Actus Secundus. Scena Prima
Enter Philaster and Bellario.
Phi. And thou shalt find her honourable boy,
Full of regard unto thy tender youth,
For thine own modesty; and for my sake,
Apter to give, than thou wilt be to ask, I, or deserve.
Bell. Sir, you did take me up when I was nothing;
And only yet am something, by being yours;
You trusted me unknown; and that which you are apt
To conster a simple innocence in me,
Perhaps, might have been craft; the cunning of a boy
Hardened in lies and theft; yet ventur’d you,
To part my miseries and me: for which,
I never can expect to serve a Lady
That bears more honour in her breast than you.
Phi. But boy, it will prefer thee; thou art young,
And bearest a childish overflowing love
To them that clap thy cheeks, and speak thee fair yet:
But when thy judgment comes to rule those passions,
Thou wilt remember best those careful friends
That plac’d thee in the noblest way of life;
She is a Princess I prefer thee to.
Bell. In that small time that I have seen the world,
I never knew a man hasty to part
With a servant he thought trusty; I remember
My Father would prefer the boys he kept
To greater men than he, but did it not,
Till they were grown too sawcy for himself.
Phi. Why gentle boy, I find no fault at all in thy behaviour.
Bell. Sir, if I have made
A fault of ignorance, instruct my youth;
I shall be willing, if not apt to learn;
Age and experience will adorn my mind
With larger knowledge: And if I have done
A wilful fault, think me not past all hope
For once; what Master holds so strict a hand
Over his boy, that he will part with him
Without one warning? Let me be corrected
To break my stubbornness if it be so,
Rather than turn me off, and I shall mend.
Phi. Thy love doth plead so prettily to stay,
That (trust me) I could weep to part with thee.
Alas! I do not turn thee off; thou knowest
It is my business that doth call thee hence,
And when thou art with her thou dwel’st with me:
Think so, and ’tis so; and when time is full,
That thou hast well discharged this heavy trust,
Laid on so weak a one, I will again
With joy receive thee; as I live, I will;
Nay weep not, gentle boy; ’Tis more than time
Thou didst attend the Princess.
Bell. I am gone;
But since I am to part with you my Lord,
And none knows whether I shall live to do
More service for you; take this little prayer;
Heaven bless your loves, your fights, all your designs.
May sick men, if they have your wish, be well;
And Heavens hate those you curse, though I be one.
[Exit.
Phi. The love of boyes unto their Lords is strange,
I have read wonders of it; yet this boy
For my sake, (if a man may judge by looks,
And speech) would out-do story. I may see
A day to pay him for his loyalty.
[Exit Phi.
Enter Pharamond.
Pha. Why should these Ladies stay so long? They must come this way; I know the Queen imployes ’em not, for the Reverend Mother sent me word they would all be for the Garden. If they should all prove honest now, I were in a fair taking; I was never so long without sport in my life, and in my conscience ’tis not my fault: Oh, for our Country Ladies! Here’s one boulted, I’le hound at her.
Enter Galatea.
Gal. Your Grace!
Pha. Shall I not be a trouble?
Gal. Not to me Sir.
Pha. Nay, nay, you are too quick; by this sweet hand.
Gal. You’l be forsworn Sir, ’tis but an old glove. If you will talk at distance, I am for you: but good Prince, be not bawdy, nor do not brag; these two I bar, and then I think, I shall have sence enough to answer all the weighty Apothegmes your Royal blood shall manage.
Pha. Dear Lady, can you love?
Gal. Dear, Prince, how dear! I ne’re cost you a Coach yet, nor put you to the dear repentance of a Banquet; here’s no Scarlet Sir, to blush the sin out it was given for: This wyer mine own hair covers: and this face has been so far from being dear to any, that it ne’re cost penny painting: And for the rest of my poor Wardrobe, such as you see, it leaves no hand behind it, to make the jealous Mercers wife curse our good doings.
Pha. You mistake me Lady.
