'll tell her coolly when and where I heard This killing Truth. I will be temperate In speaking, and as just in hearing. Ha! Scorpions, and Basilisks!

Bell.

My Lord, help, help, the Princess.

Areth.

I am well. Forbear, and leave me.

Phil.

Some good God look down And shrink my Veins up—what before my Face! Poyson of Asps between your Lips; Diseases Be your best Issues. Nature make a Curse And throw it on you.

Areth.

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

Phil.

I have done. Not the calm'd Sea, when Aeolus locks up His windy Brood, is less disturbed than I. Nay, Arethusa, I'll be calmer still. Yes, when my wrongs have laid me in my Grave. Say, am I raging now? If I were Mad I should desire to live; No, feel my Pulse, and try if you have known A Man in a more equal Tune to die.

Bell.

Alas, my Lord. Your Pulse beats Mad-man's time, So does your Tongue.

Phil.

I blame not thee, Bellario, Thou'hast done but that, Which Gods would have transform'd themselves to do— But haste, thou young perdition, take thy Face For ever from my sight. Fly from my Rage Far as the wander'd World can bear thy shame, Or yond fair Lamp of blushing Heav'n can light thee, For we are two Earth cannot hold at once.

Bell.

For ever from your sight; For ever? That Dire Voice of Fate!—But if I must be gone, Permit, my too dear Lord, these bending knees

To leave one parting dying Prayer behind me. Kind Heav'ns, if in your everlasting Treasury You have a Hoard of some uncommon Blessings, Show'r 'em on that dear Brow, and (Oh) uncloud His shaded Peace, and his benighted Reason, Till the fair Truth of that all beauteous Innocence Shine round his Soul with thousand thousand Charms. Yes, thou too happy Prince, didst thou but know The Price of that fair Gem, the Wealth thou'rt Lord of, How would thy twining Arms grasp her dear knees, And thy fond Lips kiss the blest Earth she treads on! For by my wrongs below, and hopes above, Earth does not hold a Chaster. So, farewell.

[Exit.

Areth.

Thou faithful Herauld of my Fame, farewell. But, dear Philaster, if thy listning Patience Has lent a gentle Ear to the poor Boy: Am I forbid to speak. No, my dear Lord, With these wet Eyes, and these uplifted Hands; With the same Vows, and the same Heav'n my witness, Permit me to repeat the same true Oracle; Earth does not hold a Chaster.

Phil.

Feeble Flatterer, Why these poor Arts? How vainly dost thou labour To wash thy Ethiop shame. Run from a Court, A Father, and a Crown (thou vile dishonour) To Woods and shades to meet your darling Boy! Yet Earth not holds a Chaster!

Areth.

Meet the Boy! An Accident, meer chance.

Phil.

Chance!

Areth.

Chance, blind Chance; By what directing Curse he found me here My persecuting Stars canonly tell. 'Tis true, I left a Court, a Crown, and Kingdom, All worthless Trifles when I lost thy Heart; My sighs and tears for thee led me, this Wanderer; And am I thus rewarded!

Phil.

Fye, no more. They who dare act a Sin so black as thine, Can talk as fair as thou: The Soul of Treason Ne'er wants the Face of Innocence.

Areth.

Treason? Good Gods, is truth so hard to be believ'd!

Phil.

Truth!

Areth.

By yond Azure Roof, and all the bless'd Inhabitants above, My Soul's all spotless truth.

Phil.

Oh Arethusa, 'Tis easie to call Heav'n; they talk it loudest, Who think it least—Yes, thou too fair Delusion, The Syren Sings not Death, though she acts Death; And even the blackest Cloven-footed Fiend Retains his Voice of Angels. No, smooth falshood, Can aery breath, and empty sounds restore The Peace that I have lost!

Areth.

Then, my poor Heart, Thou hast nothing now to do but break and die.

Phil.

No, Madam, That's my part; the shaft of Death Is only levell'd here. And if to all My Mass of wrongs thou hast one Grain of pity, Here, Arethusa, take this glittering Mercy,

[Presenting his Sword to her

And guide it to my Heart.

Areth.

Kill thee!

Phil.

Yes, Kill me. It will be wondrous kind; and when I set My resting Foot beneath yond Roof of Glory, For that dear generous Blow, an act so kind, I'll Tune thee my first Song in Choires of Angels.

