And on his grave
Let him have
Sacrifice of sighs and groaning;
Let him have fair flowers enow,
White and purple, green and yellow, 60
For him that was of men most true!
Thou sable cloth, sad cover of my joys,
I lift thee up, and thus I meet with death.
[_Removes the Cloth, and_ JASPER _rises out of the Coffin._]
_Jasp._ And thus you meet the living.
_Luce._ Save me, Heaven!
_Jasp._ Nay, do not fly me, fair; I am no spirit: 65
Look better on me; do you know me yet?
_Luce._ Oh, thou dear shadow of my friend!
_Jasp._ Dear substance,
I swear I am no shadow; feel my hand,
It is the same it was; I am your Jasper,
Your Jasper that ’s yet living, and yet loving. 70
Pardon my rash attempt, my foolish proof[3126]
I put in practice of your constancy;
For sooner should my sword have drunk my blood,
And set my soul at liberty, than drawn
The least drop from that body, for which boldness 75
Doom me to any thing; if death, I take it,
And willingly.
_Luce._ This death I ’ll give you for it; [_Kisses him._]
So, now I am satisfied you are no spirit,
But my own truest, truest, truest friend:
Why do you come thus to me?
_Jasp._ First, to see you; 80
Then to convey you hence.
_Luce._ It cannot be;
For I am lockt up here, and watcht at all hours,
That ’t is impossible for me to scape.
_Jasp._ Nothing more possible. Within this coffin
Do you convey yourself. Let me alone, 85
I have the wits of twenty men about me;
Only I crave the shelter of your closet
A little, and then fear me not.[3127] Creep in,
That they may presently convey you hence: 89
Fear nothing, dearest love; I ’ll be your second:
[LUCE _lies down in the Coffin, and_ JASPER _covers her with the
cloth._]
Lie close:[3128] so; all goes well yet.—Boy!
[_Re-enter_ Boy _and_ Men.]
_Boy._ At hand, sir.
_Jasp._ Convey away the coffin, and be wary.
_Boy._ ’T is done already. [_Exeunt_ Men _with the Coffin_.]
_Jasp._ Now must I go conjure.
_Exit_ [_into a Closet_].
_Enter_ Merchant [VENTUREWELL].
_Vent._ Boy, boy!
_Boy._ Your servant, sir. 95
_Vent._ Do me this kindness, boy; (hold, here ’s a crown;)
Before thou bury the body of this fellow,
Carry it to his old merry father, and salute him
From me, and bid him sing; he hath cause.[3129]
_Boy._ I will, sir. 100
_Vent._ And then bring me word what tune he is in,
And have another crown; but do it truly.
I have fitted him a bargain now will vex him.
_Boy._ God bless your worship’s health, sir!
_Vent._ Farewell, boy! _Exeunt_ [_severally_].
[SCENE V.][3130]
_Enter_ MERRYTHOUGHT.
_Wife._ Ah, old Merrythought, art thou there again? Let’s hear some
of thy songs.
_Mer._ [_sings._]
Who can sing a merrier note
Than he that cannot change a groat?
Not a denier[3131] left, and yet my heart leaps. I (5) do wonder yet,
as old as I am, that any man will follow a trade, or serve, that may
sing and laugh, and walk the streets. My wife and both my sons are I
know not where; I have nothing left, nor know I how to come by meat
to supper; (10) yet am I merry still, for I know I shall find it upon
the table at six o’clock; therefore, hang thought! [_Sings._]
I would not be a serving-man
To carry the cloak-bag[3132] still, 15
Nor would I be a falconer
The greedy hawks to fill;
But I would be in a good house,
And have a good master too;
But I would eat and drink of the best, 20
And no work would I do.
This is it that keeps life and soul together,—mirth; this is the
philosopher’s stone that they write so much on, that keeps a man ever
young. 25
_Enter a_ Boy.
_Boy._ Sir, they say they know all your money is gone, and they will
trust you for no more drink.
_Mer._ Will they not? let ’em choose! The best is, I have mirth at
home, and need not (30) send abroad for that; let them keep their
drink to themselves. [_Sings._]
For Jillian of Berry, she dwells on a hill,
And she hath good beer and ale to sell,
And of good fellows she thinks no ill; 35
And thither will we go now, now, now,
And thither will we go now.
And when you have made a little stay,
You need not ask what is to pay,
But kiss your hostess, and go your way; 40
And thither will we go now, now, now,
And thither will we go now.
_Enter another_ Boy.
_2 Boy._ Sir, I can get no bread for supper.
_Mer._ Hang bread and supper! Let ’s preserve our mirth, and we shall
never feel hunger, (45) I ’ll warrant you. Let ’s have a catch; boy,
follow me, come sing this catch.
Ho, ho, nobody at home!
Meat, nor drink, nor money ha’ we none.
Fill the pot, Eedy, 50
Never more need I.
_Mer._ So, boys; enough. Follow me: let ’s change our place, and we
shall laugh afresh. _Exeunt._
_Wife._ Let him go, George; ’a shall not have any countenance
from us, nor a good word from any i’ th’ company, if I may strike
stroke[3133] in ’t.
_Cit._ No more ’a sha’ not, love. But, Nell, I (57) will have Ralph
do a very notable matter now, to the eternal honour and glory of all
grocers.—Sirrah! you there, boy! Can none of you hear? 61
[_Enter_ Boy.]
_Boy._ Sir, your pleasure?
_Cit._ Let Ralph come out on May-day in the morning, and speak upon a
conduit, with all his scarfs about him, and his feathers, and his
rings, and his knacks. 66
_Boy._ Why, sir, you do not think of our plot; what will become of
that, then?
_Cit._ Why, sir, I care not what become on ’t: I’ll have him come
out, or I’ll fetch him (70) out myself; I’ll have something done
in honour of the city. Besides, he hath been long enough upon
adventures. Bring him out quickly; or, if I come in amongst you——
_Boy._ Well, sir, he shall come out, but if our play miscarry, sir,
you are like to pay for ’t. 76
_Cit._ Bring him away then! _Exit_ Boy.
_Wife._ This will be brave, i’ faith! George, shall not he dance the
morris too, for the credit of the Strand? 80
_Cit._ No, sweetheart, it will be too much for the boy. Oh, there
he is, Nell! he’s reasonable well in reparel: but he has not rings
enough.
_Enter_ RALPH [_dressed as a May-lord_].
_Ralph._ London, to thee, I do present the merry month of May; 85
Let each true subject be content to hear me what I say:
For from the top of conduit-head, as plainly may appear,
I will both tell my name to you, and wherefore I came here.
My name is Ralph, by due descent though not ignoble I[3134]
Yet far inferior to the flock[3135] of gracious grocery; 90
And by the common counsel of my fellows in the Strand,
With gilded staff and crossed scarf, the May-lord here I stand.
Rejoice, oh, English hearts, rejoice! rejoice, oh, lovers dear!
Rejoice, oh, city, town, and country! rejoice, eke every shire!
For now the fragrant flowers do spring and sprout in seemly sort, 95
The little birds do sit and sing, the lambs do make fine sport;
And now the birchen-tree doth bud, that makes the schoolboy cry;
The morris rings, while hobby-horse doth foot it featously;[3136]
The lords and ladies now abroad, for their disport and play,
Do kiss sometimes upon the grass, and sometimes in the hay: 100
Now butter with a leaf of sage is good to purge the blood;
Fly Venus and phlebotomy,[3137] for they are neither good;
Now little fish on tender stone begin to cast their bellies,[3138]
And sluggish snails, that erst were mew’d,[3139] do creep
out of their shellies;
The rumbling rivers now do warm, for little boys to paddle; 105
The sturdy steed now goes to grass, and up they hang his saddle;
The heavy hart, the bellowing buck, the rascal,[3140]
and the pricket,[3141]
Are now among the yeoman’s peas, and leave the fearful thicket:
And be like them, oh, you, I say, of this same noble town,
And lift aloft your velvet heads, and slipping off your gown, 110
With bells on legs, and napkins clean unto your shoulders tied,
With scarfs and garters as you please, and “Hey for our town!” cried,
March out, and show your willing minds, by twenty and by twenty,
To Hogsdon[3142] or to Newington, where ale and cakes are plenty;
And let it ne’er be said for shame, that we the youths of London 115
Lay thrumming of our caps[3143] at home, and left our custom undone.
Up, then, I say, both young and old, both man and maid a-maying,
With drums, and guns that bounce aloud, and merry tabor playing!
Which to prolong, God save our king, and send his country peace,
And root out treason from the land! and so, my friends, I cease. 120
_Exit._
ACT V
SCENE I.[3144]
_Enter_ Merchant [VENTUREWELL].
_Vent._ I will have no great store of company at the wedding; a
couple of neighbours and their wives; and we will have a capon in
stewed broth, with marrow, and a good piece of beef stuck with
rosemary. 5
_Enter_ JASPER, _his face mealed_.
_Jasp._ Forbear thy pains, fond[3145] man! it is too late.
_Vent._ Heaven bless me! Jasper!
_Jasp._ Ay, I am his ghost,
Whom thou hast injur’d for his constant love,
Fond worldly wretch! who dost not understand
In death that true hearts cannot parted be. 10
First know, thy daughter is quite borne away
On wings of angels, through the liquid air,
To far out of thy reach, and never more
Shalt thou behold her face: but she and I
Will in another world enjoy our loves; 15
Where neither father’s anger, poverty,
Nor any cross that troubles earthly men,
Shall make us sever our united hearts.
And never shalt thou sit or be alone
In any place, but I will visit thee 20
With ghastly looks, and put into thy mind
The great offences which thou didst to me.
When thou art at thy table with thy friends,
Merry in heart, and fill’d with swelling wine,
I’ll come in midst of all thy pride and mirth, 25
Invisible to all men but thyself,
And whisper such a sad tale in thine ear
Shall make thee let the cup fall from thy hand,
And stand as mute and pale as death itself.
_Vent._ Forgive me, Jasper! Oh, what might I do, 30
Tell me, to satisfy thy troubled ghost?
_Jasp._ There is no means; too late thou think’st of this.
_Vent._ But tell me what were best for me to do?
_Jasp._ Repent thy deed, and satisfy my father,
And beat fond Humphrey out of thy doors. _Exit._ 35
_Wife._ Look, George; his very ghost would have folks beaten.
_Enter_ HUMPHREY.
_Hum._ Father, my bride is gone, fair Mistress Luce:
My soul’s the fount of vengeance, mischief’s sluice.
_Vent._ Hence, fool, out of my sight with thy fond passion! 40
Thou hast undone me. [_Beats him._]
_Hum._ Hold, my father dear,
For Luce thy daughter’s sake, that had no peer!
_Vent._ Thy father, fool! There’s some blows more; begone.—
[_Beats him._]
Jasper, I hope thy ghost be well appeas’d
To see thy will perform’d. Now will I go 45
To satisfy thy father for thy wrongs. _Exit._
_Hum._ What shall I do? I have been beaten twice,
And Mistress Luce is gone. Help me, device!
Since my true love is gone, I never more,
Whilst I do live, upon the sky will pore; 50
But in the dark will wear out my shoe-soles
In passion[3146] in Saint Faith’s church under Paul’s. _Exit._
_Wife._ George, call Ralph hither; if you love me, call Ralph hither:
I have the bravest thing for him to do, George: prithee, call him
quickly.
_Cit._ Ralph! why, Ralph, boy! 56
_Enter_ RALPH.
_Ralph._ Here, sir.
_Cit._ Come hither, Ralph; come to thy mistress, boy.
_Wife._ Ralph, I would have thee call all (60) the youths together in
battle-ray, with drums, and guns, and flags, and march to Mile-End
in pompous[3147] fashion, and there exhort your soldiers to be merry
and wise, and to keep their beards from burning, Ralph; and then 65
skirmish, and let your flags fly, and cry, “Kill, kill, kill!” My
husband shall lend you his jerkin, Ralph, and there ’s a scarf; for
the rest, the house shall furnish you, and we’ll pay for ’t. Do it
bravely, Ralph; and think before (70) whom you perform, and what
person you represent.
_Ralph._ I warrant you, mistress; if I do it not for the honour of
the city and the credit of my master, let me never hope for 75
freedom![3148]
_Wife._ ’Tis well spoken, i’ faith. Go thy ways; thou art a spark
indeed.
_Cit._ Ralph, Ralph, double your files bravely, Ralph! 80
_Ralph._ I warrant you, sir. _Exit._
_Cit._ Let him look narrowly to his service; I shall take him else.
I was there myself a pikeman once, in the hottest of the day, wench;
had my feather shot sheer away, the fringe of my pike burnt off with
powder, my pate (86) broken with a scouring-stick,[3149] and yet, I
thank God, I am here. _Drum within._
_Wife._ Hark, George, the drums!
_Cit._ Ran, tan, tan, tan; ran, tan! Oh, wench, an thou hadst but
seen little Ned of Aldgate, (91) Drum Ned, how he made it roar again,
and laid on like a tyrant, and then struck softly till the ward[3150]
came up, and then thund’red again, and together we go! “Sa, sa,
sa, bounce!” (95) quoth the guns; “Courage, my hearts!” quoth the
captains; “Saint George!” quoth the pikemen; and withal, here they
lay, and there they lay: and yet for all this I am here, wench. 100
_Wife._ Be thankful for it, George; for indeed ’t is wonderful.
[SCENE II.][3151]
_Enter_ RALPH _and Company of_ Soldiers (_among whom are_ WILLIAM
HAMMERTON, _and_ GEORGE GREENGOOSE), _with drums and colours_.
_Ralph._ March fair, my hearts! Lieutenant, beat the rear
up.—Ancient,[3152] let your colours fly; but have a great care of
the butchers’ hooks at Whitechapel; they have been the death of many
a fair ancient.—Open your (5) files, that I may take a view both of
your persons and munition.—Sergeant, call a muster.
_Serg._ A stand!—William Hammerton, pewterer!
_Ham._ Here, captain! 10
_Ralph._ A corselet and a Spanish pike; ’t is well: can you shake it
with a terror?
_Ham._ I hope so, captain.
_Ralph._ Charge upon me. [_He charges on_ RALPH.]—’T is with the
weakest: put more (15) strength, William Hammerton, more strength. As
you were again!—Proceed, Sergeant.
_Serg._ George Greengoose, poulterer!
_Green._ Here!
_Ralph._ Let me see your piece,[3153] neighbour (20) Greengoose: when
was she shot in?
_Green._ An’t like you, master captain, I made a shot even now,
partly to scour her, and partly for audacity.
_Ralph._ It should seem so certainly, for her (25) breath is yet
inflamed; besides, there is a main[3154] fault in the touch-hole,
it runs and stinketh; and I tell you moreover, and believe it, ten
such touch-holes would breed the pox in the army. Get you a feather,
neighbour, get you (30) a feather, sweet oil, and paper, and your
piece may do well enough yet. Where’s your powder?
_Green._ Here.
_Ralph._ What, in a paper! As I am a soldier and a gentleman, it
craves a martial court! (35) You ought to die for ’t. Where ’s your
horn? Answer me to that.
_Green._ An ’t like you, sir, I was oblivious.
_Ralph._ It likes me not you should be so; ’t is a shame for you,
and a scandal to all our (40) neighbours, being a man of worth and
estimation, to leave your horn behind you: I am afraid ’t will breed
example. But let me tell you no more on ’t.—Stand, till I view you
all. What ’s become o’ th’ nose of your flask? 45
_1 Sold._ Indeed, la, captain, ’t was blown away with powder.
_Ralph._ Put on a new one at the city’s charge.—Where’s the
stone[3155] of this piece?
_2 Sold._ The drummer took it out to light (50) tobacco.
_Ralph._ ’T is a fault, my friend; put it in again.—You want a
nose,—and you a stone.—Sergeant, take a note on ’t, for I mean to
stop it in the pay.—Remove, and march! [_They (55) march._] Soft
and fair, gentlemen, soft and fair! Double your files! As you were!
Faces about! Now, you with the sodden[3156] face, keep in there!
Look to your match, sirrah, it will be in your fellow’s flask anon.