Gal. Lord, I do so; would you or I could help it.
Pha. Do Ladies of this Country use to give no more respect to men of my full being?
Gal. Full being! I understand you not, unless your Grace means growing to fatness; and then your only remedy (upon my knowledge, Prince) is in a morning a Cup of neat White-wine brew’d with Carduus, then fast till supper, about eight you may eat; use exercise, and keep a Sparrow-hawk, you can shoot in a Tiller; but of all, your Grace must flie Phlebotomie, fresh Pork, Conger, and clarified Whay; They are all dullers of the vital spirits.
Pha. Lady, you talk of nothing all this while.
Gal. ’Tis very true Sir, I talk of you.
Pha. This is a crafty wench, I like her wit well, ’twill be rare to stir up a leaden appetite, she’s a Danae, and must be courted in a showr of gold. Madam, look here, all these and more, than—
Gal. What have you there, my Lord? Gold? Now, as I live tis fair gold; you would have silver for it to play with the Pages; you could not have taken me in a worse time; But if you have present use my Lord, I’le send my man with silver and keep your gold for you.
Pha. Lady, Lady.
Gal. She’s coming Sir behind, will take white mony. Yet for all this I’le match ye.
[Exit Gal. behind the hangings.
Pha. If there be two such more in this Kingdom, and near the Court, we may even hang up our Harps: ten such Camphire constitutions as this, would call the golden age again in question, and teach the old way for every ill fac’t Husband to get his own Children, and what a mischief that will breed, let all consider.
[Enter Megra.
Here’s another; if she be of the same last, the Devil
shall pluck her on. Many fair mornings, Lady.
Meg. As many mornings bring as many dayes,
Fair, sweet, and hopeful to your Grace.
Pha. She gives good words yet; Sure this wench is free.
If your more serious business do not call you,
Let me hold quarter with you, we’ll take an hour
Out quickly.
Meg. What would your Grace talk of?
Pha. Of some such pretty subject as your self.
I’le go no further than your eye, or lip,
There’s theme enough for one man for an age.
Meg. Sir, they stand right, and my lips are yet even,
Smooth, young enough, ripe enough, red enough,
Or my glass wrongs me.
Pha. O they are two twin’d Cherries died in blushes,
Which those fair suns above, with their bright beams
Reflect upon, and ripen: sweetest beauty,
Bow down those branches, that the longing taste,
Of the faint looker on, may meet those blessings,
And taste and live.
Meg. O delicate sweet Prince;
She that hath snow enough about her heart,
To take the wanton spring of ten such lines off,
May be a Nun without probation.
Sir, you have in such neat poetry, gathered a kiss,
That if I had but five lines of that number,
Such pretty begging blanks, I should commend
Your fore-head, or your cheeks, and kiss you too.
Pha. Do it in prose; you cannot miss it Madam.
Meg. I shall, I shall.
Pha. By my life you shall not.
I’le prompt you first: Can you do it now?
Meg. Methinks ’tis easie, now I ha’ don’t before;
But yet I should stick at it.
Pha. Stick till to morrow.
I’le ne’r part you sweetest. But we lose time,
Can you love me?
Meg. Love you my Lord? How would you have me love you?
Pha. I’le teach you in a short sentence, cause I will not load your memory, that is all; love me, and lie with me.
Meg. Was it lie with you that you said? ’Tis impossible.
Pha. Not to a willing mind, that will endeavour; if I do not teach you to do it as easily in one night, as you’l go to bed, I’le lose my Royal blood for’t.
Meg. Why Prince, you have a Lady of your own, that yet wants teaching.
Pha. I’le sooner teach a Mare the old measures, than teach her any thing belonging to the function; she’s afraid to lie with her self, if she have but any masculine imaginations about her; I know when we are married, I must ravish her.
Meg. By my honour, that’s a foul fault indeed, but time and your good help will wear it out Sir.