Areth.

But, oh Philaster! Dost thou know what Death is!

Phil.

A Minutes pain to cure an Age of woe.

Areth.

Is Death the only cure! No healing Balm For thy sick mind, but the cold sleep of Death!

Phil.

Oh Never, never! No, thou fair destroyer, Beyond the Grave there's Peace; on this side none.

Areth.

But will there be no Slanders; No Jealousies in th'other World; no ill there?

Phil.

None!

Areth.

Then thus to that blest World I'll lead the way.

[Falls on his Sword.

Phil.

Horror and Furies. What has thy rash Hand done!

Areth.

Sought Peace and found it. The unkind World, and thy unkinder Jealousie Had barr'd all Joys on Earth, and therefore what Life has not, I have woo'd kind Death to give me. But Oh, my unkind, unbelieving Lord, Shall I be Innocent now!

Phil.

Innocent, Thou fairest whiteness, dearest Angel Martyr, More Heav'n than all Heav'n holds.

Areth.

Then I am happy— But does my kind Lord weep! Now you're too good. Oh my Philaster, one rich Pearl from those Dear Eyes o'er-pays the worthless Life that buys it! My Veins are all too poor for such a Purchase.

Phil.

But Oh this crimson Stream! Dear all Divine, Cou'd nothing but thy Death convert an Infidel!

Areth.

Call it not Death when it brings back thy Heart. For Oh what vaster Charms 'tis to dye lov'd Then to live hated!—But I care no more. Cherish my Memory when I am Dust And I shall sleep all Blest.

[Faints away as if she dyed.

Phil.

And I wake damn'd. She's gone, She's gone. Yes, thou Barbarian Brute, The fairest Truth that monster Man e're wrong'd, Has mounted Heav'n to leave eternal Hells, The just Reward of an ungrateful Infidel.— Thou dear Remains Of the most faithful Love, if from these cold Cold Lips, such Guilt as mine dare steal a kiss, 'Tis my last Crime, and I shall Sin no more.

[Kneels to kiss her.

Enter Bellario.

Bell.

'Twas too unkind, thou pityless Bellario, To leave thy poor Lords Heart thus wrackt thus, tortur'd; And all for a rash Vow. No, I'll return, and fall at his dear Feet, Own my true Sex, and cure his wounded Peace.

Phil.

Sweets, Divine Sweets: But if in Death so fragrant, Oh what eternal Roses had those dear Lips bloom'd, had the fair Tree but lived to bear 'em— But does her Murtherer live! This fatal point, All reeking with the Blood of Sacred Innocence, Dares Guilt and Treason live! No, thou crown'd Saint, Look down and see this just pursuing Vengeance.

[Goes to fall on his Sword, Bellario beats it away.

Bell.

Heav'n guard my Noble Lord—Good Gods, my Royal Mistriss Murder'd!

Phil.

Murder'd Bellario, by this curst hand Murder'd.

Bell.

Oh what has your transported frenzy done! The fairest Virtue and the tenderest Love That e'er blest Man, how has thy Rage rewarded!

Phil.

Yes how indeed, Bellario!

Bell.

Cruel Prince, When shall I sound in thy alarmed Ears The story of her Wrongs, which this curst Tongue Now comes to speak too late.—

Phil.

No more; no more, Call not my torturing Shame to my remembrance. For I have been false to a pair of the most trusty ones

That ever the Earth bore. For which my Soul Must sink as low in Hell, as that fair Saint Sits high in Heav'n— But give me back that Instrument of Death, That I may rip this bloody Tygers heart out, A sacrifice to that dear Martyr'd Innocence.

Enter Thraselin, Cleremont, and Woodmen.

Trasil.

What do we see!

Phil.

A sight would blast a Cannibal. Oh Gentlemen, If you have hearts that can weep Blood, now look down And melt 'em there.

Cleremon.

Good Gods, the Princess Murder'd!

Phil.