So; make a crescent now: (60) advance your pikes: stand and give
ear!—Gentlemen, countrymen, friends, and my fellow-soldiers, I have
brought you this day, from the shops of security and the counters of
content, to measure out in these furious fields honour by (65) the
ell, and prowess by the pound. Let it not, oh, let it not, I say,
be told hereafter, the noble issue of this city fainted; but bear
yourselves in this fair action like men, valiant men, and free men!
Fear not the face of the enemy, (70) nor the noise of the guns, for,
believe me, brethren, the rude rumbling of a brewer’s car is far more
terrible, of which you have a daily experience; neither let the stink
of powder offend you, since a more valiant stink is nightly
with you. 76
To a resolved mind his home is every-where:
I speak not this to take away
The hope of your return; for you shall see
(I do not doubt it) and that very shortly 80
Your loving wives again and your sweet children,
Whose care doth bear you company in baskets.
Remember, then, whose cause you have in hand,
And, like a sort[3157] of true-born scavengers,
Scour me this famous realm of enemies. 85
I have no more to say but this: stand to your tacklings,[3158] lads,
and show to the world you can as well brandish a sword as shake an
apron. Saint George, and on, my hearts!
_All._ Saint George, Saint George! _Exeunt._ 90
_Wife._ ’T was well done, Ralph! I’ll send thee a cold capon a-field
and a bottle of March beer; and, it may be, come myself to see thee.
_Cit._ Nell, the boy has deceived me much; I did not think it had
been in him. He has (95) performed such a matter, wench, that, if I
live, next year I’ll have him captain of the galley-foist[3159] or
I’ll want my will.
[SCENE III.][3160]
_Enter_ MERRYTHOUGHT.
_Mer._ Yet, I thank God. I break not a wrinkle more than I had. Not
a stoop,[3161] boys? Care, live with cats; I defy thee! My heart is
as sound as an oak; and though I want drink to wet my whistle, I can
sing; [_Sings._] 5
Come no more there, boys, come no more there;
For we shall never whilst we live come any more there.
_Enter_ Boy, [_and two_ Men] _with a Coffin_.
_Boy._ God save you, sir!
_Mer._ It’s a brave boy. Canst thou sing?
_Boy._ Yes, sir, I can sing; but ’t is not so (10) necessary at this
time.
_Mer._ [_sings._]
Sing we, and chant it;
Whilst love doth grant it.
_Boy._ Sir, sir, if you knew what I have brought you, you would have
little list to (15) sing.
_Mer._ [_sings._]
Oh, the Mimon round,
Full long, long I have thee sought,
And now I have thee found,
And what hast thou here brought? 20
_Boy._ A coffin, sir, and your dead son Jasper in it. [_Exit with_
Men.]
_Mer._ Dead! [_Sings._]
Why, farewell he!
Thou wast a bonny boy, 25
And I did love thee.
_Enter_ JASPER.
_Jasp._ Then, I pray you, sir, do so still.
_Mer._ Jasper’s ghost! [_Sings._]
Thou art welcome from Stygian lake so soon;
Declare to me what wondrous things in Pluto’s court are done. 30
_Jasp._ By my troth, sir, I ne’er came there; ’t is too hot for me,
sir.
_Mer._ A merry ghost, a very merry ghost! [_Sings._]
And where is your true love? Oh, where is yours?
_Jasp._ Marry, look you, sir! _Heaves up coffin._ 35
_Mer._ Ah, ha! art thou good at that, i’ faith? [_Sings._]
With hey, trixy, terlery-whiskin,
The world it runs on wheels:
When the young man’s——-,[3162]
Up goes the maiden’s heels. 40
MRS. MERRYTHOUGHT _and_ MICHAEL _within_.
_Mist. Mer._ [_within._] What, Master Merrythought! will you not let
’s in? What do you think shall become of us?
_Mer._ [_Sings._]
What voice is that, that calleth at our door.
_Mist. Mer._ [_within._] You know me well (45) enough; I am sure I
have not been such a stranger to you.
_Mer._ [_sings._]
And some they whistled, and some they sung,
Hey, down, down!
And some did loudly say, 50
Ever as the Lord Barnet’s born blew,
Away, Musgrave, away!
_Mist. Mer._ [_within._] You will not have us starve here, will you,
Master Merrythought?
_Jasp._ Nay, good sir, be persuaded; she is my mother. 55
If her offences have been great against you,
Let your own love remember she is yours,
And so forgive her.
_Luce._ Good Master Merrythought,
Let me entreat you; I will not be denied.
_Mist. Mer._ [_within._] Why, Master Merrythought, (60) will you be a
vext thing still?
_Mer._ Woman, I take you to my love again; but you shall sing before
you enter; therefore despatch your song and so come in.
_Mist. Mer._ [_within._] Well, you must have (65) your will, when
all’s done.—Mick, what song canst thou sing, boy?
_Mich._ [_within._] I can sing none, forsooth, but _A Lady’s
Daughter, of Paris properly_.
_Mist. Mer._ [_Song._]
It was a lady’s daughter, &c. 70
[MERRYTHOUGHT _opens the Door_; _enter_ MISTRESS MERRYTHOUGHT _and_
MICHAEL.]
_Mer._ Come, you’re welcome home again. [_Sings._]
If such danger be in playing,
And jest must to earnest turn,
You shall go no more a-maying—
_Vent._ (_within._) Are you within, sir? Master (75) Merrythought!
_Jasp._ It is my master’s voice! Good sir, go hold him
In talk, whilst we convey ourselves into
Some inward room. [_Exit with_ LUCE.]
_Mer._ What are you? Are you merry?
You must be very merry, if you enter. 80
_Vent._ [_within._] I am, sir.
_Mer._ Sing, then.
_Vent._ [_within._] Nay, good sir, open to me.
_Mer._ Sing, I say, or, by the merry heart, you come not in! 85
_Vent._ [_within._] Well, sir, I’ll sing. [_Sings._]
Fortune, my foe, &c.
[MERRYTHOUGHT _opens the Door_: _Enter_ VENTUREWELL.]
_Mer._ You are welcome, sir, you are welcome: you see your
entertainment; pray you, be merry. 90
_Vent._ Oh, Master Merrythought, I’m come to ask you
Forgiveness for the wrongs I offered you
And your most virtuous son! They’re infinite;
Yet my contrition shall be more than they:
I do confess my hardness broke his heart, 95
For which just Heaven hath given me punishment
More than my age can carry. His wand’ring spirit,
Not yet at rest, pursues me every where,
Crying, “I’ll haunt thee for thy cruelty.”
My daughter, she is gone, I know not how, 100
Taken invisible, and whether living
Or in [the] grave, ’tis yet uncertain to me.
Oh, Master Merrythought, these are the weights
Will sink me to my grave! Forgive me, sir.
_Mer._ Why, sir, I do forgive you; and be merry, 105
And if the wag in ’s lifetime play’d the knave,
Can you forgive him too?
_Vent._ With all my heart, sir.
_Mer._ Speak it again, and heartly.
_Vent._ I do, sir;
Now, by my soul, I do.
_Re-enter_ LUCE _and_ JASPER.
_Mer._ [_sings._]
With that came out his paramour; 110
She was as white as the lily flower;
Hey, troul, troly, jolly!
With that came out her own dear knight,
He was as true as ever did fight, &c.
Sir, if you will forgive him, clap their hands (115) together;
there’s no more to be said i’ th’ matter.
_Vent._ I do, I do.
_Cit._ I do not like this. Peace, boys! Hear me, one of you! Every
body’s part is come to an end but Ralph’s, and he’s left out. 121
_Boy._ ’Tis ’long of yourself, sir; we have nothing to do with his
part.
_Cit._ Ralph, come away!—Make [an end][3163] on him, as you have
done of the rest, boys; come. 126
_Wife._ Now, good husband, let him come out and die.
_Cit._ He shall, Nell.—Ralph, come away quickly, and die, boy! 130
_Boy._ ’T will be very unfit he should die, sir, upon no occasion—and
in a comedy too.
_Cit._ Take you no care of that, sir boy; is not his part at an end,
think you, when he’s dead?—Come away, Ralph! 135
_Enter_ RALPH, _with a forked Arrow through his Head_.
_Ralph._ When I was mortal, this my costive corps
Did lap up figs and raisins in the Strand;
Where sitting, I espi’d a lovely dame,
Whose master wrought with lingel[3164] and with awl,
And underground he vamped many a hoot, 140
Straight did her love prick forth me, tender sprig,
To follow feats of arms in warlike wise
Through Waltham-desert; where I did perform
Many achievements, and did lay on ground
Huge Barbaroso, that insulting giant, 145
And all his captives soon set at liberty.
Then honour prickt me from my native soil
Into Moldavia, where I gain’d the love
Of Pompiona, his beloved daughter;
But yet prov’d constant to the black thumb’d maid 150
Susan, and scorned Pompiona’s love;
Yet liberal I was, and gave her pins,
And money for her father’s officers.
I then returned home, and thrust myself
In action, and by all men chosen was 155
Lord of the May, where I did flourish it,
With scarfs and rings, and posy in my hand.
After this action I preferred was,
And chosen city-captain at Mile-End, 159
With hat and feather, and with leading-staff,[3165]
And train’d my men, and brought them all off clear,
Save one man that beray’d him[3166] with the noise.
But all these things I Ralph did undertake
Only for my beloved Susan’s sake.
Then coming home, and sitting in my shop 165
With apron blue, Death came into my stall
To cheapen[3167] _aqua vitae_; but ere I
Could take the bottle down and fill a taste,
Death caught a pound of pepper in his hand,
And sprinkled all my face and body o’er, 170
And in an instant vanished away.
_Cit._ ’T is a pretty fiction, i’ faith.
_Ralph._ Then took I up my bow and shaft in hand,
And walkt into Moorfields to cool myself;
But there grim cruel Death met me again, 175
And shot this forked arrow through my head;
And now I faint; therefore be warn’d by me,
My fellows every one, of forked heads!
Farewell, all you good boys in merry London!
Ne’er shall we more upon Shrove-Tuesday meet, 180
And pluck down houses of iniquity;[3168]—
My pain increaseth—I shall never more
Hold open, whilst another pumps both legs,
Nor daub a satin gown with rotten eggs,
Set up a stake, oh, never more I shall! 185
I die! fly, fly, my soul, to Grocers’ Hall!
Oh, oh, oh, &c.[3169]
_Wife._ Well said, Ralph! do your obeisance to the gentlemen, and go
your ways: well said, Ralph! 190
RALPH [_rises_, _makes obeisance and_] _exit_.
_Mer._ Methinks all we, thus kindly and unexpectedly reconciled,
should not depart[3170] without a song.
_Vent._ A good motion.
_Mer._ Strike up, then! 195
SONG.
Better music ne’er was known
Than a choir of hearts in one.
Let each other, that hath been
Troubled with the gall or spleen,
Learn of us to keep his brow 200
Smooth and plain, as ours are now:
Sing, though before the hour of dying;
He shall rise, and then be crying,
“Hey, ho, ’t is nought but mirth
That keeps the body from the earth!” _Exeunt._ 205
EPILOGUS.
_Cit._ Come, Nell, shall we go? The play ’s done.
_Wife._ Nay, by my faith, George, I have more manners than so; I
’ll speak to these gentlemen first.—I thank you all, gentlemen,
for (210) your patience and countenance to Ralph, a poor fatherless
child; and if I might see you at my house, it should go hard but
I would have a pottle of wine and a pipe of tobacco for you: for,
truly, I hope you do like the youth, but (215) I would be glad to
know the truth; I refer it to your own discretions, whether you
will applaud him or no; for I will wink, and whilst[3171] you shall
do what you will. I thank you with all my heart. God give you good
night!—Come, (220) George. [_Exeunt._]
PHILASTER; OR LOVE LIES A-BLEEDING
BY FRANCIS BEAUMONT AND JOHN FLETCHER
[DRAMATIS PERSONAE
THE KING OF SICILY.
PHILASTER, Heir to the Crown.
PHARAMOND, Prince of Spain.
DION, a Lord.
CLEREMONT, } Noble Gentlemen,
THRASILINE, } his associates.
An Old Captain.
Five Citizens.
A Country Fellow.
Two Woodmen.
The King’s Guard and Train.
ARETHUSA, Daughter of the King.
EUPHRASIA, Daughter of Dion, but disguised like a Page and called
BELLARIO.
MEGRA, a lascivious Lady.
GALATEA, a wise, modest Lady attending the Princess.
Two other Ladies.
SCENE.—_Sicily._][3172]
ACT I
SCENE I.[3173]
_Enter_ DION, CLEREMONT, _and_ THRASILINE.
_Cler._ Here ’s nor lords nor ladies.
_Dion._ Credit me, gentlemen, I wonder at it. They receiv’d strict
charge from the King to attend here; besides, it was boldly published
that no officer should forbid any gentleman (5) that desired to
attend and hear.
_Cle._ Can you guess the cause?
_Dion._ Sir, it is plain, about the Spanish Prince that’s come to
marry our kingdom’s heir and be our sovereign. 10
_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 (15) his own approach, receiv’d so many confident messages
from the state, that I think she’s resolv’d to be rul’d.
_Cle._ Sir, it is thought, with her he shall enjoy both these
kingdoms of Sicily and Calabria.
_Dion._ Sir, it is without controversy so (21) meant. But ’t will
be a troublesome labour for him to enjoy both these kingdoms
with safety, the right heir to one of them living, and living so
virtuously: especially, the people admiring (25) the bravery of his
mind and lamenting his injuries.
_Cle._ Who? Philaster?
_Dion._ Yes; whose father, we all know, was by our late King of
Calabria unrighteously (30) deposed from his fruitful Sicily. Myself
drew some blood in those wars, which I would give my hand to be
washed from.
_Cle._ Sir, my ignorance in state-policy will not let me know why,
Philaster being heir to one (35) of these kingdoms, the King should
suffer him to walk abroad with such free liberty.
_Dion._ Sir, it seems your nature is more constant than to inquire
after state-news. But the King, of late, made a hazard of both the
(40) kingdoms, of Sicily and his own, with offering but to imprison
Philaster; at which the city was in arms, not to be charm’d down by
any state-order or proclamation, till they saw Philaster ride through
the streets pleas’d and (45) without a guard: at which they threw
their hats and their arms from them; some to make bonfires, some to
drink, all for his deliverance: which wise men say is the cause the
King labours to bring in the power of a foreign nation to awe his own
with. 51
_Enter_ GALATEA, _a_ Lady, _and_ MEGRA.
_Thra._ See, the ladies! What ’s the first?
_Dion._ A wise and modest gentlewoman that attends the princess.
_Cle._ The second? 55
_Dion._ She is one that may stand still discreetly enough and
ill-favour’dly dance her measure; simper when she is courted by her
friend, and slight her husband.
_Cle._ The last? 60
_Dion._ Faith, I think she is one whom the state keeps for the agents
of our confederate princes; she’ll cog[3174] and lie with a whole
army, before the league shall break. Her name is common through the
kingdom, and the trophies (65) of her dishonour advanced beyond
Hercules’ Pillars. She loves to try the several constitutions of
men’s bodies; and, indeed, has destroyed the worth of her own body by
making experiment upon it for the good of the (70) commonwealth.
_Cle._ She’s a profitable member.
_Meg._ Peace, if you love me! You shall see these gentlemen stand
their ground and not court us.
_Gal._ What if they should? 75
_La._ What if they should!
_Meg._ Nay, let her alone.—What if they should! Why, if they should,
I say they were never abroad. What foreigner would do so? (79) It
writes them directly untravell’d.
_Gal._ Why, what if they be?
_La._ What if they be!
_Meg._ Good madam, let her go on.—What if they be! Why, if they be,
I will justify, (84) they cannot maintain discourse with a judicious
lady, nor make a leg[3175] nor say “Excuse me.”
_Gal._ Ha, ha, ha!
_Meg._ Do you laugh, madam?
_Dion._ Your desires upon you, ladies!
_Meg._ Then you must sit beside us. 90
_Dion._ I shall sit near you then, lady.
_Meg._ Near me, perhaps; but there’s a lady endures no stranger; and
to me you appear a very strange fellow. 94
_La._ Methinks he ’s not so strange; he would quickly be acquainted.
_Thra._ Peace, the King!
_Enter_ KING, PHARAMOND, ARETHUSA, _and Train_.