Pha. And for any other I see, excepting your dear self, dearest Lady, I had rather be Sir _Tim _the Schoolmaster, and leap a Dairy-maid.
Meg. Has your Grace seen the Court-star Galatea?
Pha. Out upon her; she’s as cold of her favour as an apoplex: she sail’d by but now.
Meg. And how do you hold her wit Sir?
Pha. I hold her wit? The strength of all the Guard cannot hold it, if they were tied to it, she would blow ’em out of the Kingdom, they talk of Jupiter, he’s but a squib cracker to her: Look well about you, and you may find a tongue-bolt. But speak sweet Lady, shall I be freely welcome?
Meg. Whither?
Pha. To your bed; if you mistrust my faith, you do me the unnoblest wrong.
Meg. I dare not Prince, I dare not.
Pha. Make your own conditions, my purse shall seal ’em, and what you dare imagine you can want, I’le furnish you withal: give two hours to your thoughts every morning about it. Come, I know you are bashful, speak in my ear, will you be mine? keep this, and with it me: soon I will visit you.
Meg. My Lord, my Chamber’s most unsafe, but when ’tis night I’le find some means to slip into your lodging: till when—
Pha. Till when, this, and my heart go with thee.
[Ex. several ways.
_Enter _Galatea from behind the hangings.
Gal. Oh thou pernicious Petticoat Prince, are these your vertues? Well, if I do not lay a train to blow your sport up, I am no woman; and Lady Towsabel I’le fit you for’t.
[Exit Gal.
_Enter _Arethusa and a Lady.
Are. Where’s the boy?
La. Within Madam.
Are. Gave you him gold to buy him cloaths?
La. I did.
Are. And has he don’t?
La. Yes Madam.
Are. ’Tis a pretty sad talking lad, is it not? Askt you his name?
La. No Madam.
[ _Enter _Galatea.
Are. O you are welcome, what good news?
Gal. As good as any one can tell your Grace, That saies she hath done that you would have wish’d.
Are. Hast thou discovered?
Gal. I have strained a point of modesty for you.
Are. I prethee how?
Gal. In listning after bawdery; I see, let a Lady live never so modestly, she shall be sure to find a lawful time, to harken after bawdery; your Prince, brave Pharamond, was so hot on’t.
Are. With whom?
Gal. Why, with the Lady I suspect: I can tell the time and place.
Are. O when, and where?
Gal. To night, his Lodging.
Are. Run thy self into the presence, mingle there again
With other Ladies, leave the rest to me:
If destiny (to whom we dare not say,
Why thou didst this) have not decreed it so
In lasting leaves (whose smallest Characters
Were never altered:) yet, this match shall break.
Where’s the boy?
La. Here Madam.
[ _Enter _Bellario.
Are. Sir, you are sad to change your service, is’t not so?
Bell. Madam, I have not chang’d; I wait on you,
To do him service.
Are. Thou disclaim’st in me;
Tell me thy name.
Bell. Bellario.
Are. Thou canst sing, and play?
Bell. If grief will give me leave, Madam, I can.
Are. Alas! what kind of grief can thy years know?
Hadst thou a curst master, when thou went’st to School?
Thou art not capable of other grief;
Thy brows and cheeks are smooth as waters be,
When no [b]reath troubles them: believe me boy,
Care seeks out wrinkled brows, and hollow eyes,
And builds himself caves to abide in them.
Come Sir, tell me truly, does your Lord love me?
Bell. Love Madam? I know not what it is.
Are. Canst thou know grief, and never yet knew’st love?
Thou art deceiv’d boy; does he speak of me
As if he wish’d me well?
Bell. If it be love,
To forget all respect of his own friends,
In thinking of your face; if it be love
To sit cross arm’d and sigh away the day,
Mingled with starts, crying your name as loud
And hastily, as men i’the streets do fire:
If it be love to weep himself away,
When he but hears of any Lady dead,
Or kill’d, because it might have been your chance;
If when he goes to rest (which will not be)
’Twixt every prayer he saies, to name you once
As others drop a bead, be to be in love;
Then Madam, I dare swear he loves you.