My Arm prevented! Yes the Gods are just. By my own hand like an old Roman Fall Had been a Fate to Glorious—No Arethusa, now I'll do thee nobler Justice: Jayls and Dungeons; A Headsman and an Ax, Scaffolds and Pinnacles, Recorded shame, and ever branding Infamy.— Come, Sirs, make short your weeping Ceremonies, For you have more important Work to do: Take up that load of Honour, and perform This cruel Duty to your King. Bear that Too killing Object to a mourning Father And with her this vile Brand of black Damnation. Then for her last just Rites, the opening Veins Of her curst Murderer, erect a Scaffold High as the Clouds, and sound a Trump so loud, If possible, the Summon'd World may call: Invite 'em to a Feast, and Gorge 'em all.

[Exeunt Philaster and Amen∣dants carrying off the Princess.

Bell. (Sola)

Why was I born for the accursed Cause Of all this heap of Ruines. Poor Philaster, Thine's but the Hand, and Sword, 'tis I am the Murderer: For, Oh, with one kind word, one gentle Breath, How had I stopt this hideous Scene of Death; But 'tis too late, the golden Minute's fled. Undone Philaster, thy too dear lov'd Head, How have I wrapt in everlasting Woe! But is the bitter Draught all thine! Oh, no! The Druggs, the Gall, and Poyson, fill'd by me, I mixt it, and must drink more deep than thee.

[Exit]

The End of the Fourth ACT.

ACT V.

Enter Dion, Trasilin, Cleremont.

Thra.

THe Princess dead! And by Philaster's hand! Nay, and what's worse, to yield himself a Prisoner! To run into the Jaws of yawning Death, His offer'd Throat so tame a Sacrifice!

Cler.

Ay Gentlemen, given up into the Hands Of the enraged King, whose threatning Arm of Vengeance Hangs o'er his Head like a prodigious Meteor. And now too late; what Power, what help can save him! Alas, what hopes!

Thra.

Hopes! Truly none at all. Nay, were there hopes, has not himself destroy'd 'em? Is there that Sword wou'd strike for his deliverance That himself has not chain'd the hand should draw it? Has not his own accusing Tongue so blacken'd him, Painted her Murder with a face so monstrous, As lulls his sleeping Friends into a Lethargy; Till scarce their Pity wakes to mourn him lost? A Womans Death! A Deed of that dishonour!

Dion.

Dishonour!—Hold my Masters, you're a little Too hot, and run too fast—He has kill'd a Woman; True; and the story sounds at the first hearing A Deed below a Man, much more a Prince. Well, but what Woman has he kill'd! How kill'd her! Ay, there's the Point, my Friends; No doubt, he took her, Seiz'd the fair Brute with all her bestial shame, In the foul Deed with her lascivious Boy; And with the falling weight of Sacred Justice, Roll'd like a Bolt of Royal Thunder down, And crush'd th' engendring Basilisk.

Thra.

Fy, my Lord, How can you load her Name with so much Infamy, When his own free Confession has proclaim'd her All Innocence, all Saint?

Dion.

All Rage, all Frenzy. The common Lunacy of doating Fools;

Honour and Vengeance struck the noble blow, And whining Love denies it. To be short, He wrongs himself and Us, and all Mankind, And 'tis high time to undeceive the World. Now, Gentlemen, if I've spoke Reason.—

Cler.

Reason! By this fair Light you breath the voice of Oracles, Which every honest heart must hear and reverence.

Dion.

Say, are we Men then!

Thra.

All that Hands and Hearts Resolv'd, can be, we are. Philaster's safety Is that great Cause will Arm the Gods to joyn us.

Dion.

Enough my Friends, come to my Arms.

[Embracing.

No, King— The Head you aim at cost more setting on, Than to be lost so slightly. If it must off, Like a wild overflow that shakes down Bridges, Cracks the strong Hearts of Pines, whose Cable Roots, Held out a thousand Storms, a thousand Thunders; And so made mightier, takes whole Towers, Towns, Palaces, And lays 'em desolate; so shall thy Head Thy noble Head, bury the Lives of Thousands That shall bleed with thee in thy purple Ruines.

Thra.

Lead on, thou Champion Genius of our Swords.

Dion.

But we lose time, the lucky Minute calls▪ You, Thraselin, haste instantly to th' Forum, Where you will find a Band of honest Citizens, That only wait the kind inviting Trumpet To call 'em forth to Glory: Souls so brave Will make Day smile, to see 'em shine in Arms. You Cleremont, haste to the Royal Cittadel. You'll find the Bolts of Steel, and Gates of Brass Will all fly open at Philaster's Name. For me, my Post shall be t'attend his Person, And watch the Motions of his hungry Hunters. Now all retire; a Royal Head to save, Push your fair Cause, and Fortune Crown the Brave.