_King._ To give a stronger testimony of love
Than sickly promises (which commonly
In princes find both birth and burial 100
In one breath) we have drawn you, worthy sir,
To make your fair endearments to our daughter,
And worthy services known to our subjects,
Now lov’d and wondered at; next, our intent
To plant you deeply our immediate heir 105
Both to our blood and kingdoms. For this lady,
(The best part of your life, as you confirm me,
And I believe,) though her few years and sex
Yet teach her nothing but her fears and blushes,
Desires without desire, discourse and knowledge 110
Only of what herself is to herself,
Make her feel moderate health; and when she sleeps,
In making no ill day, knows no ill dreams.
Think not, dear sir, these undivided parts,
That must mould up a virgin, are put on 115
To show her so, as borrowed ornaments
To speak her perfect love to you, or add
An artificial shadow to her nature,—
No, sir; I boldly dare proclaim her yet
No woman. But woo her still, and think her modesty 120
A sweeter mistress than the offer’d language
Of any dame, were she a queen, whose eye
Speaks common loves and comforts to her servants.[3176]
Last, noble son (for so I now must call you),
What I have done thus public, is not only 125
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. 130
_Thra._ This will be hardly done.
_Cle._ It must be ill done, if it be done.
_Dion._ When ’tis at best, ’t will be but half done, whilst
So brave a gentleman is wrong’d and flung off.
_Thra._ I fear. 135
_Cle._ Who does not?
_Dion._ I fear not for myself, 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 140
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 myself,)
To what a person, of what eminence, 145
Ripe expectation, of what faculties,
Manners and virtues, you would wed your kingdoms;
You in me have your wishes. Oh, this country!
By more than all the gods, I hold it happy; 149
Happy in their dear memories that have been
Kings great and good; happy in yours that is;
And from you (as a chronicle to keep
Your noble name from eating age) do I
Opine myself most, happy. Gentlemen,
Believe me in a word, a prince’s word, 155
There shall he nothing to make up a kingdom
Mighty and flourishing, defenced, fear’d,
Equal to be commanded and obeyed,
But through the travails of my life I’ll find it,
And tie it to this country. By all the gods, 160
My reign shall be so easy to the subject,
That every man shall be his prince himself,
And his own law—yet I his prince and law.
And dearest lady, to your dearest self
(Dear in the choice of him whose name and lustre 165
Must make you more and mightier) let me say,
You are the blessed’st living; for, sweet princess,
You shall enjoy a man of men to be
Your servant; you shall make him yours, for whom
Great queens must die. 170
_Thra._ Miraculous!
_Cle._ This speech calls him Spaniard, being nothing but a large
inventory of his own commendations.
_Dion._ I wonder what’s his price; for certainly 175
He’ll sell himself, he has so prais’d his shape.
_Enter_ PHILASTER.
But here comes one more worthy those large speeches,
Than the large speaker of them.
Let me be swallowed quick, if I can find,
In all the anatomy of yon man’s virtues, 180
One sinew sound enough to promise for him,
He shall be constable. By this sun,
He’ll ne’er make king unless it be of trifles,
In my poor judgment.
_Phi._ [_kneeling._] Right noble sir, as low as my obedience, 185
And with a heart as loyal as my knee,
I beg your favour.
_King._ Rise; you have it, sir. [PHILASTER _rises_.]
_Dion._ Mark but the King, how pale he looks! He fears!
Oh, this same whorson conscience, how it jades us!
_King._ Speak your intents, sir.
_Phi._ Shall I speak ’em freely? 190
Be still my royal sovereign.
_King._ As a subject,
We give you freedom.
_Dion._ Now it heats.
_Phi._ Then thus I turn
My language to you, prince; you, foreign man!
Ne’er stare nor put on wonder, for you must
Endure me, and you shall. This earth you tread upon 195
(A dowry, as you hope, with this fair princess),
By my dead father (oh, I had a father,
Whose memory I bow to!) was not left
To your inheritance, and I up and living—
Having myself about me and my sword, 200
The souls of all my name and memories,
These arms and some few friends beside the gods—
To part so calmly with it, and sit still
And say, “I might have been.” I tell thee, Pharamond, 204
When thou art king, look I be dead and rotten,
And my name ashes:[3177] for, hear me, Pharamond!
This very ground thou goest on, this fat earth,
My father’s friends made fertile with their faiths,
Before that day of shame shall gape and swallow
Thee and thy nation, like a hungry grave, 210
Into her hidden bowels. Prince, it shall:
By the just gods, it shall!
_Pha._ He’s mad; beyond cure, mad.
_Dion._ Here is a fellow has some fire in ’s veins:
The outlandish prince looks like a tooth-drawer.
_Phi._ Sir Prince of popinjays, I’ll make it well 215
Appear to you I am not mad.
_King._ You displease us:
You are too bold.
_Phi._ No, sir, I am too tame,
Too much a turtle, a thing born without passion,
A faint shadow, that every drunken cloud
Sails over, and makes nothing.
_King._ I do not fancy this. 220
Call our physicians; sure, he’s somewhat tainted![3178]
_Thra._ I do not think ’t will prove so.
_Dion._ H’as given him a general purge already,
For all the right he has; and now he means
To let him blood. Be constant, gentlemen: 225
By heaven, I’ll run his hazard,
Although I run my name out of the kingdom!
_Cle._ Peace, we are all one soul.
_Pha._ What you have seen in me to stir offence
I cannot find, unless it be this lady, 230
Offer’d into mine arms with the succession;
Which I must keep, (though it hath pleas’d your fury
To mutiny within you,) without disputing
Your genealogies, or taking knowledge
Whose branch you are. The King will leave it me, 235
And I dare make it mine. You have your answer.
_Phi._ If thou wert sole inheritor to him
That made the world his,[3179] and couldst see no sun
Shine upon any thing but thine; were Pharamond
As truly valiant as I feel him cold, 240
And ring’d amongst the choicest of his friends
(Such as would blush to talk such serious follies,
Or back such bellied[3180] commendations),
And from this presence, spite of all these bugs,[3181]
You should hear further from me. 245
_King._ Sir, you wrong the prince; I gave you not this freedom
To brave our best friends. You deserve our frown.
Go to; be better temper’d.
_Phi._ It must be, sir, when I am nobler us’d.
_Gal._ Ladies, 250
This would have been a pattern of succession,[3182]
Had he ne’er met this mischief. By my life,
He is the worthiest the true name of man
This day within my knowledge.
_Meg._ I cannot tell what you may call your knowledge; 255
But the other is the man set in mine eye.
Oh, ’tis a prince of wax![3183]
_Gal._ A dog it is.[3184]
_King._ Philaster, tell me
The injuries you aim at[3185] in your riddles. 259
_Phi._ If you had my eyes, sir, and sufferance,
My griefs upon you, and my broken fortunes,
My wants great, and now nought but hopes and fears,
My wrongs would make ill riddles to be laught at.
Dare you be still my king, and right me not?
_King._ Give me your wrongs in private.
_Phi._ Take them, 265
And ease me of a load would bow strong Atlas. _They whisper._
_Cle._ 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 crystal, for all men to read their actions 270
through: men’s hearts and faces are so far asunder, that they hold
no intelligence. Do but view yon stranger well, and you shall see a
fever through all his bravery,[3186] and feel him shake like a true
tenant.[3187] If he give not back his (275) crown again upon the
report of an elder-gun, I have no augury.
_King._ Go to;
Be more yourself, as you respect our favour; 279
You ’ll stir us else. Sir, I must have you know,
That y’ are and shall be, at our pleasure, what
Fashion we will put upon you. Smooth your brow,
Or by the gods——
_Phi._ I am dead, sir; y’ are my fate. It was not I
Said, I was wrong’d: I carry all about me 285
My weak stars lead 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 entirely love this prince,
And honour his full virtues!
_King._ Sure, he’s possess’d. 290
_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, these are all my subjects.
’Tis strange he will not let me sleep, but dives
Into my fancy, and there gives me shapes 296
That kneel and do me service, cry me king.
But I’ll suppress him; he’s a factious spirit,
And will undo me.—[_To_ PHAR.] Noble sir, your hand;
I am your servant.
_King._ Away! I do not like this: 300
I’ll make you tamer, or I’ll dispossess you
Both of your life and spirit. For this time
I pardon your wild speech, without so much
As your imprisonment.
_Exeunt_ KING, PHARAMOND, ARETHUSA [_and_ Train].
_Dion._ I thank you, sir; you dare not for the people. 305
_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 complete gentleman? Oh, these strangers, I do
affect[3188] them strangely! They do the rarest (310) home-things,
and please the fullest! As I live, I could love all the nation over
and over for his sake.
_Gal._ Gods comfort your poor head-piece, lady! ’T is a weak one, and
had need of a nightcap. _Exeunt_ Ladies. 315
_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 whey! It stood upon his brow 320
Like a cold winter dew.
_Phi._ Gentlemen,
You have no suit to me? I am no minion.
You stand, methinks, like men that would be courtiers,
If I [3189] could well be flatter’d at a price
Not to undo your children. You’re all honest:
Go, get you home again, and make your country 326
A virtuous court, to which your great ones may,
In their diseased age, retire and live recluse.
_Cle._ How do you, worthy sir?
_Phi._ Well, very well;
And so well that, if the King please you, I find
I may live many years.
_Dion._ The King must please, 331
Whilst we know what you are and who you are,
Your wrongs and virtues.[3190] Shrink not, worthy sir,
But add your father to you; in whose name
We’ll waken all the gods, and conjure up 335
The rods of vengeance, the abused people,
Who, like to raging torrents, shall swell high,
And so begirt the dens of these male-dragons,
That, through the strongest safety, they shall beg
For mercy at your sword’s point.
_Phi._ Friends, no more; 340
Our ears may be corrupted; t is an age
We dare not trust our wills to. Do you love me?
_Thra._ Do we love Heaven and Honour?
_Phi._ My Lord Dion, you had
A virtuous gentlewoman call’d you father; 345
Is she yet alive?
_Dion._ Most honour’d sir, she is;
And, for the penance but of an idle dream
Has undertook a tedious pilgrimage.
_Enter a_ Lady.
_Phi._ Is it to me, or any of these gentlemen, you come?
_Lady._ To you, brave lord; the princess would entreat 350
Your present company.
_Phi._ The princess send for me! You are mistaken.
_Lady._ If you be called Philaster, ’t is to you.
_Phi._ Kiss her fair hand, and say I will attend her. [_Exit_ Lady.]
_Dion._ Do you know what you do? 355
_Phi._ Yes; go to see a woman.
_Cle._ But do you weigh the danger you are in?
_Phi._ Danger in a sweet face!
By Jupiter, I must not fear a woman!
_Thra._ But are you sure it was the princess sent? 360
It may be some foul train to catch your life.
_Phi._ I do not think it, gentlemen; she’s noble.
Her eye may shoot me dead, or those true red
And white friends in her cheeks may steal my soul out; 364
There’s all the danger in ’t. But, be what may,
Her single[3191] name hath arm’d me. _Exit._
_Dion._ Go on,
And be as truly happy as thou ’rt fearless!—
Come, gentlemen, let ’s make our friends acquainted,
Lest the King prove false. _Exeunt._
[SCENE II.][3192]
_Enter_ ARETHUSA _and a_ Lady.
_Are._ Comes he not?
_Lady._ Madam?
_Are._ Will Philaster come?
_Lady._ Dear madam, you were wont to credit me
At first.
_Are._ But didst thou tell me so?
I am forgetful, and my woman’s strength 5
Is so o’ercharg’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?
_Lady._ Why, well. 10
_Are._ And not a little fearful?
_Lady._ 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, 15
As fools in strife throw gold into the sea,
Drown’d in the doing. But, I know he fears.
_Lady._ Fear, madam! Methought, his looks hid more
Of love than fear.
_Are._ Of love! To whom? To you?
Did you deliver those plain words I sent, 20
With such a winning gesture and quick look
That you have caught him?
_Lady._ 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 25
Why she did this or that, but has her ends,
And knows she does well, never gave the world
Two things be so opposite, so contrary
As he and I am: if a bowl of blood
Drawn from this arm of mine would poison thee, 30
A draught of his would cure thee. Of love to me!
_Lady._ Madam, I think I hear him.
_Are._ Bring him in. [_Exit_ Lady.]
You gods, that would not have your dooms withstood,
Whose holy wisdoms at this time it is
To make the passion of a feeble maid 35
The way unto your justice, I obey.
[_Re_]_-enter_ [Lady _with_] PHILASTER.
_Lady._ Here is my Lord Philaster.
_Are._ Oh, ’t is well.
Withdraw yourself. [_Exit_ Lady.]
_Phi._ Madam, your messenger
Made me believe you wish’d to speak with me.
_Are._ ’T is true, Philaster; but the words are such 40
I have to say, and do so ill beseem
The mouth of woman, that I wish them said,
And yet am loth to speak them. Have you known
That I have aught detracted from your worth?
Have I in person wrong’d you, or have set 45
My baser instruments to throw disgrace
Upon your virtues?
_Phi._ Never, madam, you.
_Are._ Why, then, should you, in such a public place,
Injure a princess, and a scandal lay
Upon my fortunes, fam’d to be so great, 50
Calling a great part of my dowry in question?
_Phi._ Madam, this truth which I shall speak will be
Foolish: but, for your fair and virtuous self,
I could afford myself to have no right
To any thing you wish’d.
_Are._ Philaster, know, 55
I must enjoy these kingdoms.
_Phi._ Madam, both?
_Are._ Both, or I die: by heaven, I die, Philaster,
If I not calmly may enjoy them both.
_Phi._ I would do much to save that noble life;
Yet would be loth to have posterity 60
Find in our stories, that Philaster gave
His right unto a sceptre and a crown
To save a lady’s longing.
_Are._ Nay, then, hear:
I must and will have them, and more——
_Phi._ What more?
_Are._ Or lose that little life the gods prepared
To trouble this poor piece of earth withal. 66
_Phi._ Madam, what more?
_Are._ Turn, then, away thy face.
_Phi._ No.
_Are._ Do.
_Phi._ I can endure it. Turn away my face! 70
I never yet saw enemy that lookt
So dreadfully, but that I thought myself
As great a basilisk[3193] as he; or spake
So horrible, but that I thought my tongue
Bore thunder underneath, as much as his; 75
Nor beast that I could turn from. Shall I then
Begin to fear sweet sounds? A lady’s voice,
Whom I do love? Say you would have my life;
Why, I will give it you; for ’t is of me
A thing so loath’d, and unto you that ask 80
Of so poor use, that I shall make no price:
If you entreat, I will unmov’dly hear.
_Are._ Yet, for my sake, a little bend thy looks.
_Phi._ I do.
_Are._ Then know, I must have them and thee.
_Phi._ And me?
_Are._ Thy love; without which, all the land
Discovered yet will serve me for no use 86
But to be buried in.
_Phi._ Is ’t possible?
_Are._ With it, it were too little to bestow
On thee. Now, though thy breath do strike me dead,
(Which, know, it may,) I have unript my breast. 90
_Phi._ Madam, you are too full of noble thoughts,
To lay a train for this contemned life,
Which you may have for asking. To suspect
Were base, where I deserve no ill. Love you!
By all my hopes, I do, above my life! 95
But how this passion should proceed from you
So violently, would amaze a man
That would be jealous.[3194]
_Are._ Another soul into my body shot
Could not have fill’d me with more strength and spirit 100
Than this thy breath. But spend not hasty time
In seeking how I came thus: ’t is the gods,
The gods, that make me so; and, sure, our love
Will be the nobler and the better blest,
In that the secret justice of the gods 105
Is mingled with it. Let us leave, and kiss;
Lest some unwelcome guest should fall betwixt us,
And we should part without it.
_Phi._ ’T will be ill
I should abide here long.
_Are._ ’T is true; and worse
You should come often. How shall we devise
To hold intelligence, that our true loves, 111
On any new occasion, may agree
What path is best to tread?
_Phi._ I have a boy,
Sent by the gods, I hope, to this intent, 114
Not yet seen in the court. Hunting the buck,
I found him sitting by a fountain’s side,
Of which he borrow’d some to quench his thirst,
And paid the nymph again as much in tears.