Are. O y’are a cunning boy, and taught to lie,
For your Lords credit; but thou knowest, a lie,
That bears this sound, is welcomer to me,
Than any truth that saies he loves me not.
Lead the way Boy: Do you attend me too;
’Tis thy Lords business hasts me thus; Away.
[Exeunt.
_Enter _Dion, Cleremont, Thrasilin, Megra _and _Galatea.
Di. Come Ladies, shall we talk a round? As men Do walk a mile, women should take an hour After supper: ’Tis their exercise.
Gal. Tis late.
Meg. ’Tis all
My eyes will do to lead me to my bed.
Gal. I fear they are so heavy, you’l scarce find
The way to your lodging with ’em to night.
[ Enter Pharamond.
Thra. The Prince.
Pha. Not a bed Ladies? y’are good sitters up; What think you of a pleasant dream to last Till morning?
Meg. I should choose, my Lord, a pleasing wake before it.
[_Enter _Arethusa _and _Bellario.
Are. ’Tis well my Lord y’are courting of Ladies. Is’t not late Gentlemen?
Cle. Yes Madam.
Are. Wait you there. [_Exit _Arethusa.
Meg. She’s jealous, as I live; look you my Lord,
The Princess has a Hilas, an Adonis.
Pha. His form is Angel-like.
Meg. Why this is he, must, when you are wed,
Sit by your pillow, like young Apollo, with
His hand and voice, binding your thoughts in sleep;
The Princess does provide him for you, and for her self.
Pha. I find no musick in these boys.
Meg. Nor I.
They can do little, and that small they do,
They have not wit to hide.
Di. Serves he the Princess?
Thra. Yes.
Di. ’Tis a sweet boy, how brave she keeps him!
Pha. Ladies all good rest; I mean to kill a Buck
To morrow morning, ere y’ave done your dreams.
Meg. All happiness attend your Grace, Gentlemen good rest,
Come shall we to bed?
Gal. Yes, all good night.
[Ex. Gal. _and _Meg.
Di. May your dreams be true to you;
What shall we do Gallants? ’Tis late, the King
Is up still, see, he comes, a Guard along
With him.
[_Enter _King, Arethusa _and _Guard.
King. Look your intelligence be true.
Are. Upon my life it is: and I do hope,
Your Highness will not tye me to a man,
That in the heat of wooing throws me off,
And takes another.
Di. What should this mean?
King. If it be true, That Lady had been better have embrac’d Cureless Diseases; get you to your rest,
[Ex. Are. _and _Bel.
You shall be righted: Gentlemen draw near,
We shall imploy you: Is young Pharamond
Come to his lodging?
Di. I saw him enter there.
King. Haste some of you, and cunningly discover,
If Megra be in her lodging.
Cle. Sir,
She parted hence but now with other Ladies.
King. If she be there, we shall not need to make
A vain discovery of our suspicion.
You gods I see, that who unrighteously
Holds wealth or state from others, shall be curst,
In that, which meaner men are blest withall:
Ages to come shall know no male of him
Left to inherit, and his name shall be
Blotted from earth; If he have any child,
It shall be crossly matched: the gods themselves
Shall sow wild strife betwixt her Lord and her,
Yet, if it be your wills, forgive the sin
I have committed, let it not fall
Upon this understanding child of mine,
She has not broke your Laws; but how can I,
Look to be heard of gods, that must be just,
Praying upon the ground I hold by wrong?
[ _Enter _Dion.
Di. Sir, I have asked, and her women swear she is within, but they I think are bawds; I told ’em I must speak with her: they laught, and said their Lady lay speechless. I said, my business was important; they said their Lady was about it: I grew hot, and cryed my business was a matter that concern’d life and death; they answered, so was sleeping, at which their Lady was; I urg’d again, she had scarce time to be so since last I saw her; they smil’d again, and seem’d to instruct me, that sleeping was nothing but lying down and winking: Answers more direct I could not get: in short Sir, I think she is not there.