[Exeunt Thraselin, and Cleremont.

Enter King, and Attendants.

King.

Hold, hold, my bursting Heart, and drowning Eyes. Oh Arethusa, Arethusa! Lend me, Some pitying God, a Tongue to vent my Groans. This more then execrable Deed! Philaster, Could'st thou do this. Could the rich Veins of Kings,

Thou born of Royal Race—A Prince—A Butcher A Ruffian, and a Hangman. Crime like this A Cannibal would blush at. Wolves and Blood-hounds Would turn their aking Nostrils from this sight, And howl o'er wounds so barbarous. Tell me, Friends, For you have seen the killing Object; seen That once dear Garden of fair blooming Sweets All rooted by the Tusks of this wild Boar; And say, my honest loyal Hearts, in all The blackest Legends of recorded Murder Is there that Chronicle can match this Monster?

Dion.

Yes, there are Chronicles can match this Monster, If he be one.—

King.

Ha! If he be one,—

Dion.

Yes, Sir, If he be one.—

King.

That if.—But, Sir, go on.

Dion.

Then, Sir, to give plain dealing Truth fair play, You've lost a Daughter, a King's Daughter: True, And by a blow perhaps not altogether So Manly, as befits the weight of that Great Arm when lifted up to fall with Fate. Yet let me tell you! Sir—

King,

Hold Profane Insolent; Gods, can there be that Impudence so Steel'd! Pleaders and Advocates for Guilt so horrid! But that my Arm's reserv'd for Nobler Vengeance, Thy Head, thou reverend Rebel—But to Answer thee I'll call the judging World. Nay, let thy own Accusing Conscience speak: Is there that Monument (Though big and high as Pelion) can be able▪ To cover this base Murder! Make it rich With Brass, with purest Gold, and shining Jasper: Like the Pyramides, lay on Epitaphs, Such as make Great Men Gods; 'tis all too weak, Too shallow Rhetorick—But I am too tame: Lead forth that Monster to his speedy doom.

Dion.

So speedy! no, too hasty King you'll find it not that o'er easie Work.

Enter Philaster Guarded.

Phil.

Sir, you are pleas'd To call me forth to Justice. And behold Your Summons are obey'd.

King,

Oh my weak Eye-balls. How can I look upon that Face of Horror!

Phil.

Yes, how indeed!

King.

Thou Merciless, Inhumane— But why do I seek words for guilt beyond A Name, too deep for shallow sounds to reach? Say then, thou all unutterable Cruelty, What hast thou done!

Phil.

Say first, Thou bold Examiner, How darst thou ask that Question!

King.

Dare!

Phil.

Dare ask it! For know, thou bold Demander, thou requirest me To make thee the Relation of a Deed Which art thou sure thou'rt Man enough to hear me?

King.

Thou Counsel'st well. Indeed, I ought to muster All the most fortified Resolves about me, The summon'd strength of my whole guarded Heart To hear this dismal Tale.

Phil.

Then hear and Tremble. Oh King, thou hadst a Beauteous Daughter! Beauteous! Each common Flower, and every Garden Rose May boast that name—Beauty!—she was so fair, A piece so lovely, that the whole Groating Divinity that form'd it, when it mingled Her dazling Compounds, dropt it self into The Mould, and mixt the God to finish it.

Dion.

All Raptures!

Phil.

Then for her Vertue, King, her Beauteous Mind, Her rich fair Soul: Ay, that all in land Paradisc. O Virtue, Virtue, thy Celestial Charms! She was that all Original Perfection, A Wonder sure set up by Priding Heav'n For Homaging Worlds to kneel to—yet that wonder, That radiant Temple of Angelick Truth, Has this Rebellious infidel destroy'd. But, haste, dull King, thy drowne Thunder sleeps: The loud Tongu'd Cries of those affrighting wounds, Demand that swiftest executing Arm— Her punisht Murderer, King—

Enter Bellario.

Bell.

Yes, Royal Sir, Her punisht Murderer.

Phil.

Ay Boy, if he can punish him; if all The Impotent weak Rods of feeble Vengeance, Earth has it to invent, or Hell to give it him.