A garland lay him by, made by himself
Of many several flowers bred in the vale, 120
Stuck in that mystic order that the rareness
Delighted me: but ever when he turn’d
His tender eyes upon ’em, he would weep,
As if he meant to make ’em grow again.
Seeing such pretty helpless innocence 125
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, 129
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 show
What every flower, as country-people hold,
Did signify, and how all, ordered thus,
Exprest his grief; and, to my thoughts, did read 135
The prettiest lecture of his country-art
That could be wisht: so that methought I could
Have studied it. I gladly entertain’d
Him, who was glad to follow; and have got
The trustiest, loving’st, and the gentlest boy 140
That ever master kept. Him will I send
To wait on you, and bear our hidden love.
_Are._ ’T is well; no more.
_Re-enter_ Lady.
_Lady._ Madam, the prince is come to do his service.
_Are._ What will you do, Philaster, with yourself? 145
_Phi._ Why, that which all the gods have pointed out for me.
_Are._ Dear, hide thyself.—
Bring in the prince. [_Exit_ Lady.]
_Phi._ Hide me from Pharamond!
When thunder speaks, which is the voice of God,
Though I do reverence, yet I hide me not; 150
And shall a stranger-prince have leave to brag
Unto 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 myself, 155
Which will for ever on my conscience lie.
_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. 160
[_Re_]_-enter_ [Lady _with_] PHARAMOND.
_Pha._ My princely mistress, as true lovers ought, [_Exit_ Lady.]
I come to kiss these fair hands, and to show,
In outward ceremonies, the dear love
Writ in my heart. 164
_Phi._ If I shall have an answer no directlier,
I am gone.
_Pha._ To what would he have answer?
_Are._ To his claim unto the kingdom.
_Pha._ Sirrah. I forbare you before the King—
_Phi._ Good sir, do be still; I would not talk with you. 170
_Pha._ But now the time is fitter. Do but offer
To make mention of right to any kingdom,
Though it be scarce habitable——
_Phi._ Good sir, let me go.
_Pha._ And by the gods—
_Phi._ Peace, Pharamond! if thou——
_Are._ Leave us, Philaster.
_Phi._ I have done. [_Going._] 175
_Pha._ You are gone! by Heaven I’ll fetch you back.
_Phi._ You shall not need. [_Returning._]
_Pha._ What now?
_Phi._ Know, Pharamond,
I loathe to brawl with such a blast as thou,
Who art nought but a valiant voice; but if
Thou shalt provoke me further, men shall say,
Thou wert, and not lament it.
_Pha._ Do you slight 181
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 were ’t the church, 185
Ay, 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._ ’T is an odd fellow, madam; we must stop 191
His mouth with some office when we are married.
_Are._ You were best make him your controller.
_Pha._ I think he would discharge it well. But, madam,
I hope our hearts are knit; but yet so slow 195
The ceremonies of state are, that ’t will be long
Before our hands be so. If then you please,
Being agreed in heart, let us not wait
For dreaming form, but take a little stolen
Delights, and so prevent[3195] our joys to come. 200
_Are._ If you dare speak such thoughts,
I must withdraw in honour. _Exit._
_Pha._ The constitution of my body will never hold out till the
wedding; I must seek elsewhere. _Exit._ 205
ACT II
SCENE I.[3196]
_Enter_ PHILASTER _and_ BELLARIO.
_Phi._ And thou shalt find her honourable, boy;
Full of regard unto thy tender youth,
For thine own modesty; and, for my sake,
Apter to give than thou wilt be to ask,
Ay, or deserve.
_Bel._ Sir, you did take me up 5
When I was nothing; and only yet am something
By being yours. You trusted me unknown;
And that which you were apt to conster[3197]
A simple innocence in me, perhaps
Might have been craft, the cunning of a boy 10
Hard’ned in lies and theft: yet ventur’d you
To part my miseries and me: for which,
I never can expect to serve a lady
That bears more honour in her breast than you.
_Phi._ But, boy, it will prefer[3198] thee. Thou art young, 15
And bear’st a childish overflowing love
To them that clap thy cheeks and speak thee fair yet;
But when thy judgment comes to rule those passions,
Thou wilt remember best those careful friends
That plac’d thee in the noblest way of life. 20
She is a princess I prefer thee to.
_Bel._ In that small time that I have seen the world,
I never knew a man hasty to part
With a servant he thought trusty. I remember,
My father would prefer the boys he kept 25
To greater men than he; but did it not
Till they were grown too saucy for himself.
_Phi._ Why, gentle boy, I find no fault at all
In thy behaviour.
_Bel._ Sir, if I have made
A fault in ignorance, instruct my youth: 30
I shall be willing, if not apt, to learn;
Age and experience will adorn my mind
With larger knowledge; and if I have done
A wilful fault, think me not past all hope
For once. What master holds so strict a hand 35
Over his boy, that he will part with him
Without one warning? Let me be corrected
To break my stubbornness, if it be so,
Rather than turn me off; and I shall mend. 39
_Phi._ Thy love doth plead so prettily to stay,
That, trust me, I could weep to part with thee.
Alas, I do not turn thee off! Thou knowest
It is my business that doth call thee hence;
And when thou art with her, thou dwell’st with me,
Think so, and ’t is so; and when time is full, 45
That thou hast well discharg’d this heavy trust,
Laid on so weak a one, I will again
With joy receive thee; as I live, I will!
Nay, weep not, gentle boy. ’T is more than time
Thou didst attend the princess.
_Bel._ I am gone. 50
But since I am to part with you, my lord,
And none knows whether I shall live to do
More service for you, take this little prayer:
Heaven bless your loves, your fights, all your designs! 54
May sick men, if they have your wish, be well;
And Heaven hate those you curse, though I be one! _Exit._
_Phi._ The love of boys unto their lords is strange;
I have read wonders of it: yet this boy
For my sake (if a man may judge by looks
And speech) would out-do story. I may see 60
A day to pay him for his loyalty. _Exit._
[SCENE II.][3199]
_Enter_ PHARAMOND.
_Pha._ Why should these ladies stay so long? They must come this way.
I know the queen employs ’em not; for the reverend mother[3200] sent
me word they would all be for the garden. If they should all prove
honest[3201] now, I were (5) in a fair taking; I was never so long
without sport in my life, and, in my conscience, ’t is not my fault.
Oh, for our country ladies!
_Enter_ GALATEA.
Here ’s one bolted; I ’ll hound at her.—Madam!
_Gal._ Your grace!
_Pha._ Shall I not be a trouble?
_Gal._ Not to me, sir. 11
_Pha._ Nay, nay, you are too quick. By this sweet hand——
_Gal._ You’ll be forsworn, sir; ’t is but an old glove.
If you will talk at distance, I am for you:
But, good prince, be not bawdy, nor do not brag; 15
These two I bar;
And then, I think, I shall have sense enough
To answer all the weighty apophthegms
Your royal blood shall manage.
_Pha._ Dear lady, can you love? 20
_Gal._ Dear prince! how dear? I ne’er cost you a coach yet, nor put
you to the dear repentance of a banquet. Here’s no scarlet, sir, to
blush the sin out it was given for. This wire mine own hair covers;
and this face has (25) been so far from being dear to any, that it
ne’er cost penny painting; and, for the rest of my poor wardrobe,
such as you see, it leaves no hand[3202] behind it, to make the
jealous mercer’s wife curse our good doings. 30
_Pha._ You mistake me, lady.
_Gal._ Lord, I do so; would you or I could help it!
[_Pha._ You’re very dangerous bitter, like a potion.
_Gal._ No, sir, I do not mean to purge you, though
I mean to purge a little time on you.][3203] 35
_Pha._ Do ladies of this country use to give
No more respect to men of my full being?
_Gal._ Full being! I understand you not, unless your grace means
growing to fatness; and then your only remedy (upon my knowledge, 40
prince) is, in a morning, a cup of neat white wine brewed with
carduus,[3204] then fast till supper; about eight you may eat; use
exercise, and keep a sparrow-hawk; you can shoot in a tiller:[3205]
but, of all, your grace must fly phlebotomy,[3206] (45) fresh pork,
conger,[3207] and clarified whey; they are all duller of the vital
spirits.
_Pha._ Lady, you talk of nothing all this while.
_Gal._ ’T is very true, sir; I talk of you. 49
_Pha._ [_Aside._] This is a crafty wench; I like her wit well; ’t
will be rare to stir up a leaden appetite. She’s a Danaë, and must be
courted in a shower of gold.—Madam, look here; all these, and more
than—— 54
_Gal._ What have you there, my lord? Gold! now, as I live, ’t is fair
gold! You would have silver for it, to play with the pages. You could
not have taken me in a worse time; but, if you have present use, my
lord, I’ll send my man with silver and keep your gold for you. 60
_Pha._ Lady, lady!
_Gal._ She’s coming, sir, behind, will take white money.—
[_Aside._] Yet for all this I’ll match ye. _Exit behind the hangings._
_Pha._ If there be but two such more in this kingdom, and near the
court, we may even (65) hang up our harps. Ten such camphire[3208]
constitutions as this would call the golden age again in question,
and teach the old way for every ill-fac’d husband to get his own
children; and what a mischief that would breed, let all consider! 71
_Enter_ MEGRA.
Here’s another: if she be of the same last, the devil shall pluck her
on.—Many fair mornings, lady!
_Meg._ As many mornings bring as many days,
Fair, sweet and hopeful to your grace! 76
_Pha._ [_Aside._] She gives good words yet; sure this wench is
free.—[3209]
If your more serious business do not call you,
Let me hold quarter with you; we will talk
An hour out quickly.
_Meg._ What would your grace talk of? 80
_Pha._ Of some such pretty subject as yourself:
I’ll go no further than your eye, or lip;
There ’s theme enough for one man for an age.
_Meg._ Sir, they stand right, and my lips are yet even,
Smooth, young enough, ripe enough, and red enough, 85
Or my glass wrongs me.
_Pha._ Oh, they are two twinn’d cherries dy’d in blushes
Which those fair suns above with their bright beams
Reflect upon and ripen. Sweetest beauty,
Bow down those branches, that the longing taste 90
Of the faint looker-on may meet those blessings.
And taste and live. _They kiss._
_Meg._ [_Aside._] Oh, delicate sweet prince!
She that hath snow enough about her heart
To take the wanton spring of ten such lines off,
May be a nun without probation.—Sir, 95
You have in such neat poetry gathered a kiss,
That if I had but five lines of that number,
Such pretty begging blanks,[3210] I should commend
Your forehead or your cheeks, and kiss you too.
_Pha._ Do it in prose; you cannot miss it, madam. 100
_Meg._ I shall, I shall.
_Pha._ By my life, but you shall not;
I’ll prompt you first. [_Kisses her._] Can you do it now?
_Meg._ Methinks ’t is easy, now you ha’ done ’t before me;
But yet I should stick at it. [_Kisses him._]
_Pha._ Stick till to-morrow;
I’ll ne’er part you, sweetest. But we lose time:
Can you love me? 106
_Meg._ Love you, my lord! How would you have me love you?
_Pha._ I’ll teach you in a short sentence, ’cause I will not load
your memory; this is all: love me, and lie with me. 110
_Meg._ Was it “lie with you” that you said? ’T is impossible.
_Pha._ Not to a willing mind, that will endeavour. If I do not teach
you to do it as easily in one night as you’ll go to bed, I’ll lose my
royal blood for ’t. 116
_Meg._ Why, prince, you have a lady of your own
That yet wants teaching.
_Pha._ I’ll sooner teach a mare the old measures[3211] than teach her
anything belonging to (120) the function. She’s afraid to lie with
herself if she have but any masculine imaginations about her. I know,
when we are married, I must ravish her.
_Meg._ By mine honour, that’s a foul fault, indeed; 125
But time and your good help will wear it out, sir.
_Pha._ And for any other I see, excepting your dear self, dearest
lady, I had rather be Sir Tim the schoolmaster, and leap a
dairy-maid, madam. 130
_Meg._ Has your grace seen the court-star, Galatea?
_Pha._ Out upon her! She’s as cold of her favour as an apoplex; she
sail’d by but now.
_Meg._ And how do you hold her wit, sir? 135
_Pha._ I hold her wit? The strength of all the guard cannot hold it,
if they were tied to it; she would blow ’em out of the kingdom. They
talk of Jupiter; he’s but a squib-cracker to her: look well about
you, and you may find a tongue-bolt. (140) But speak, sweet lady,
shall I be freely welcome.
_Meg._ Whither?
_Pha._ To your bed. If you mistrust my faith, you do me the unnoblest
wrong. 145
_Meg._ I dare not, prince, I dare not.
_Pha._ Make your own conditions, my purse shall seal ’em, and what
you dare imagine you can want, I’ll furnish you withal. Give two
hours to your thoughts every morning about it. Come I know you are
bashful; 151
Speak in my ear, will you be mine? Keep this,
And with it, me: soon I will visit you.
_Meg._ My lord, my chamber’s most unsafe; but when ’tis night, 154
I’ll find some means to slip into your lodging;
Till when——
_Pha._ Till when, this and my heart go with thee!
_Exeunt several ways._
_Re-enter_ GALATEA _from behind the hangings._
_Gal._ Oh, thou pernicious petticoat prince! are these your virtues?
Well, if I do not lay a train to blow your sport up, I am no woman:
and, Lady Towsabel, I’ll fit you for ’t. _Exit._ 160
[SCENE III.][3212]
_Enter_ ARETHUSA _and a_ Lady.
_Are._ Where’s the boy?
_Lady._ Within, madam.
_Are._ Gave you him gold to buy him clothes?
_Lady._ I did.
_Are._ And has he done ’t? 5
_Lady._ Yes, madam.
_Are._ ’Tis a pretty sad-talking boy, is it not?
Asked you his name?
_Lady._ No, madam. 9
_Enter_ GALATEA.
_Are._ Oh, you are welcome. What good news?
_Gal._ As good as any one can tell your grace,
That says she has done that you would have wish’d.
_Are._ Hast thou discovered?
_Gal._ I have strain’d a point of modesty for you.
_Are._ I prithee, how? 15
_Gal._ In list’ning after bawdry. I see, let a lady live never so
modestly, she shall be sure to find a lawful time to hearken after
bawdry. Your prince, brave Pharamond, was so hot on ’t! 20
_Are._ With whom?
_Gal._ Why, with the lady I suspected. I can tell the time and place.
_Are._ Oh, when, and where?
_Gal._ To-night, his lodging. 25
_Are._ Run thyself into the presence; mingle there again
With other ladies; leave the rest to me. [_Exit_ Galatea.]
If destiny (to whom we dare not say,
“Why didst thou this?”) have not decreed it so,
In lasting leaves (whose smallest characters 30
Were never alter’d yet), this match shall break.—
Where’s the boy?
_Lady._ Here, madam.
_Enter_ BELLARIO.
_Are._ Sir, you are sad to change your service; is ’t not so?
_Bel._ Madam, I have not chang’d; I wait on you, 35
To do him service.
_Are._ Thou disclaim’st in me.
Tell me thy name.
_Bel._ Bellario.
_Are._ Thou canst sing and play?
_Bel._ If grief will give me leave, madam, I can. 40
_Are._ Alas, what kind of grief can thy years know?
Hadst thou a curst master when thou went’st to school?
Thou art not capable of other grief:
Thy brows and cheeks are smooth as waters be
When no breath troubles them. Believe me, boy, 45
Care seeks out wrinkled brows and hollow eyes,
And builds himself caves, to abide in them
Come, sir, tell me truly, doth your lord love me?
_Bel._ Love, madam! I know not what it is.
_Are._ Canst thou know grief, and never yet knew’st love? 50
Thou art deceiv’d, boy. Does he speak of me
As if he wish’d me well?
_Bel._ If it be love
To forget all respect of his own friends
With thinking of your face; if it be love
To sit cross-arm’d and sigh away the day, 55
Mingled with starts, crying your name as loud
And hastily as men i’ the streets do fire;
If it be love to weep himself away
When he but hears of any lady dead
Or kill’d, because it might have been your chance; 60
If, when he goes to rest (which will not be),
’Twixt every prayer he says, to name you once,
As others drop a bead, be to be in love.
Then, madam, I dare swear he loves you.