King. ’Tis then no time to dally: you o’th’ Guard,
Wait at the back door of the Princes lodging,
And see that none pass thence upon your lives.
Knock Gentlemen: knock loud: louder yet:
What, has their pleasure taken off their hearing?
I’le break your meditations: knock again:
Not yet? I do not think he sleeps, having this
Larum by him; once more, Pharamond, Prince.
[Pharamond above.
Pha. What sawcy groom knocks at this dead of night? Where be our waiters? By my vexed soul, He meets his death, that meets me, for this boldness.
K. Prince, you wrong your thoughts, we are your friends, Come down.
Pha. The King?
King. The same Sir, come down,
We have cause of present Counsel with you.
Pha. If your Grace please to use me, I’le attend you
To your Chamber.
[Pha. below.
King. No, ’tis too late Prince, I’le make bold with yours.
Pha. I have some private reasons to my self,
Makes me unmannerly, and say you cannot;
Nay, press not forward Gentlemen, he must come
Through my life, that comes here.
King. Sir be resolv’d, I must and will come. Enter.
Pha. I will not be dishonour’d;
He that enters, enters upon his death;
Sir, ’tis a sign you make no stranger of me,
To bring these Renegados to my Chamber,
At these unseason’d hours.
King. Why do you
Chafe your self so? you are not wrong’d, nor shall be;
Onely I’le search your lodging, for some cause
To our self known: Enter I say.
Pha. I say no.
[Meg. Above.
Meg. Let ’em enter Prince,
Let ’em enter, I am up, and ready; I know their business,
’Tis the poor breaking of a Ladies honour,
They hunt so hotly after; let ’em enjoy it.
You have your business Gentlemen, I lay here.
O my Lord the King, this is not noble in you
To make publick the weakness of a Woman.
King. Come down.
Meg. I dare my Lord; your whootings and your clamors,
Your private whispers, and your broad fleerings,
Can no more vex my soul, than this base carriage;
But I have vengeance yet in store for some,
Shall in the most contempt you can have of me,
Be joy and nourishment.
King. Will you come down?
Meg. Yes, to laugh at your worst: but I shall wrong you, If my skill fail me not.
King. Sir, I must dearly chide you for this looseness, You have wrong’d a worthy Lady; but no more, Conduct him to my lodging, and to bed.
Cle. Get him another wench, and you bring him to bed in deed.
Di. ’Tis strange a man cannot ride a Stagg
Or two, to breath himself, without a warrant:
If this geer hold, that lodgings be search’d thus,
Pray heaven we may lie with our own wives in safety,
That they be not by some trick of State mistaken.
[Enter with Megra.
King. Now Lady of honour, where’s your honour now?
No man can fit your palat, but the Prince.
Thou most ill shrowded rottenness; thou piece
Made by a Painter and a Pothecary;
Thou troubled sea of lust; thou wilderness,
Inhabited by wild thoughts; thou swoln cloud
Of Infection; them ripe Mine of all Diseases;
Thou all Sin, all Hell, and last, all Devils, tell me,
Had you none to pull on with your courtesies,
But he that must be mine, and wrong my Daughter?
By all the gods, all these, and all the Pages,
And all the Court shall hoot thee through the Court,
Fling rotten Oranges, make ribald Rimes,
And sear thy name with Candles upon walls:
Do you laugh Lady Venus?
Meg. Faith Sir, you must pardon me;
I cannot chuse but laugh to see you merry.
If you do this, O King; nay, if you dare do it;
By all these gods you swore by, and as many
More of my own; I will have fellows, and such
Fellows in it, as shall make noble mirth;
The Princess, your dear Daughter, shall stand by me
On walls, and sung in ballads, any thing:
Urge me no more, I know her, and her haunts,
Her layes, leaps, and outlayes, and will discover all;
Nay will dishonour her. I know the boy
She keeps, a handsome boy; about eighteen:
Know what she does with him, where, and when.