Bell.

Yes, Sir, if all the weight of angry Kings, Axes or Gibbets, all the swift Revenge For your dear Daughters Blood can expiate Those ever gaping wounds: Arm, Arm, your Bolts, For this detested Head, the vile Bellario.

Phil. Bellario!

Sayst thou?

Bell.

Most wrong'd Prince. Bellario, Thy lovely Princess Murderer; this young Blood-hound, With all his Mass of Guilt stands here before you.

King.

Good Gods! Bellario.

Phil.

What means this all amazing Wonder? Gods! Is there a Goodness in the World so Prodigal— Oh King! I've liv'd too long: This generous Boy Would take Death from me—

Bell.

Ha! What says my Lord?

Phil.

That dear all prodigy brings its sweet Innocence, A bleating Lamb to save a bloated Tyger.

Bell.

How, my dear Lord?

Phil.

Oh do not talk, Bellario, Quick, send me to my Death: Remember, King, Your Daughter's Murderer.

Bell.

My noble Lord, Oh whither does your headlong transport run? Thou, thou her Murderer!

Phil.

No more! no more! I shall be shot from Heaven, as now from Earth; If thou continuest this stupendious kindness▪

Bell.

Did you e're hear the like? Oh my amazement! Gods how he talks! What Dreams, what Shapes and Fantoms? My King, my Lords, speak all—Let Justice, Reason, Nay common Sense be the fair judg between us. The great Philaster so much Royal Honour For him to Murder Women. That unprincely, Nay that unmanly blow! Yes, and to kill The only Darling Idol of his Soul! Could he do this?

Dion.

Now Truth begins to speak?

Bell.

But for a wicked Boy, a Low-born-slave, The vilest rubbish outcast of the World, His Soul as poor as the base Veins that hold it, Cashier'd and banisht, and turn'd out to starve— For me to swell with Gall, and burst with Poyson, And in the rage of my resenting Fury, To strike a Dagger to my Mrs. Heart; Me to act all this!—

Phil.

Hold, hold, malitious Boy, Dear lovely Thief; thou sweetest, barbarous Innocence. Gods! wilt thou rob me of the power to die? This is too much Bellario.

Bell.

Ay, now hear him, Now he speaks plain, he wants the power to die: The gaping wounds of his dear Murder'd Princess, Have struck those bolts of horror through his Soul; Till wild Despair, and his distracted Love, Leads forth with his wandring Sense to Tombs and Charnels; And Courts grim Death, and yawning Graves to follow her.

Phil.

Yet hold, thou kind delusion: Stop, Oh stop, This swelling Torrent of confounding Goodness, Or, I shall sink and drown. And King, Oh King, If Earth was ever honour'd with that Mass Of shining Virtues, that astonisht Mortals Might dazle but to View, behold 'em there; In that dear Boy; to save his Master's Life, He owns this hideous Murder.

Bell.

Love, blind Love, Despairing, raging Love.

Phil.

No King, All Truth, all Oracle.

Bell.

All Love, Love, Love.

Phil.

Oh thou too kind dissembler: Yet Sir, hear me, I tell thee King—

Bell.

Yes, he does tell thee King, A Tale so monstrous, that all wild distraction— But oh, Sir, let these bending knees conjure you; If Heav'n be just, (and Kings are Heav'ns Vicegerents) Do Justice, Sir—for by yond Starry Roof, The Guilt that Murder'd your dear Arethusa, Was all Bellario's.

Dion.

Now Sir, I hope Your Ears and Eyes are open'd.

King.

Yes, my Friends, These Ears have heard too much—seize that Young Russian.

Dion.

Ay, now the righteous Voice of Justice speaks.

King.

And quick, to Death, to Death with the black slave.

Phil.

Gods, I can hold no longer! Oh Bellario, If thou must Dye, such Truth, such Honour dye; Let these Embraces be thy Executioners! These twining Arms, and stiffling Kisses kill thee. Oh thou dear! all Divine. Now Gentlemen, If there be Cruelty enough amongst you To point a Javlin at this sacred Breast, Strike through both Hearts; for by yond fair Eterni••y I'll not out live the hour such Virtue bleeds.

Enter Messinger.

Mess.