_Are._ Oh you’re a cunning boy, and taught to lie 65
For your lord’s credit! But thou know’st a lie
That bears this sound is welcomer to me
Than any truth that says he loves me not.
Lead the way, boy.—[_To_ Lady.] Do you attend me too.— 69
’T is thy lord’s business hastes me thus. Away! _Exeunt._
[SCENE IV.][3213]
_Enter_ DION, CLEREMONT, THRASILINE, MEGRA, _and_ GALATEA.
_Dion._ Come, ladies, shall we talk a round? As men
Do walk a mile, women should talk an hour
After supper: ’tis their exercise.
_Gal._ ’T is late.
_Meg._ ’T is all 5
My eyes will do to lead me to my bed.
_Gal._ I fear, they are so heavy, you’ll scarce find
The way to your own lodging with ’em to-night.
_Enter_ PHARAMOND.
_Thra._ The prince!
_Pha._ Not a-bed, ladies? You’re good sitters-up. 10
What think you of a pleasant dream, to last
Till morning?
_Meg._ I should choose, my lord, a pleasing wake before it.
_Enter_ ARETHUSA _and_ BELLARIO.
_Are._ ’T is well, my lord; you’re courting of these ladies.—
Is ’t not late, gentlemen? 15
_Cle._ Yes, madam.
_Are._ Wait you there. _Exit._
_Meg._ [_Aside._] She’s jealous, as I live.—Look you, my lord.
The princess has a Hylas, an Adonis.
_Pha._ His form is angel-like. 20
_Meg._ Why, this is he that must, when you are wed,
Sit by your pillow, like young Apollo, with
His hand and voice binding your thoughts in sleep,
The princess does provide him for you and for herself.
_Pha._ I find no music in these boys.
_Meg._ Nor I: 25
They can do little, and that small they do,
They have not wit to hide.
_Dion._ Serves he the princess?
_Thra._ Yes.
_Dion._ ’T is a sweet boy: how brave[3214] she keeps him!
_Pha._ Ladies all, good rest; I mean to kill a buck
To-morrow morning ere you’ve done your dreams. 30
_Meg._ All happiness attend your grace!
[_Exit_ PHARAMOND.] Gentlemen, good rest.–
Come, shall we go to bed?
_Gal._ Yes.—All good night.
_Dion._ May your dreams be true to you!—_Exeunt_ GALATEA _and_ MEGRA.
What shall we do, gallants? ’t is late. The King
Is up still: see, he comes; a guard along 35
With him.
_Enter_ KING, ARETHUSA, _and_ Guard.
_King._ Look your intelligence be true.
_Are._ Upon my life, it is; and I do hope
Your highness will not tie me to a man
That in the heat of wooing throws me off,
And takes another.
_Dion._ What should this mean? 40
_King._ If it be true,
That lady had been better have embrac’d
Cureless diseases. Get you to your rest:
You shall be righted.
_Exeunt_ ARETHUSA _and_ BELLARIO.
—Gentlemen, draw near;
We shall employ you. Is young Pharamond 45
Come to his lodging?
_Dion._ I saw him enter there.
_King._ Haste, some of you, and cunningly discover
If Megra be in her lodging. [_Exit_ DION.]
_Cle._ Sir,
She parted hence but now, with other ladies. 50
_King._ If she be there, we shall not need to make
A vain discovery of our suspicion.
[_Aside._] You gods. I see that who unrighteously
Holds wealth or state from others shall be curst
In that which meaner men are blest withal: 55
Ages to come shall know no male of him
Left to inherit, and his name shall be
Blotted from earth; if he have any child,
It shall be crossly match’d; the gods themselves
Shall sow wild strife betwixt her lord and her.
Yet, if it be your wills, forgive the sin 61
I have committed; let it not fall
Upon this understanding child of mine!
She has not broke your laws. But how can I
Look to be heard of gods that must be just, 65
Praying upon the ground I hold by wrong?
_Re-enter_ DION.
_Dion._ Sir, I have asked, and her women swear she is within; but
they, I think, are bawds. I told ’em, I must speak with her; they
laught, and said, their lady lay speechless. I said, (70) my business
was important; they said, their lady was about it. I grew hot, and
cried, my business was a matter that concern’d life and death; they
answered, so was sleeping, at which their lady was. I urg’d again,
she had scarce (75) time to be so since last I saw her: they smil’d
again, and seem’d to instruct me that sleeping was nothing but lying
down and winking.[3215] Answers more direct I could not get: in
short, sir, I think she is not there. 80
_King._ ’Tis then no time to dally.—You o’ the guard,
Wait at the back door of the prince’s lodging,
And see that none pass thence, upon your lives. [_Exeunt_ Guards.]
Knock, gentlemen; knock loud; louder yet.
[DION, CLER., &c. _knock at the door of_ PHARAMOND’S _Lodging_.]
What, has their pleasure taken off their hearing?— 85
I’ll break your meditations.—Knock again.—
Not yet? I do not think he sleeps, having this
Larum by him.—Once more.—Pharamond! prince!
PHARAMOND [_appears_] _above_.
_Pha._ What saucy groom knocks at this dead of night?
Where be our waiters? By my vexed soul, 90
He meets his death that meets me, for his boldness.
_King._ Prince, prince, you wrong your thoughts; we are your friends:
Come down.
_Pha._ The King!
_King._ The same, sir. Come down, sir:
We have cause of present counsel with you.
_Pha._ If your grace please 95
To use me, I’ll attend you to your chamber.
_Enter_ PHARAMOND _below_.
_King._ No, ’tis too late, prince; I’ll make bold with yours.
_Pha._ I have some private reasons to myself
Makes me unmannerly, and say you cannot.— _They press to come in._
Nay, press not forward, gentlemen; he must 100
Come through my life that comes here.
_King._ Sir, be resolv’d[3216] I must and will come.—Enter.
_Pha._ I will not be dishonour’d.
He that enters, enters upon his death.
Sir, ’t is a sign you make no stranger of me, 105
To bring these renegadoes to my chamber
At these unseasoned hours.
_King._ Why do you
Chafe yourself so? You are not wrong’d nor shall be;
Only I’ll search your lodging, for some cause
To ourself known.—Enter, I say.
_Pha._ I say, no. 110
_Enter_ MEGRA _above_.
_Meg._ Let ’em enter, prince, let ’em enter;
I am up and ready:[3217] I know their business;
’Tis the poor breaking of a lady’s honour
They hunt so hotly after; let ’em enjoy it.— 114
You have your business, gentlemen; I lay here.
Oh, my lord the King, this is not noble in you
To make public the weakness of a woman!
_King._ Come down.
_Meg._ I dare, my lord. Your hootings and your clamours, 119
Your private whispers and your broad fleerings,
Can no more vex my soul than this base carriage.[3218]
But I have vengeance yet in store for some
Shall, in the most contempt you can have of me,
Be joy and nourishment.
_King._ Will you come down?
_Meg._ Yes, to laugh at your worst; but I shall wring you, 125
If my skill fail me not. [_Exit above._]
_King._ Sir, I must dearly chide you for this looseness;
You have wrong’d a worthy lady; but, no more.—
Conduct him to my lodging and to bed.
[_Exeunt_ PHARAMOND _and_ Attendants.]
_Cle._ Get him another wench, and you bring
him to bed indeed. 131
_Dion._ ’Tis strange a man cannot ride a stage
Or two, to breathe himself, without a warrant.
If his gear hold, that lodgings be search’d thus,
Pray God we may lie with our own wives in safety, 135
That they be not by some trick of state mistaken!
_Enter_ [Attendants] _with_ MEGRA [_below_].
_King._ Now, lady of honour, where ’s your honour now?
No man can fit your palate but the prince.
Thou most ill-shrouded rottenness, thou piece
Made by a painter and a ’pothecary, 140
Thou troubled sea of lust, thou wilderness
Inhabited by wild thoughts, thou swoln cloud
Of infection, thou ripe mine of all diseases,
Thou all-sin, all-hell, and last, all-devils, tell me,
Had you none to pull on with your courtesies 145
But he that must be mine, and wrong my daughter?
By all the gods, all these, and all the pages,
And all the court, shall hoot thee through the court,
Fling rotten oranges, make ribald rhymes,
And sear thy name with candles upon walls! 150
Do you laugh, Lady Venus?
_Meg._ Faith, sir, you must pardon me;
I cannot choose but laugh to see you merry.
If you do this, O King! nay, if you dare do it,
By all those gods you swore by, and as many 155
More of my own, I will have fellows, and such
Fellows in it, as shall make noble mirth!
The princess, your dear daughter, shall stand by me
On walls, and sung in ballads, any thing. 159
Urge me no more; I know her and her haunts,
Her lays, leaps, and outlays, and will discover all;
Nay, will dishonour her. I know the boy
She keeps; a handsome boy, about eighteen;
Know what she does with him, where, and when. 164
Come, sir, you put me to a woman’s madness,
The glory of a fury; and if I do not
Do ’t to the height——
_King._ What boy is this she raves at?
_Meg._ Alas! good-minded prince, you know not these things!
I am loth to reveal ’em. Keep this fault,
As you would keep your health from the hot air 170
Of the corrupted people, or, by Heaven,
I will not fall alone. What I have known
Shall be as public as a print; all tongues
Shall speak it as they do the language they
Are born in, as free and commonly; I ’ll set it,
Like a prodigious[3219] star, for all to gaze at, 176
And so high and glowing, that other kingdoms far and foreign
Shall read it there, nay, travel with it, till they find
No tongue to make it more, nor no more people;
And then behold the fall of your fair princess!
_King._ Has she a boy? 181
_Cle._ So please your grace, I have seen a boy wait
On her, a fair boy.
_King._ Go, get you to your quarter:
For this time I will study to forget you.
_Meg._ Do you study to forget me, and I’ll study 185
To forget you. _Exeunt_ KING, MEGRA, _and_ Guard.
_Cle._ Why, here ’s a male spirit fit for Hercules. If ever there be
Nine Worthies of women, this wench shall ride astride and be their
captain. 190
_Dion._ Sure, she has a garrison of devils in her tongue, she
uttered such balls of wild-fire. She has so nettled the King, that
all the doctors in the country will scarce cure him. That boy was a
strange-found-out antidote to cure her (195) infection; that boy,
that princess’ boy; that brave, chaste, virtuous lady’s boy; and a
fair boy, a well-spoken boy! All these considered, can make nothing
else—but there I leave you, gentlemen. 200
_Thra._ Nay, we’ll go wander with you. _Exeunt._
ACT III
SCENE I.[3220]
_Enter_ DION, CLEREMONT, _and_ THRASILINE.
_Cle._ Nay, doubtless, ’t is true.
_Dion._ Ay; and ’t is the gods
That rais’d this punishment, to scourge the King
With his own issue. Is it not a shame
For us that should write noble in the land, 5
For us that should he freemen, to behold
A man that is the bravery of his age,
Philaster, prest down from his royal right
By this regardless King? and only look
And see the sceptre ready to be cast 10
Into the hands of that lascivious lady
That lives in lust with a smooth boy, now to be married
To yon strange prince, who, but that people please
To let him be a prince, is born a slave
In that which should be his most noble part, 15
His mind?
_Thra._ That man that would not stir with you
To aid Philaster, let the gods forget
That such a creature walks upon the earth!
_Cle._ Philaster is too backward in ’t himself.
The gentry do await it, and the people, 20
Against their nature, are all bent for him,
And like a field of standing corn, that ’s moved
With a stiff gale, their heads bow all one way.
_Dion._ The only cause that draws Philaster back
From this attempt is the fair princess’ love, 25
Which he admires, and we can now confute.
_Thra._ Perhaps he ’ll not believe it.
_Dion._ Why, gentlemen, ’t is without question so.
_Cle._ Ay, ’t is past speech she lives dishonestly.
But how shall we, if he be curious,[3221] work 30
Upon his faith?
_Thra._ We all are satisfied within ourselves.
_Dion._ Since it is true, and tends to his own good,
I’ll make this new report to be my knowledge;
I’ll say I know it; nay, I ’ll swear I saw it. 35
_Cle._ It will be best.
_Thra._ ’T will move him.
_Enter_ PHILASTER.
_Dion._ Here he comes.
Good morrow to your honour: we have spent
Some time in seeking you.
_Phi._ My worthy friends,
You that can keep your memories to know
Your friend in miseries, and cannot frown 40
On men disgrac’d for virtue, a good day
Attend you all! What service may I do
Worthy your acceptation?
_Dion._ My good lord,
We come to urge that virtue, which we know
Lives in your breast, forth. Rise, and make a head;[3222] 45
The nobles and the people are all dull’d
With this usurping king; and not a man,
That ever heard the word, or knew such a thing
As virtue, but will second your attempts.
_Phi._ How honourable is this love in you 50
To me that have deserv’d none! Know, my friends,
(You, that were born to shame your poor Philaster
With too much courtesy.) I could afford
To melt myself in thanks: but my designs
Are not yet ripe. Suffice it, that ere long 55
I shall employ your loves; but yet the time
Is short of what I would.
_Dion._ The time is fuller, sir, than you expect;
That which hereafter will not, perhaps, be reach’d
By violence, may now be caught. As for the King, 60
You know the people have long hated him;
But now the princess, whom they lov’d——
_Phi._ Why, what of her?
_Dion._ Is loath’d as much as he.
_Phi._ By what strange means?
_Dion._ She ’s known a whore.
_Phi._ Thou liest.
_Dion._ My lord——- 65
_Phi._ Thou liest,
_Offers to draw and is held._
And thou shalt feel it! I had thought thy mind
Had been of honour. Thus to rob a lady
Of her good name is an infectious sin
Not to be pardon’d. Be it false as hell, 70
’T will never be redeem’d, if it be sown
Amongst the people, fruitful to increase
All evil they shall hear. Let me alone
That I may cut off falsehood whilst it springs!
Set hills on hills betwixt me and the man 75
That utters this, and I will scale them all,
And from the utmost top fall on his neck,
Like thunder from a cloud.
_Dion._ This is most strange:
Sure, he does love her.
_Phi._ I do love fair truth.
She is my mistress, and who injures her 80
Draws vengeance from me. Sirs, let go my arms.
_Thra._ Nay, good my lord, be patient.
_Cle._ Sir, remember this is your honour’d friend,
That comes to do his service, and will show you
Why he utter’d this.
_Phi._ I ask your pardon, sir; 85
My zeal to truth made me unmannerly:
Should I have heard dishonour spoke of you,
Behind your back, untruly, I had been
As much distemper’d and enrag’d as now.
_Dion._ But this, my lord, is truth.
_Phi._ Oh, say not so! 90
Good sir, forbear to say so: ’t is then truth,
That womankind is false: urge it no more;
It is impossible. Why should you think
The princess light?
_Dion._ Why, she was taken at it. 94
_Phi._ ’T is false! by Heaven, ’t is false! It cannot be!
Can it? Speak, gentlemen; for God’s love, speak!
Is ’t possible? Can women all be damn’d?
_Dion._ Why, no, my lord.
_Phi._ Why, then, it cannot be.
_Dion._ And she was taken with her boy.
_Phi._ What boy? 99
_Dion._ A page, a boy that serves her.
_Phi._ Oh, good gods!
A little boy?
_Dion._ Ay; know you him my lord?
_Phi._ [_Aside._] Hell and sin know him!—Sir, you are deceiv’d:
I’ll reason it a little coldly with you.
If she were lustful, would she take a boy,
That knows not yet desire? She would have one 105
Should meet her thoughts and know the sin he acts,
Which is the great delight of wickedness.
You are abus’d,[3223] and so is she, and I.
_Dion._ How you, my lord?
_Phi._ Why, all the world ’s abus’d 109
In an unjust report.
_Dion._ Oh, noble sir, your virtues
Cannot look into the subtle thoughts of woman!
In short, my lord, I took them; I myself.
_Phi._ Now, all the devils, thou didst! Fly from my rage!
Would thou hadst ta’en devils engend’ring plagues,
When thou did’st take them! Hide thee from mine eyes! 115
Would thou hadst taken thunder on thy breast,
When thou didst take them; or been strucken dumb
For ever; that this foul deed might have slept
In silence!
_Thra._ Have you known him so ill-temper’d?
_Cle._ Never before.