Come Sir, you put me to a womans madness,
The glory of a fury; and if I do not
Do it to the height?
King. What boy is this she raves at?
Meg. Alas! good minded Prince, you know not these things?
I am loth to reveal ’em. Keep this fault
As you would keep your health from the hot air
Of the corrupted people, or by heaven,
I will not fall alone: what I have known,
Shall be as publick as a print: all tongues
Shall speak it as they do the language they
Are born in, as free and commonly; I’le set it
Like a prodigious star for all to gaze at,
And so high and glowing, that other Kingdoms far
and Forreign
Shall read it there, nay travel with it, till they find
No tongue to make it more, nor no more people;
And then behold the fall of your fair Princess.
King. Has she a boy?
Cle. So please your Grace I have seen a boy wait
On her, a fair boy.
King. Go get you to your quarter:
For this time I’le study to forget you.
Meg. Do you study to forget me, and I’le study
To forget you.
[Ex. King, Meg. and Guard.
Cle. Why here’s a Male spirit for Hercules, if ever there be nine worthies of women, this wench shall ride astride, and be their Captain.
Di. Sure she hath a garrison of Devils in her tongue, she uttereth such balls of wild-fire. She has so netled the King, that all the Doctors in the Country will scarce cure him. That boy was a strange found out antidote to cure her infection: that boy, that Princess boy: that brave, chast, vertuous Ladies boy: and a fair boy, a well spoken boy: All these considered, can make nothing else—but there I leave you Gentlemen.
Thra. Nay we’l go wander with you.
[Exeunt.
Actus Tertius. Scena Prima.
_Enter _Cle. Di. _and _Thra.
Cle. Nay doubtless ’tis true.
Di. I, and ’tis the gods
That rais’d this Punishment to scourge the King
With his own issue: Is it not a shame
For us, that should write noble in the land;
For us, that should be freemen, to behold
A man, that is the bravery of his age,
Philaster, prest down from his Royal right,
By this regardless King; and only look,
And see the Scepter ready to be cast
Into the hands of that lascivious Lady,
That lives in lust with a smooth boy, now to be
Married to yon strange Prince, who, but that people
Please to let him be a Prince, is born a slave,
In that which should be his most noble part,
His mind?
Thra. That man that would not stir with you,
To aid Philaster, let the gods forget,
That such a Creature walks upon the earth.
Cle. Philaster is too backward in’t himself;
The Gentry do await it, and the people
Against their nature are all bent for him,
And like a field of standing Corn, that’s mov’d
With a stiff gale, their heads bow all one way.
Di. The only cause that draws Philaster back
From this attempt, is the fair Princess love,
Which he admires and we can now confute.
Thra. Perhaps he’l not believe it.
Di. Why Gentlemen, ’tis without question so.
Cle. I ’tis past speech, she lives dishonestly. But how shall we, if he be curious, work Upon his faith?
Thra. We all are satisfied within our selves.
Di. Since it is true, and tends to his own good, I’le make this new report to be my knowledge, I’le say I know it, nay, I’le swear I saw it.
Cle. It will be best.
Thra. ’Twill move him.
[Enter Philaster.
Di. Here he comes. Good morrow to your honour, We have spent some time in seeking you.
Phi. My worthy friends, You that can keep your memories to know Your friend in miseries, and cannot frown On men disgrac’d for vertue: A good day Attend you all. What service may I do worthy your acceptation?
Di. My good Lord,
We come to urge that vertue which we know
Lives in your breast, forth, rise, and make a head,
The Nobles, and the people are all dull’d
With this usurping King: and not a man
That ever heard the word, or knew such a thing
As vertue, but will second your attempts.