Hold, Royal Sir; instead of Tragick Scaffolds, And Mourning Scenes of Death, prepare for Jubilees. Your Beauteous Daughter Lives.

Phil.

My Princess Lives!

Bell.

Nay then, just Heav'n!

King.

Oh thou sweet Voice of Triumph, Repeat that joyful sound.

Mess.

The Princess Lives.

King.

Lives!

Mess.

Though her loss of Blood, her Wound and Griefs, O'th' two the deeper blow, all join'd together, Too rude shock for a weak Female Heart, Had chain'd up Life; by the Industrious care Of her Assisting Slave's recovered, and restored, She safely breaths and Lives.

Enter Second Messinger.

2 Mess.

Yes Sir, she lives, And to preserve that Life she holds, by all The tyes of King and Father, She conjures you To check all angry thoughts against the Innocence Of her Dear Lov'd Philaster; for 'twas only By her own Hand she Bled.

King.

By her own Hand!

Phil.

Since that fair Oracle Lives, and blushing Truth At last will speak, by her own Hand she fell.

2 Mess.

And Sir, so strong her Love, so great's her fears For her too dear Philaster's threatning danger, That on her bended Knees she does beseech you To bring that guarded Life safe to her Arms.

King.

Oh Love, What is thy Power! But quick, Philaster, Oh let us fly with all the Wings of Love, To Embrace that Darling Fair!

The Scene opens, and discovers Arethusa seated on a Couch, who enters forward, led by her Women.

Areth.

My Lord, my Life.

Phil.

Dear Angel guest, thou beauteous Resurrection, Let my bent Knees, and grasping Arms receive thee.

King.

Oh Arethusa, does thy happy Father Once more Embrace thee! what a Scene of wonders Has mighty Love this day perform'd! But oh Too Faithful, and too Generous Philaster, Here take thy Honour, and thy Truth's reward, And with her the Succession to my Crown.

Areth.

This charming voice of Life—

Phil.

Oh my kind King, How shall I ever pay thee for this blessing! Not bending Knees, Altars, nor Hecatombs—

King.

Oh Prince no more, I cannot hear this language: For I have heap'd that world of grief upon thee; Wrong'd both your Virtuous loves, that, oh my Children, Learn to forgive me first, and then to thank me.

Enter Rabble, and Pharamond Prisoner.

All.

Long live Philaster, the brave Prince Philaster.

Phil.

I thank you Gentlemen: But why are these Rude weapons brought abroad to teach your Hands▪ Uncivil Trades?

Capt.

My Royal Rosiclear, We are thy Myrmidons, thy Guard, thy Roarers, And when thy Noble Person is in danger; Thus do we clap our rusty Murrions on, And trace the streets in Terror: Is it Peace, Thou Mars of Men? Is the King sociable And bids thee live! if not, we are thy Castle.

Phil.

Oh hold, forbear this impious profanation! The King's all God-like good; and for me, Gentlemen, I am, what I desire to be, your Friend; I am what I am proud to be, your Prince.

Phar.

Sir, there is some Humanity in you, You have a noble Soul; forget my name, And know my misery; set me safe aboard From these wild Cannibals, and as I live,

I'll leave the Land for ever.

Phil.

Deliver me the Prince, I'll warrant you I shall be old enough to find my safety. Now my good friends return home to your Houses, And know there shall be nothing in my Power You may deserve, but you shall have your wishes: Continue still your Love, and for an Earnest Drink this.

All.

Long mayst thou live brave Prince.

[Exeunt Shouting.

Phil.

And for you Prince of Spain, you have still leave To make an honourable Voyage home: And if you will go furnisht to your Realm With fair Provision, I do see a Lady Methinks would gladly bear you company. How do you like this piece?

Megr.

He likes it well: For he has try'd it, Sir, and found it worth His Princely liking: But, thou unkind Prince, Can shame remain perpetually in me, And not in others; or have Princes salves To cure ill names, that meaner People want?

Phil.

What mean you!

Megr.

You must get another Ship To bear the Princess and the Boy together; Others took me, and I took her and him, At what all Women may be ta'ne sometimes. Ship us all four, my Lord, we can endure Weather and Wind alike.

Phil.

Oh thou black Envy! Is thy Infernal Fire-brand never quench'd?

Bell.