_Phi._ The winds that are let loose 120
From the four several corners of the earth,
And spread themselves all over sea and land,
Kiss not a chaste one. What friend bears a sword
To run me thorough?
_Dion._ Why, my lord, are you
So mov’d at this?
_Phi._ When any fall from virtue, 125
I am distract; I have an interest in ’t.
_Dion._ But, good my lord, recall yourself, and think
What’s best to be done.
_Phi._ I thank you; I will do it.
Please you to leave me; I’ll consider of it.
To-morrow I will find your lodging forth, 130
And give you answer.
_Dion._ All the gods direct you
The readiest way!
_Thra._ He was extreme impatient.
_Cle._ It was his virtue and his noble mind.
_Exeunt_ DION, CLEREMONT, _and_ THRASILINE.
_Phi._ I had forgot to ask him where he took them;
I’ll follow him. Oh that I had a sea 135
Within my breast, to quench the fire I feel!
More circumstances will but fan this fire:
It more afflicts me now, to know by whom
This deed is done, than simply that ’t is done;
And he that tells me this is honourable, 140
As far from lies as she is far from truth.
Oh, that, like beasts, we could not grieve ourselves
With that we see not! Bulls and rams will fight
To keep their females standing in their sight;
But take ’em from them, and you take at once 145
Their spleens away; and they will fall again
Unto to their pastures, growing fresh and fat,
And taste the waters of the springs as sweet
As ’t was before, finding no start in sleep; 149
But miserable man——
_Enter_ BELLARIO.
See, see, you gods,
He walks still; and the face you let him wear
When he was innocent is still the same,
Not blasted! Is this justice? Do you mean
To intrap mortality, that you allow
Treason so smooth a brow? I cannot now 155
Think he is guilty.
_Bel._ Health to you, my lord!
The princess doth commend her love, her life,
And this, unto you. _Gives a letter._
_Phi._ Oh, Bellario,
Now I perceive she loves me: she does show it
In loving thee, my boy, she has made thee brave. 160
_Bel._ My lord, she has attir’d me past my wish,
Past my desert; more fit for her attendant,
Though far unfit for me who do attend.
_Phi._ Thou art grown courtly, boy.—Oh, let all women, 164
That love black deeds, learn to dissemble here,
Here, by this paper! She does write to me
As if her heart were mines of adamant
To all the world besides; but, unto me,
A maiden-snow that melted with my looks.—
Tell me, my boy, how doth the princess use thee? 170
For I shall guess her love to me by that.
_Bel._ Scarce like her servant, but as if I were,
Something allied to her, or had preserv’d
Her life three times by my fidelity;
As mothers fond do use their only sons, 175
As I ’d use one that’s left unto my trust,
For whom my life should pay if he met harm,
So she does use me.
_Phi._ Why, this is wondrous well:
But what kind language does she feed thee with?
_Bel._ Why, she does tell me she will trust my youth 180
With all her loving secrets, and does call me
Her pretty servant; bids me weep no more
For leaving you; she ’ll see my services
Regarded: and such words of that soft strain
That I am nearer weeping when she ends 185
Than ere she spake.
_Phi._ This is much better still.
_Bel._ Are you not ill, my lord?
_Phi._ Ill? No, Bellario.
_Bel._ Methinks your words
Fall not from off your tongue so evenly.
Nor is there in your looks that quietness 190
That I was wont to see.
_Phi._ Thou art deceiv’d, boy:
And she strokes thy head?
_Bel._ Yes.
_Phi._ And she does clap thy cheeks?
_Bel._ She does, my lord.
_Phi._ And she does kiss thee, boy? ha!
_Bel._ How, my lord? 194
_Phi._ She kisses thee?
_Bel._ Never, my lord, by heaven.
_Phi._ That ’s strange, I know she does.
_Bel._ No, by my life.
_Phi._ Why then she does not love me. Come, she does.
I bade her do it; I charg’d her, by all charms
Of love between us, by the hope of peace
We should enjoy, to yield thee all delights 200
Naked as to her bed; I took her oath
Thou shouldst enjoy her. Tell me, gentle boy,
Is she not parallelless? Is not her breath
Sweet as Arabian winds when fruits are ripe?
Are not her breasts two liquid ivory balls? 205
Is she not all a lasting mine of joy?
_Bel._ Ay, now I see why my disturbed thoughts
Were so perplex’d. When first I went to her,
My heart held augury. You are abus’d;
Some villain has abus’d you; I do see 210
Whereto you tend. Fall rocks upon his head
That put this to you! ’T is some subtle train
To bring that noble frame of yours to nought.
_Phi._ Thou think’st I will be angry with thee. Come, 214
Thou shalt know all my drift. I hate her more
Than I love happiness, and plac’d thee there
To pry with narrow eyes into her deeds.
Hast thou discovered? Is she fallen to lust,
As I would wish her? Speak some comfort to me.
_Bel._ My lord, you did mistake the boy you sent. 220
Had she the lust of sparrows or of goats,
Had she a sin that way, bid from the world,
Beyond the name of lust, I would not aid
Her base desires; but what I came to know
As servant to her, I would not reveal, 225
To make my life last ages.
_Phi._ Oh, my heart!
This is a salve worse than the main disease.—
Tell me thy thoughts; for I will know the least
That dwells within thee, or will rip thy heart
To know it. I will see thy thoughts as plain 230
As I do now thy face.
_Bel._ Why, so you do.
She is (for aught I know) by all the gods,
As chaste as ice! But were she foul as hell,
And I did know it thus, the breath of kings,
The points of swords, tortures, nor bulls of brass, 235
Should draw it from me.
_Phi._ Then it is no time
To dally with thee; I will take thy life,
For I do hate thee. I could curse thee now.
_Bel._ If you do hate, you could not curse me worse;
The gods have not a punishment in store 240
Greater for me than is your hate.
_Phi._ Fie, fie,
So young and so dissembling! Tell me when
And where thou didst enjoy her, or let plagues
Fall on me, if I destroy thee not! _Draws his sword._
_Bel._ By heaven, I never did; and when I lie 245
To save my life, may I live long and loath’d!
Hew me asunder, and, whilst I can think,
I’ll love those pieces you have cut away
Better than those that grow, and kiss those limbs 249
Because you made ’em so.
_Phi._ Fear’st thou not death?
Can boys contemn that?
_Bel._ Oh, what boy is he
Can be content to live to be a man,
That sees the best of men thus passionate,
Thus without reason?
_Phi._ Oh, but thou dost not know
What ’t is to die.
_Bel._ Yes, I do know, my lord: 255
’T is less than to be born; a lasting sleep;
A quiet resting from all jealousy,
A thing we all pursue. I know, besides,
It is but giving over a game 259
That must be lost.
_Phi._ But there are pains, false boy,
For perjur’d souls. Think but on those, and then
Thy heart will melt, and thou wilt utter all.
_Bel._ May they fall all upon me whilst I live,
If I be perjur’d, or have ever thought
Of that you charge me with! If I be false, 265
Send me to suffer in those punishments
You speak of; kill me!
_Phi._ Oh, what should I do?
Why, who can but believe him? He does swear
So earnestly, that if it were not true,
The gods would not endure him. Rise, Bellario: 270
Thy protestations are so deep, and thou
Dost look so truly when thou utter’st them,
That, though I know ’em false as were my hopes,
I cannot urge thee further. But thou wert
To blame to injure me, for I must love 275
Thy honest looks, and take no revenge upon
Thy tender youth. A love from me to thee
Is firm, whate’er thou dost; it troubles me
That I have call’d the blood out of thy cheeks,
That did so well become thee. But, good boy,
Let me not see thee more: something is done 281
That will distract me, that will make me mad,
If I behold thee. If thou tender’st me,
Let me not see thee.
_Bel._ I will fly as far
As there is morning, ere I give distaste 285
To that most honour’d mind. But through these tears,
Shed at my hopeless parting, I can see
A world of treason practis’d upon you,
And her, and me. Farewell for evermore! 289
If you shall hear that sorrow struck me dead,
And after find me loyal, let there be
A tear shed from you in my memory,
And I shall rest in peace. _Exit._
_Phi._ Blessing be with thee,
Whatever thou deserv’st! Oh, where shall I
Go bathe this body? Nature too unkind; 295
That made no medicine for a troubled mind! _Exit._
[SCENE II.][3224]
_Enter_ ARETHUSA.
_Are._ I marvel my boy comes not back again:
But that I know my love will question him
Over and over,—how I slept, wak’d, talk’d,
How I rememb’red him when his dear name
Was last spoke, and how when I sigh’d, wept, sung, 5
And ten thousand such,—I should be angry at his stay.
_Enter_ KING.
_King._ What, at your meditations! Who attends you?
_Are._ None but my single self. I need no guard;
I do no wrong, nor fear none.
_King._ Tell me, have you not a boy?
_Are._ Yes, sir. 10
_King._ What kind of boy?
_Are._ A page, a waiting-boy.
_King._ A handsome boy?
_Are._ I think he be not ugly:
Well qualified and dutiful I know him;
I took him not for beauty.
_King._ He speaks and sings and plays?
_Are._ Yes, sir. 15
_King._ About eighteen?
_Are._ I never ask’d his age.
_King._ Is he full of service?
_Are._ By your pardon, why do you ask?
_King._ Put him away.
_Are._ Sir!
_King._ Put him away, I say.
H’as done you that good service shames me to speak of. 20
_Are._ Good sir, let me understand you.
_King._ If you fear me,
Show it in duty; put away that boy.
_Are._ Let me have reason for it, sir, and then
Your will is my command.
_King._ Do not you blush to ask it? Cast him off, 25
Or I shall do the same to you. You’re one
Shame with me, and so near unto myself,
That, by my life, I dare not tell myself
What you, myself, have done.
_Are._ What have I done, my lord? 30
_King._ ’T is a new language, that all love to learn:
The common people speak it well already;
They need no grammar. Understand me well;
There be foul whispers stirring. Cast him off,
And suddenly. Do it! Farewell. _Exit._ 35
_Are._ Where may a maiden live securely free,
Keeping her honour fair? Not with the living.
They feed upon opinions, errors, dreams,
And make ’em truths; they draw a nourishment
Out of defamings, grow upon disgraces, 40
And, when they see a virtue fortified
Strongly above the batt’ry of their tongues,
Oh, how they cast[3225] to sink it! and, defeated,
(Soul-sick with poison) strike the monuments 44
Where noble names lie sleeping, till they sweat,
And the cold marble melt.
_Enter_ PHILASTER.
_Phi._ Peace to your fairest thoughts, dearest mistress!
_Are._ Oh, my dearest servant,[3226] I have a war within me!
_Phi._ He must be more than man that makes these crystals
Run into rivers. Sweetest fair, the cause? 50
And, as I am your slave, tied to your goodness,
Your creature, made again from what I was
And newly-spirited, I’ll right your honour.
_Are._ Oh, my best love, that boy?
_Phi._ What boy?
_Are._ The pretty boy you gave me——
_Phi._ What of him? 55
_Are._ Must be no more mine.
_Phi._ Why?
_Are._ They are jealous of him.
_Phi._ Jealous! Who?
_Are._ The King.
_Phi._ [_Aside._] Oh, my misfortune!
Then ’tis no idle jealousy.—Let him go.
_Are._ Oh, cruel!
Are you hard-hearted too? Who shall now tell you 60
How much I lov’d you? Who shall swear it to you,
And weep the tears I send? Who shall now bring you
Letters, rings, bracelets? Lose his health in service?
Wake tedious nights in stories of your praise?
Who shall now sing your crying elegies, 65
And strike a sad soul into senseless pictures,
And make them mourn? Who shall take up his lute,
And touch it till he crown a silent sleep
Upon my eye-lids, making me dream, and cry,
“Oh, my dear, dear Philaster!”
_Phi._ [_Aside._] Oh, my heart! 70
Would he had broken thee, that made me know
This lady was not loyal!—Mistress,
Forget the boy; I’ll get thee a far better.
_Are._ Oh, never, never such a boy again
As my Bellario!
_Phi._ ’Tis but your fond affection. 75
_Are._ With thee, my boy, farewell for ever
All secrecy in servants! Farewell, faith,
And all desire to do well for itself!
Let all that shall succeed thee for thy wrongs
Sell and betray chaste love! 80
_Phi._ And all this passion for a boy?
_Are._ He was your boy, and you put him to me,
And the loss of such must have a mourning for.
_Phi._ Oh, thou forgetful woman!
_Are._ How, my lord?
_Phi._ False Arethusa! 85
Hast thou a medicine to restore my wits,
When I have lost ’em? If not, leave to talk,
And do thus.
_Are._ Do what, sir? Would you sleep?
_Phi._ For ever, Arethusa. Oh, you gods
Give me a worthy patience! Have I stood, 90
Naked, alone, the shock of many fortunes?
Have I seen mischiefs numberless and mighty
Grow like a sea upon me? Have I taken
Danger as stern as death into my bosom,
And laught upon it, made it but a mirth, 95
And flung it by? Do I live now like him,
Under this tyrant King, that languishing
Hears his sad bell and sees his mourners? Do I
Bear all this bravely, and must sink at length
Under a woman’s falsehood? Oh, that boy, 100
That cursed boy! None but a villain boy
To ease your lust?
_Are._ Nay, then, I am betrayed:
I feel the plot cast for my overthrow.
Oh, I am wretched!
_Phi._ Now you may take that little right I have 105
To this poor kingdom. Give it to your joy;
For I have no joy in it. Some far place,
Where never womankind durst set her foot
For[3227] bursting with her poisons, must I seek,
And live to curse you; 110
There dig a cave, and preach to birds and beasts
What woman is, and help to save them from you;
How heaven is in your eyes, but in your hearts
More hell than hell has; how your tongues, like scorpions,
Both heal and poison;[3228] how your thoughts are woven 115
With thousand changes in one subtle web,
And worn so by you; how that foolish man,
That reads the story of a woman’s face
And dies believing it, is lost for ever;
How all the good you have is but a shadow, 120
I’ the morning with you, and at night behind you.
Past and forgotten; how your vows are frosts,
Fast for a night, and with the next sun gone;
How you are, being taken all together,
A mere confusion, and so dead a chaos, 125
That love cannot distinguish. These sad texts,
Till my last hour, I am bound to utter of you.
So, farewell all my woe, all my delight! _Exit._
_Are._ Be merciful, ye gods, and strike me dead!
What way have I deserv’d this? Make my breast 130
Transparent as pure crystall, that the world,
Jealous of me, may see the foulest thought
My heart holds. Where shall a woman turn her eyes,
To find out constancy?
_Enter_ BELLARIO.
Save me, how black
And guiltily, methinks, that boy looks now! 135
Oh, thou dissembler, that, before thou spak’st,
Wert in thy cradle false, sent to make lies
And betray innocents! Thy lord and thou
May glory in the ashes of a maid
Fool’d by her passion; but the conquest is 140
Nothing so great as wicked. Fly away!
Let my command force thee to that which shame
Would do without it. If thou understood’st
The loathed office thou hast undergone,
Why, thou wouldst hide thee under heaps of hills, 145
Lest men should dig and find thee.
_Bel._ Oh, what god,
Angry with men, hath sent this strange disease
Into the noblest minds! Madam, this grief
You add unto me is no more than drops 149
To seas, for which they are not seen to swell.
My lord hath struck his anger through my heart,
And let out all the hope of future joys.
You need not bid me fly; I came to part,
To take my latest leave. Farewell for ever!
I durst not run away in honesty 155
From such a lady, like a boy that stole
Or made some grievous fault. The power of gods
Assist you in your sufferings! Hasty time
Reveal the truth to your abused lord
And mine, that he may know your worth; whilst I 160
Go seek out some forgotten place to die! _Exit._
_Are._ Peace guide thee! Thou hast overthrown me once;
Yet, if I had another Troy to lose,
Thou, or another villain with thy looks, 164
Might talk me out of it, and send me naked,
My hair dishevell’d, through the fiery streets.
_Enter a_ Lady.
_Lady._ Madam, the King would hunt, and calls for you
With earnestness.
_Are._ I am in tune to hunt!