Phi. How honourable is this love in you
To me that have deserv’d none? Know my friends
(You that were born to shame your poor Philaster,
With too much courtesie) I could afford
To melt my self in thanks; but my designs
Are not yet ripe, suffice it, that ere long
I shall imploy your loves: but yet the time is short of
what I would.
Di. The time is fuller Sir, than you expect;
That which hereafter will not perhaps be reach’d
By violence, may now be caught; As for the King,
You know the people have long hated him;
But now the Princess, whom they lov’d.
Phi. Why, what of her?
Di. Is loath’d as much as he.
Phi. By what strange means?
Di. She’s known a Whore.
Phi. Thou lyest.
Di. My Lord—
Phi. Thou lyest,
[Offers to draw and is held.
And thou shalt feel it; I had thought thy mind
Had been of honour; thus to rob a Lady
Of her good name, is an infectious sin,
Not to be pardon’d; be it false as hell,
’Twill never be redeem’d, if it be sown
Amongst the people, fruitful to increase
All evil they shall hear. Let me alone,
That I may cut off falshood, whilst it springs.
Set hills on hills betwixt me and the man
That utters this, and I will scale them all,
And from the utmost top fall on his neck,
Like Thunder from a Cloud.
Di. This is most strange;
Sure he does love her.
Phi. I do love fair truth:
She is my Mistress, and who injures her,
Draws vengeance from me Sirs, let go my arms.
Thra. Nay, good my Lord be patient.
Cle. Sir, remember this is your honour’d friend,
That comes to do his service, and will shew you
Why he utter’d this.
Phi. I ask you pardon Sir,
My zeal to truth made me unmannerly:
Should I have heard dishonour spoke of you,
Behind your back untruly, I had been
As much distemper’d, and enrag’d as now.
Di. But this my Lord is truth.
Phi. O say not so, good Sir forbear to say so,
’Tis the truth that all womenkind is false;
Urge it no more, it is impossible;
Why should you think the Princess light?
Di. Why, she was taken at it.
Phi. ’Tis false, O Heaven ’tis false: it cannot be, Can it? Speak Gentlemen, for love of truth speak; Is’t possible? can women all be damn’d?
Di. Why no, my Lord.
Phi. Why then it cannot be.
Di. And she was taken with her boy.
Phi. What boy?
Di. A Page, a boy that serves her.
Phi. Oh good gods, a little boy?
Di. I, know you him my Lord?
Phi. Hell and sin know him? Sir, you are deceiv’d;
I’le reason it a little coldly with you;
If she were lustful, would she take a boy,
That knows not yet desire? she would have one
Should meet her thoughts and knows the sin he acts,
Which is the great delight of wickedness;
You are abus’d, and so is she, and I.
Di. How you my Lord?
Phi. Why all the world’s abus’d In an unjust report.
Di. Oh noble Sir your vertues Cannot look into the subtil thoughts of woman. In short my Lord, I took them: I my self.
Phi. Now all the Devils thou didst flie from my rage, Would thou hadst ta’ne devils ingendring plagues: When thou didst take them, hide thee from my eyes, Would thou hadst taken Thunder on thy breast, When thou didst take them, or been strucken dumb For ever: that this foul deed might have slept in silence.
Thra. Have you known him so ill temper’d?
Cle. Never before.
Phi. The winds that are let loose,
From the four several corners of the earth,
And spread themselves all over sea and land,
Kiss not a chaste one. What friend bears a sword
To run me through?
Di. Why, my Lord, are you so mov’d at this?
Phi. When any falls from vertue I am distract,
I have an interest in’t.
Di. But good my Lord recal your self,
And think what’s best to be done.
Phi. I thank you. I will do it;
Please you to leave me, I’le consider of it:
Tomorrow I will find your lodging forth,
And give you answer
The readiest way.
Di. All the gods direct you.
Thra. He was extream impatient.
Cle. It was his vertue and his noble mind.
[Exeunt Di. Cle. and Thra.