Sir, let that work be mine. Thou vilest Creature! Permit this Lord to talk with me alone, And I will utter truths, shall with a breath Confound the shame of this malicious Woman. My Lord.

Dion.

Why speak'st thou not?

Bell.

Know you this face my Lord?

Dion.

No!

Bell.

Have you not seen it, nor the like?

Dion.

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

Bell.

I have been often told In Court of one Euphrasia, a Lady And Daughter to you, betwixt whom and me, They that would flatter my bad Face, wou'd swear

There was such near resemblance, that we two Could not be known asunder, drest alike.

Dion.

By Heav'n and so there is; nay, and thou speakst As like her as thou look'st: Is't possible! Oh let me gaze upon thee! art thou she? Where wert thou born?

Bell.

In Syracuse.

Dion.

What's thy Name?

Bell.

Euphrasia.

Dion.

Oh my shame! Now all's discovered.

King.

What is discovered Sir?

Dion.

Her Vertue and my Shame! It is a Woman,

Phil.

How! Say that again.

Dion.

It is a Woman.

King.

Lay hold upon that Lady.

[To Megra▪]

Phil.

It is a Woman!—Oh my Arethusa, Thy fair and vertuous Name shall live to Ages, In spite of all Hells malice.

King.

But speak You, Where lies his Shame!

Bel.

I am his Daughter,

Areth.

The Gods are just.

Dion.

I dare accuse none, but before you two The vertue of our Age, I bend my knee For Mercy.

Phil.

Take it freely, for I know, Though what thou didst was indiscreetly done, 'Twas meant well.

Areth.

And for me I have the Power To Pardon Sins as oft as any Man Has Power to wrong me.

Phil.

But Bellario, (for I must call thee still so,) tell me why Thou didst conceal thy Sex, it was a fault, A Fault Bellario, though thy other Deeds Of Truth out-weigh'd it. All these Jealousies Had flown to nothing, if thou hadst discovered What now we know.

Bell.

My Father would oft speak Your Worth and ••irtue, and as I did grow More and more apprahensive, I did thirst To see the Man so praised. But yet all this Was but a Maiden longing to be lost, As soon as found, till sitting in my Window Printing my thoughts in Lawn, I saw a God

I thought, but it was you enter'd our Gates, Then was I call'd away to entertain you. Never was Pleasure sure that equall'd mine. You left a kiss upon these Lips which I Will keep from you for ever. When you were gone I grew acquainted with my Heart and searched What stird it so; Alas, I found it Love. Yet far from an impure desire, for cou'd I but have lived In presence of you, I had had my end. For this I did delude my noble Father With a feind Pilgrimage, and drest my self In habit of a Boy. And for I knew My Birth no match for you, I was past hope Of that high Bliss. And understanding well That when I made discovery of my Sex I cou'd not stay with you, I made a Vow By all the most Religious things a Maid Could call together, never to be known Whilst there was hopes to hide me from men's Eyes; Then sate I by the Fount, where first you took me up.

King.

Search out a Match through my whole Kingdoms, And I will pay thy Dowry; and thy self Will't well deserve him.

Bell.

Never, Sir will I Marry; it is a thing within my Vow. But if I may have leave to serve the Princess, And see the Virtues of her Lord, and her, I shall have hope to live.

Areth.

Yes live with me, Live free as I do, she that loves my Lord With thy chast flame, Curst be that Wife that hates her.

Phil.

I grieve such Vertue should be laid in Earth Without an Heir. Hear me my Royal Father, Think not to take Revenge on that base Woman; Her Malice cannot hurt us: Set her free From all but Shame and Sin.

King.

Set her at Liberty. But leave the Court for ever. You Prince Pharamond Shall have safe Conduct home.

Phil.

Yes, Pharamond return, Back to thy Spain; till then I am thy friend. But when we meet again: For we shall meet—

Phar.

Yes, let me meet thee Prince, meet thee to bid Thy native Arragon once more call thee Lord, For Oh! Thou hast vanquish'd me:

Such conquering Virtue Has won thee back thy Crown.

King.

And now blest Pair, Joyn, Joyn your Hands in one. Enjoy, Philaster, This Kingdom which is yours. And after me Whatever I call mine. —Let Princes learn By this to Rule the Passions of their Blood, For what Heav'n Wills, can never be withstood.

FINIS.