Diana, if thou canst rage with a maid
As with a man,[3229] let me discover thee 170
Bathing, and turn me to a fearful hind,
That I may die pursued by cruel hounds,
And have my story written in my wounds! _Exeunt._
ACT IV
SCENE I.[3230]
_Enter_ KING, PHARAMOND, ARETHUSA, GALATEA, MEGRA, DION, CLEREMONT,
THRASILINE, _and_ Attendants.
_King._ What, are the hounds before and all the woodmen?
Our horses ready and our bows bent?
_Dion._ All, sir.
_King._ [_to_ PHARAMOND.] You are cloudy, sir. Come, we have forgotten
Your venial trepass; let not that sit heavy
Upon your spirit; here’s none dare utter it. 5
_Dion._ He looks like an old surfeited stallion, dull as a dormouse.
See how he sinks! The wench has shot him between wind and water, and,
I hope, sprung a leak.
_Thra._ He needs no teaching, he strikes (10) sure enough. His
greatest fault is, he hunts too much in the purlieus; would he would
leave off poaching!
_Dion._ And for his horn, h’as left it at the lodge where he lay
late. Oh, he ’s a precious (15) limehound![3231] Turn him loose upon
the pursuit of a lady, and if he lose her, hang him up i’ the slip.
When my fox-bitch Beauty grows proud, I ’ll borrow him.
_King._ Is your boy turn’d away? 20
_Are._ You did command, sir, and I obey’d you.
_King._ ’Tis well done. Hark ye further. [_They talk apart._]
_Cle._ Is ’t possible this fellow should repent? Methinks, that were
not noble in him; and (25) yet he looks like a mortified member,
as if he had a sick man’s salve[3232] in ’s mouth. If a worse man
had done this fault now, some physical[3233] justice or other would
presently (without the help of an almanack[3234]) have opened the
obstructions (30) of his liver, and let him blood with a dog-whip.
_Dion._ See, see how modestly yon lady looks, as if she came from
churching with her neighbours! Why, what a devil can a man see in 35
her face but that she ’s honest![3235]
_Thra._ Faith, no great matter to speak of; a foolish twinkling with
the eye, that spoils her coat;[3236] but he must be a cunning herald
that finds it. 40
_Dion._ See how they muster one another! Oh, there’s a rank regiment
where the devil carries the colours and his dam drum-major! Now the
world and the flesh come behind with the carriage.[3237] 45
_Cle._ Sure this lady has a good turn done her against her will;
before she was common talk, now none dare say cantharides[3238] can
stir her. Her face looks like a warrant, willing and commanding all
tongues, as they will answer it, (50) to be tied up and bolted when
this lady means to let herself loose. As I live, she has got her a
goodly protection and a gracious; and may use her body discreetly for
her health’s sake, once a week, excepting Lent and dog-days. Oh, 55
if they were to be got for money, what a great sum would come out of
the city for these licences!
_King._ To horse, to horse! we lose the morning, gentlemen.
_Exeunt._ 60
[SCENE II.][3239]
_Enter two_ Woodmen.
_1 Wood._ What, have you lodged the deer?
_2 Wood._ Yes, they are ready for the bow.
_1 Wood._ Who shoots?
_2 Wood._ The princess.
_1 Wood._ No, she ’ll hunt.
_2 Wood._ She ’ll take a stand, I say.
_1 Wood._ Who else?
_2 Wood._ Why, the young stranger-prince.
_1 Wood._ He shall shoot in a stone-bow[3240] for me. I never lov’d
his beyond-sea-ship since (10) he forsook the say,[3241] for paying
ten shillings. He was there at the fall of a deer, and would needs
(out of his mightiness) give ten groats for the dowcets; marry, his
steward would have the velvet-head[3242] into the bargain, to 15
turf[3243] his hat withal. I think he should love venery; he is an
old Sir Tristrem; for, if you be rememb’red, he forsook the stag once
to strike a rascal[3244] miching[3245] in a meadow, and her he kill’d
in the eye. Who shoots else? 20
_2 Wood._ The Lady Galatea.
_1 Wood._ That ’s a good wench, an she would not chide us for
tumbling of her women in the brakes. She ’s liberal, and by the Gods,
they say she ’s honest, and whether that be a (25) fault, I have
nothing to do. There ’s all?
_2 Wood._ No, one more; Megra.
_1 Wood._ That ’s a firker,[3246] i’ faith, boy. There ’s a wench
will ride her haunches as hard after a kennel of hounds as a hunting
(30) saddle, and when she comes home, get ’em clapt, and all is well
again. I have known her lose herself three times in one afternoon (if
the woods have been answerable),[3247] and it has been work enough
for one man to find her, and (35) he has sweat for it. She rides well
and she pays well. Hark! let’s go. _Exeunt._
_Enter_ PHILASTER.
_Phi._ Oh, that I had been nourish’d in these woods
With milk of goats and acorns, and not known
The right of crowns nor the dissembling trains
Of women’s looks; but digg’d myself a cave 41
Where I, my fire, my cattle, and my bed,
Might have been shut together in one shed;
And then had taken me some mountain-girl,
Beaten with winds, chaste as the hard’ned rocks 45
Whereon she dwelt, that might have strewed my bed
With leaves and reeds, and with the skins of beasts,
Our neighbours, and have borne at her big breasts
My large coarse issue! This had been a life
Free from vexation.
_Enter_ BELLARIO.
_Bel._ Oh, wicked men! 50
An innocent may walk safe among beasts;
Nothing assaults me here. See, my griev’d lord
Sits as his soul were searching out a way
To leave his body!—Pardon me, that must
Break thy last commandment; for I must speak. 55
You that are griev’d can pity; hear, my lord!
_Phi._ Is there a creature yet so miserable,
That I can pity?
_Bel._ Oh, my noble lord,
View my strange fortune, and bestow on me,
According to your bounty (if my service 60
Can merit nothing), so much as may serve
To keep that little piece I hold of life
From cold and hunger!
_Phi._ Is it thou? Be gone!
Go, sell those misbeseeming clothes thou wear’st,
And feed thyself with them. 65
_Bel._ Alas, my lord, I can get nothing for them!
The silly country-people think ’t is treason
To touch such gay things.
_Phi._ Now, by the gods, this is
Unkindly done, to vex me with thy sight.
Thou ’rt fallen again to thy dissembling trade;
How shouldest thou think to cozen me again? 71
Remains there yet a plague untried for me?
Even so thou wept’st, and lookt’st, and spok’st when first
I took thee up.
Curse on the time! If thy commanding tears 75
Can work on any other, use thy art;
I ’ll not betray it. Which way wilt thou take,
That I may shun thee, for thine eyes are poison
To mine, and I am loth to grow in rage?
This way, or that way? 80
_Bel._ Any will serve; but I will choose to have
That path in chase that leads unto my grave. _Exeunt severally._
_Enter_ [_on one side_] DION, _and_ [_on the other_] _the two_ Woodmen.
_Dion._ This is the strangest sudden chance!—You, woodmen!
_1 Wood._ My lord Dion?
_Dion._ Saw you a lady come this way on a sable horse studded with
stars of white? 85
_1 Wood._ Was she not young and tall?
_Dion._ Yes. Rode she to the wood or to the plain?
_2 Wood._ Faith, my lord, we saw none. _Exeunt Woodmen._
_Dion._ Pox of your questions then!
_Enter_ CLEREMONT.
What, is she found?
_Cle._ Nor will be, I think. 90
_Dion._ Let him seek his daughter himself. She cannot stray about a
little necessary natural business, but the whole court must be in
arms. When she has done, we shall have peace.
_Cle._ There’s already a thousand fatherless (95) tales amongst
us. Some say, her horse ran away with her; some, a wolf pursued her;
others, ’t was a plot to kill her, and that arm’d men were seen in
the wood: but questionless she rode away willingly. 100
_Enter_ KING _and_ THRASILINE.
_King._ Where is she?
_Cle._ Sir, I cannot tell.
_King._ How’s that?
Answer me so again!
_Cle._ Sir, shall I lie?
_King._ Yes, lie and damn, rather than tell me that,
I say again, where is she? Mutter not!—
Sir, speak you; where is she?
_Dion._ Sir, I do not know. 105
_King._ Speak that again so boldly, and, by Heaven,
It is thy last!—You, fellows, answer me;
Where is she? Mark me, all; I am your king:
I wish to see my daughter; show her me;
I do command you all, as you are subjects, 110
To show her me! What! am I not your king?
If ay, then am I not to be obeyed?
_Dion._ Yes, if you command things possible and honest.
_King._ Things possible and honest! Hear me, thou,—
Thou traitor, that dar’st confine thy King to things 115
Possible and honest! Show her me,
Or, let me perish, if I cover not
All Sicily with blood!
_Dion._ Faith, I cannot,
Unless you tell me where she is.
_King._ You have betray’d me; you have let me lose 120
The jewel of my life. Go, bring her to me,
And set her here before me. ’Tis the king
Will have it so; whose breath can still the winds,
Uncloud the sun, charm down the swelling sea,
And stop the floods of heaven. Speak, can it not? 125
_Dion._ No.
_King._ No! cannot the breath of kings do this?
_Dion._ No; nor smell sweet itself, if once the lungs
Be but corrupted.
_King._ Is it so? Take heed!
_Dion._ Sir, take you heed how you dare the powers
That must be just.
_King._ Alas! what are we kings! 130
Why do you gods place us above the rest,
To be serv’d, flatter’d, and ador’d, till we
Believe we hold within our hands your thunder?
And when we come to try the power we have,
There’s not a leaf shakes at our threat’nings.
I have sinn’d, ’tis true, and here stand to be punish’d; 136
Yet would not thus be punish’d. Let me choose
My way, and lay it on!
_Dion._ [_Aside._] He articles with the gods. Would somebody would
draw bonds for the performance of covenants betwixt them! 141
_Enter_ PHARAMOND, GALATEA, _and_ MEGRA.
_King._ What, is she found?
_Pha._ No; we have ta’en her horse;
He gallopt empty by. There is some treason.
You, Galatea, rode with her into the wood;
Why left you her?
_Gal._ She did command me. 145
_King._ Command! you should not.
_Gal._ ’Twould ill become my fortunes and my birth
To disobey the daughter of my king.
_King._ You ’re all cunning to obey us for our hurt;
But I will have her.
_Pha._ If I have her not, 150
By this hand, there shall be no more Sicily.
_Dion._ [_Aside._] What, will he carry it to Spain in ’s pocket?
_Pha._ I will not leave one man alive, but the king,
A cook, and a tailor. 154
_Dion._ [_Aside._] Yes; you may do well to spare your lady-bedfellow;
and her you may keep for a spawner.
_King._ [_Aside._] I see the injuries I have done must be reveng’d.
_Dion._ Sir, this is not the way to find her out.
_King._ Run all, disperse yourselves. The man that finds her, 160
Or (if she be kill’d) the traitor, I’ll make him great.
_Dion._ I know some would give five thousand pounds to find her.
_Pha._ Come, let us seek.
_King._ Each man a several way; here I myself.
_Dion._ Come, gentlemen, we here. 165
_Cle._ Lady, you must go search too.
_Meg._ I had rather be search’d myself. _Exeunt_ [_severally_].
[SCENE III.][3248]
_Enter_ ARETHUSA.
_Are._ Where am I now? Feet, find me out a way,
Without the counsel of my troubled head.
I’ll follow you boldly about these woods,
O’er mountains, thorough brambles, pits, and floods.
Heaven, I hope, will ease me: I am sick. _Sits down._ 5
_Enter_ BELLARIO.
_Bel._ [_Aside._] Yonder ’s my lady. God knows I want nothing,
Because I do not wish to live; yet I
Will try her charity.—Oh hear, you have plenty!
From that flowing store drop some on dry ground.—See,
The lively red is gone to guard her heart! 10
I fear she faints.—Madam, look up!—She breathes not.—
Open once more those rosy twins, and send
Unto my lord your latest farewell!—Oh, she stirs.—
How is it, Madam? Speak comfort.
_Are._ ’T is not gently done,
To put me in a miserable life, 15
And hold me there. I prithee, let me go;
I shall do best without thee; I am well.
_Enter_ PHILASTER.
_Phi._ I am to blame to be so much in rage.
I ’ll tell her coolly when and where I heard
This killing truth. I will be temperate 20
In speaking, and as just in hearing.——
Oh, monstrous! Tempt me not, you gods! good gods,
Tempt not a frail man! What ’s he, that has a heart,
But he must ease it here!
_Bel._ My lord, help, help! The princess! 25
_Are._ I am well: forbear.
_Phi._ [_Aside._] Let me love lightning, let me be embrac’d
And kist by scorpions, or adore the eyes
Of basilisks, rather than trust the tongues
Of hell-bred women! Some good god look down, 30
And shrink these veins up! Stick me here a stone,
Lasting to ages in the memory
Of this damn’d act!—Hear me, you wicked ones!
You have put hills of fire into this breast,
Not to be quench’d with tears; for which may guilt 35
Sit on your bosoms! At your meals and beds
Despair await you! What, before my face?
Poison of asps between your lips! Diseases
Be your best issues! Nature make a curse,
And throw it on you!
_Are._ Dear Philaster, leave 40
To be enrag’d, and hear me.
_Phi._ I have done;
Forgive my passion. Not the calmed sea,
When Aeolus locks up his windy brood,
Is less disturb’d than I. I ’ll make you know ’t.
Dear Arethusa, do but take this sword, _Offers his drawn sword._ 45
And search how temperate a heart I have;
Then you and this your boy may live and reign
In lust without control.—Wilt thou, Bellario?
I prithee kill me; thou art poor, and may’st 49
Nourish ambitious thoughts; when I am dead,
Thy way were freer. Am I raging now?
If I were mad, I should desire to live.
Sirs,[3249] feel my pulse, whether you have known
A man in a more equal tune to die.
_Bel._ Alas, my lord, your pulse keeps madman’s time! 55
So does your tongue.
_Phi._ You will not kill me, then?
_Are._ Kill you!
_Bel._ Not for the world.
_Phi._ I blame not thee,
Bellario; thou hast done but that which gods
Would have transform’d themselves to do. Be gone,
Leave me without reply; this is the last 60
Of all our meetings—(_Exit_ BELLARIO.) Kill me with this sword;
Be wise, or worse will follow: we are two
Earth cannot bear at once. Resolve to do,
Or suffer. 64
_Are._ If my fortune be so good to let me fall
Upon thy hand, I shall have peace in death.
Yet tell me this, will there be no slanders,
No jealousy in the other world; no ill there?
_Phi._ No.
_Are._ Show me, then, the way. 70
_Phi._ Then guide my feeble hand,
You that have power to do it, for I must
Perform a piece of justice!—If your youth
Have any way offended Heaven, let prayers
Short and effectual reconcile you to it. 75
_Are._ I am prepared.
_Enter a_ Country Fellow.
_C. Fell._ I ’ll see the King, if be he in the forest; I have hunted
him these two hours. If I should come home and not see him, my
sisters would laugh at me. I can see nothing (80) but people better
hors’d than myself, that outride me; I can hear nothing but shouting.
These kings had need of good brains; this whooping is able to put a
mean man out of his wits. There ’s a courtier with his sword 85
drawn; by this hand, upon a woman, I think!
_Phi._ Are you at peace?
_Are._ With heaven and earth.
_Phi._ May they divide thy soul and body! _Wounds her._
_C. Fell._ Hold, dastard! strike a woman! Thou ’rt a craven. I
warrant thee, thou (90) wouldst be loth to play half a dozen
venies[3250] at wasters[3251] with a good fellow for a broken head.
_Phi._ Leave us, good friend.
_Are._ What ill-bred man art thou, to intrude thyself
Upon our private sports, our recreation? 95
_C. Fell._ God ’uds[3252] me, I understand you not; but
I know the rogue has hurt you.
_Phi._ Pursue thy own affairs: it will be ill
To multiply blood upon my head; which thou
Wilt force me to. 100
_C. Fell._ I know not your rhetoric; but I can lay it on, if you
touch the woman.
_Phi._ Slave, take what thou deservest! _They fight._
_Are._ Heavens guard my lord!
_C. Fell._ Oh, do you breathe? 104
_Phi._ I hear the tread of people. I am hurt.
The gods take part against me: could this boor
Have held me thus else? I must shift for life,
Though I do loathe it. I would find a course
To lose it rather by my will than force. _Exit._
_C. Fell._ I cannot follow the rogue. I pray thee, wench, come and
kiss me now. 111
_Enter_ PHARAMOND, DION, CLEREMONT, THRASILINE, _and_ Woodmen.
_Pha._ What art thou?
_C. Fell._ Almost kill’d I am for a foolish woman; a knave has hurt
her. 114
_Pha._ The princess, gentlemen!—Where ’s the wound, madam! Is it
dangerous?
_Are._ He has not hurt me.
_C. Fell._ By God, she lies; h’as hurt her in the breast;
Look else.
_Pha._ O sacred spring of innocent blood!
_Dion._ ’T is above wonder! Who should dare this? 120
_Are._ I felt it not.
_Pha._ Speak, villain, who has hurt the princess?
_C. Fell._ Is it the princess?
_Dion._ Ay.
_C. Fell._ Then I have seen something yet. 125
_Pha._ But who has hurt her?
_C. Fell._ I told you, a rogue; I ne’er saw him before, I.
_Pha._ Madam, who did it?
_Are._ Some dishonest wretch;
Alas, I know him not, and do forgive him!
_C. Fell._ He ’s hurt too; he cannot go far; (130) I made my father’s
old fox[3253] fly about his ears.
_Pha._ How will you have me kill him?
_Are._ Not at all; ’t is some distracted fellow.
_Pha._ By this hand, I ’ll leave ne’er a piece of him bigger than a
nut, and bring him (135) all to you in my hat.
_Are._ Nay, good sir.
If you do take him, bring him quick[3254] to me,
And I will study for a punishment
Great as his fault. 140
_Pha._ I will.
_Are._ But swear.
_Pha._ By all my love, I will.——
Woodmen, conduct the princess to the King,
And bear that wounded fellow to dressing.——
Come, gentlemen, we ’ll follow the chase close.
_Exeunt_ [_on one side_] PHARAMOND, DION, CLEREMONT, _and_ THRASILINE;
[_exit on the other_] ARETHUSA [_attended by_] 1 Woodman.
_C. Fell._ I pray you, friend, let me see (145) the King.
_2 Wood._ That you shall, and receive thanks.
_C. Fell._ If I get clear with this, I ’ll go see no more gay sights.
_Exeunt._ 150
[SCENE IV.][3255]
_Enter_ BELLARIO.
_Bel._ A heaviness near death sits on my brow,
And I must sleep. Bear me, thou gentle bank,
For ever, if thou wilt. You sweet ones all, [_Lies down._]
Let me unworthy press you; I could wish
I rather were a corse strew’d o’er with you 5
Than quick above you. Dulness[3256] shuts mine eyes,
And I am giddy: oh, that I could take
So sound a sleep that I might never wake! [_Sleeps._]
_Enter_ PHILASTER.
_Phi._ I have done ill; my conscience calls me false
To strike at her that would not strike at me. 10
When I did fight, methought I heard her pray
The gods to guard me. She may be abus’d,
And I a loathed villain; if she be,
She will conceal who hurt her. He has wounds
And cannot follow; neither knows he me. 15
Who ’s this? Bellario sleeping! If thou be’st
Guilty, there is no justice that thy sleep
Should be so sound, and mine, whom thou hast wrong’d,
So broken. (_Cry within._) Hark! I am pursued. You gods
I ’ll take this offer’d means of my escape. 20
They have no mark to know me but my blood,
If she be true; if false, let mischief light
On all the world at once! Sword, print my wounds
Upon this sleeping boy! I ha’ none, I think,
Are mortal, nor would I lay greater on thee. _Wounds Bellario._ 25
_Bel._ Oh. death, I hope, is come! Blest be that hand!
It meant me well. Again, for pity’s sake!
_Phi._ I have caught myself; _Falls._
The loss of blood hath stay’d my flight. Here, here, 29
Is he that struck thee: take thy full revenge;
Use me, as I did mean thee, worse than death;
I ’ll teach thee to revenge. This luckless hand
Wounded the princess; tell my followers[3257]
Thou didst receive these hurts in staying me,
And I will second thee; get a reward. 35
_Bel._ Fly, fly, my lord, and save yourself!
_Phi._ How ’s this?
Wouldst thou I should be safe?
_Bel._ Else were it vain
For me to live. These little wounds I have
Ha’ not bled much. Reach me that noble hand;
I ’ll help to cover you.
_Phi._ Art thou then true to me? 40
_Bel._ Or let me perish loath’d! Come, my good lord,
Creep in amongst those bushes; who does know
But that the gods may save your much-lov’d breath?
_Phi._ Then I shall die for grief, if not for this,
That I have wounded thee. What wilt thou do? 45
_Bel._ Shift for myself well. Peace! I hear ’em come.
[PHILASTER _creeps into a bush_.]
[_Voices_] _within._ Follow, follow, follow! that way they went.
_Bel._ With my own wounds I ’ll bloody my own sword.
I need not counterfeit to fall; Heaven knows
That I can stand no longer. _Falls._ 50
_Enter_ PHARAMOND, DION, CLEREMONT, _and_ THRASILINE.
_Pha._ To this place we have trackt him by his blood.
_Cle._ Yonder, my lord, creeps one away.
_Dion._ Stay, sir! what are you?
_Bel._ A wretched creature, wounded in these woods 54
By beasts. Relieve me, if your names be men,
Or I shall perish.
_Dion._ This is he, my lord,
Upon my soul, that hurt her. ’T is the boy.
That wicked boy, that serv’d her.
_Pha._ Oh, thou damn’d
In thy creation! What cause couldst thou shape
To hurt the princess?
_Bel._ Then I am betrayed. 60
_Dion._ Betrayed! No, apprehended,
_Bel._ I confess,
(Urge it no more) that, big with evil thoughts
I set upon her, and did make my aim,
Her death. For charity let fall at once
The punishment you mean, and do not load 65
This weary flesh with tortures.
_Pha._ I will know
Who hir’d thee to this deed.
_Bel._ Mine own revenge.
_Pha._ Revenge! for what?
_Bel._ It pleas’d her to receive
Me as her page and, when my fortunes ebb’d,
That men strid o’er them careless, she did shower 70
Her welcome graces on me, and did swell
My fortunes till they overflow’d their banks,
Threat’ning the men that crost ’em; when, as swift
As storms arise at sea, she turn’d her eyes
To burning suns upon me, and did dry 75
The streams she had bestow’d, leaving me worse
And more contemn’d than other little brooks,
Because I had been great. In short, I knew
I could not live, and therefore did desire
To die reveng’d.
_Pha._ If tortures can be found 80
Long as thy natural life, resolve to feel
The utmost rigour. PHILASTER _creeps out of the bush._
_Cle._ Help to lead him hence.
_Phi._ Turn back, you ravishers of innocence!
Know ye the price of that you bear away
So rudely?
_Pha._ Who ’s that?
_Dion._ ’T is the Lord Philaster. 85
_Phi._ ’T is not the treasure of all kings in one,
The wealth of Tagus, nor the rocks of pearl
That pave the court of Neptune, can weigh down
That virtue. It was I that hurt the princess.
Place me, some god, upon a pyramis[3258] 90
Higher than hills of earth, and lend a voice
Loud as your thunder to me, that from hence
I may discourse to all the under-world
The worth that dwells in him!
_Pha._ How ’s this?
_Bel._ My lord, some man
Weary of life, that would he glad to die. 95
_Phi._ Leave these untimely courtesies, Bellario.
_Bel._ Alas, he ’s mad! Come, will you lead me on?
_Phi._ By all the oaths that men ought most to keep,
And gods to punish most when men do break,
He touch’d her not.—Take heed, Bellario, 100
How thou dost drown the virtues thou hast shown
With perjury.—By all that ’s good, ’t was I!
You know she stood betwixt me and my right.
_Pha._ Thy own tongue be thy judge!
_Cle._ It was Philaster.
_Dion._ Is ’t not a brave boy? 105
Well, sirs, I fear me we were all deceived.
_Phi._ Have I no friend here?
_Dion._ Yes.
_Phi._ Then show it: some
Good body lend a hand to draw us nearer.
Would you have tears shed for you when you die?
Then lay me gently on his neck, that there 110
I may weep floods and breathe forth my spirit.
’T is not the wealth of Plutus, nor the gold [_Embraces Bel_.]
Lockt in the heart of earth, can buy away
This arm-full from me; this had been a ransom 114
To have redeem’d the great Augustus Cæsar,
Had he been taken. You hard-hearted men,
More stony than these mountains, can you see
Such clear pure blood drop, and not cut your flesh
To stop his life, to bind whose bitter wounds.
Queens ought to tear their hair, and with their tears 120
Bathe ’em?—Forgive me, thou that art the wealth
Of poor Philaster!
_Enter_ KING, ARETHUSA, _and_ Guard.
_King._ Is the villain ta’en?
_Pha._ Sir, here be two confess the deed; but sure
It was Philaster.
_Phi._ Question it no more;
It was.
_King._ The fellow that did fight with him, 125
Will tell us that.
_Are._ Aye me! I know he will.
_King._ Did not you know him?
_Are._ Sir, if it was he,
He was disguis’d.
_Phi._ I was so.—Oh, my stars,
That I should live still. _Aside._
_King._ Thou ambitious fool,
Thou that hast laid a train for thy own life!—
Now I do mean to do, I’ll leave to talk. 131
Bear them to prison.
_Are._ Sir, they did plot together to take hence
This harmless life; should it pass unreveng’d,
I should to earth go weeping. Grant me, then,
By all the love a father bears his child, 135
Their custodies, and that I may appoint
Their tortures and their deaths.
_Dion._ Death! Soft; our law will not reach that for this fault.
_King._ ’T is granted; take ’em to you with a guard.— 140
Come, princely Pharamond, this business past,
We may with security go on
To your intended match.
[_Exeunt all except_ DION, CLEREMONT, _and_ THRASILINE.]
_Cle._ I pray that this action lose not Philaster the hearts of the
people. 145
_Dion._ Fear it not; their over-wise heads will think it but a trick.
_Exeunt._
ACT V
SCENE I.[3259]
_Enter_ DION, CLEREMONT, _and_ THRASILINE.
_Thra._ Has the King sent for him to death?
_Dion._ Yes; but the King must know ’t is not in his power to war
with Heaven.
_Cle._ We linger time; the King sent for Philaster and the headsman
an hour ago. 5
_Thra._ Are all his wounds well?
_Dion._ All; they were but scratches; but the loss of blood made him
faint.
_Cle._ We dally, gentlemen.
_Thra._ Away! 10
_Dion._ We’ll scuffle hard before we perish.
_Exeunt._
[SCENE II.][3260]
_Enter_ PHILASTER, ARETHUSA, _and_ BELLARIO.
_Are._ Nay, faith, Philaster, grieve not; we are well.
_Bel._ Nay, good my lord, forbear; we’re wondrous well.
_Phi._ Oh, Arethusa, oh, Bellario,
Leave to be kind!
I shall be shut from Heaven, as now from earth,
If you continue so. I am a man 6
False to a pair of the most trusty ones
That ever earth bore; can it bear us all?
Forgive, and leave me. But the King hath sent
To call me to my death: oh, shew it me, 10
And then forget me! And for thee, my boy,
I shall deliver words will mollify
The hearts of beasts to spare thy innocence.
_Bel._ Alas, my lord, my life is not a thing
Worthy your noble thoughts! ’T is not a life, 15
’T is but a piece of childhood thrown away.
Should I outlive you, I should then outlive
Virtue and honour; and when that day comes,
If ever I shall close these eyes but once,
May I live spotted for my perjury, 20
And waste my limbs to nothing!
_Are._ And I (the woful’st maid that ever was,
Forc’d with my hands to bring my lord to death)
Do by the honour of a virgin swear
To tell no hours beyond it!
_Phi._ Make me not hated so. 25
_Are._ Come from this prison all joyful to our deaths!
_Phi._ People will tear me, when they find you true
To such a wretch as I; I shall die loath’d.
Enjoy your kingdoms peacably, whilst I
For ever sleep forgotten with my faults. 30
Every just servant, every maid in love,
Will have a piece of me, if you be true.
_Are._ My dear lord, say not so.
_Bel._ A piece of you!
He was not born of woman that can cut
It and look on. 35
_Phi._ Take me in tears betwixt you, for my heart
Will break with shame and sorrow.
_Are._ Why, ’t is well.
_Bel._ Lament no more.
_Phi._ Why, what would you have done
If you had wrong’d me basely, and had found
Your[3261] life no price compar’d to mine?[3261] For love, sirs, 40
Deal with me truly.
_Bel._ ’T was mistaken, sir.
_Phi._ Why, if it were?
_Bel._ Then, sir, we would have ask’d
You pardon.
_Phi._ And have hope to enjoy it?
_Are._ Enjoy it! ay.
_Phi._ Would you indeed? Be plain.
_Bel._ We would, my lord.
_Phi._ Forgive me, then.
_Are._ So, so. 45
_Bel._ ’T is as it should be now.
_Phi._ Lead to my death. _Exeunt._
[SCENE III.][3262]
_Enter_ KING, DION, CLEREMONT, THRASILINE [_and_ Attendants].
_King._ Gentlemen, who saw the prince?
_Cle._ So please you, sir, he’s gone to see the city
And the new platform, with some gentlemen
Attending on him.
_King._ Is the princess ready
To bring her prisoner out?
_Thra._ She waits your grace. 5
_King._ Tell her we stay. _Exit_ THRASILINE.
_Dion._ [_Aside._] King, you may be deceiv’d yet.
The head you aim at cost more setting on
Than to be lost so lightly. If it must off,—
Like a wild overflow, that swoops before him
A golden stack, and with it shakes down bridges, 10
Cracks the strong hearts of pines, whose cable-roots
Held out a thousand storms, a thousand thunders,
And, so made mightier, takes whole villages
Upon his back, and in that heat of pride 14
Charges strong towns, towers, castles, palaces,
And lays them desolate; so shall thy head,
Thy noble head, bury the lives of thousands,
That must bleed with thee like a sacrifice,
In thy red ruins.
_Enter_ ARETHUSA, PHILASTER, BELLARIO _in a robe and garland_ [_and_
THRASILINE].
_King._ How now? What masque is this? 20
_Bel._ Right royal sir, I should
Sing you an epithalamion of these lovers,
But having lost my best airs with my fortunes,
And wanting a celestial harp to strike
This blessed union on, thus in glad story 25
I give you all. These two fair cedar-branches,
The noblest of the mountain where they grew,
Straightest and tallest, under whose still shades
The worthier beasts have made their lairs, and slept
Free from the fervour of the Sirian star 30
And the fell thunder-stroke, free from the clouds
When they were big with humour, and deliver’d
In thousand spouts their issues to the earth;
Oh, there was none but silent quiet there!
Till never-pleased Fortune shot up shrubs, 35
Base under-brambles, to divorce these branches;
And for a while they did so, and did reign
Over the mountain, and choke up his beauty
With brakes, rude thorns and thistles, till the sun
Scorcht them even to the roots and dried them there. 40
And now a gentle gale hath blown again,
That made these branches meet and twine together,
Never to be divided. The god that sings
His holy numbers over marriage-beds
Hath knit their noble hearts; and here they stand 45
Your children, mighty King; and I have done.
_King._ How, how?
_Are._ Sir, if you love it in plain truth,
(For now there is no masquing in ’t,) this gentleman,
The prisoner that you gave me, is become
My keeper, and through all the bitter throes 50
Your jealousies and his ill fate have wrought him,
Thus nobly hath he struggled, and at length
Arrived here my dear husband.
_King._ Your dear husband!—
Call in the Captain of the Citadel—
There you shall keep your wedding. I’ll provide 55
A masque shall make your Hymen turn his saffron
Into a sullen coat, and sing sad requiems
To your departing souls.
Blood shall put out your torches; and, instead
Of gaudy flowers about your wanton necks, 60
An axe shall hang, like a prodigious meteor,
Ready to crop your loves’ sweets. Hear, you gods!
From this time do I shake all title off
Of father to this woman, this base woman;
And what there is of vengeance in a lion 65
Chaft among dogs or robb’d of his dear young,
The same, enforc’d more terrible, more mighty,
Expect from me!