Phi. I had forgot to ask him where he took them,
I’le follow him. O that I had a sea
Within my breast, to quench the fire I feel;
More circumstances will but fan this fire;
It more afflicts me now, to know by whom
This deed is done, than simply that ’tis done:
And he that tells me this is honourable,
As far from lies, as she is far from truth.
O that like beasts, we could not grieve our selves,
With that we see not; Bulls and Rams will fight,
To keep their Females standing in their sight;
But take ’em from them, and you take at once
Their spleens away; and they will fall again
Unto their Pastures, growing fresh and fat,
And taste the waters of the springs as sweet,
As ’twas before, finding no start in sleep.
But miserable man; See, see you gods,
[Enter Bellario.
He walks still; and the face you let him wear
When he was innocent, is still the same,
Not blasted; is this justice? Do you mean
To intrap mortality, that you allow
Treason so smooth a brow? I cannot now
Think he is guilty.
Bell. Health to you my Lord;
The Princess doth commend her love, her life,
And this unto you.
Phi. Oh Bellario,
Now I perceive she loves me, she does shew it
In loving thee my boy, she has made thee brave.
Bell. My Lord she has attired me past my wish,
Past my desert, more fit for her attendant,
Though far unfit for me, who do attend.
Phi. Thou art grown courtly boy. O let all women
That love black deeds, learn to dissemble here,
Here, by this paper she does write to me,
As if her heart were Mines of Adamant
To all the world besides, but unto me,
A maiden snow that melted with my looks.
Tell me my boy how doth the Princess use thee?
For I shall guess her love to me by that.
Bell. Scarce like her servant, but as if I were
Something allied to her; or had preserv’d
Her life three times by my fidelity.
As mothers fond do use their only sons;
As I’de use one, that’s left unto my trust,
For whom my life should pay, if he met harm,
So she does use me.
Phi. Why, this is wondrous well:
But what kind language does she feed thee with?
Bell. Why, she does tell me, she will trust my youth
With all her loving secrets; and does call me
Her pretty servant, bids me weep no more
For leaving you: shee’l see my services
Regarded; and such words of that soft strain,
That I am nearer weeping when she ends
Than ere she spake.
Phi. This is much better still.
Bell. Are you ill my Lord?
Phi. Ill? No Bellario.
Bell. Me thinks your words
Fall not from off your tongue so evenly,
Nor is there in your looks that quietness,
That I was wont to see.
Phi. Thou art deceiv’d boy:
And she stroakes thy head?
Bell. Yes.
Phi. And she does clap thy cheeks?
Bell. She does my Lord.
Phi. And she does kiss thee boy? ha!
Bell. How my Lord?
Phi. She kisses thee?
Bell. Not so my Lord.
Phi. Come, come, I know she does.
Bell. No by my life.
Phi. Why then she does not love me; come, she does,
I had her do it; I charg’d her by all charms
Of love between us, by the hope of peace
We should enjoy, to yield thee all delights
Naked, as to her bed: I took her oath
Thou should’st enjoy her: Tell me gentle boy,
Is she not paralleless? Is not her breath
Sweet as Arabian winds, when fruits are ripe?
Are not her breasts two liquid Ivory balls?
Is she not all a lasting Mine of joy?
Bell. I, now I see why my disturbed thoughts
Were so perplext. When first I went to her,
My heart held augury; you are abus’d,
Some villain has abus’d you; I do see
Whereto you tend; fall Rocks upon his head,
That put this to you; ’tis some subtil train,
To bring that noble frame of yours to nought.
Phi. Thou think’st I will be angry with thee; Come
Thou shalt know all my drift, I hate her more,
Than I love happiness, and plac’d thee there,
To pry with narrow eyes into her deeds;
Hast thou discover’d? Is she fain to lust,
As I would wish her? Speak some comfort to me.
Bell. My Lord, you did mistake the boy you sent:
Had she the lust of Sparrows, or of Goats;
Had she a sin that way, hid from the world,
Beyond the name of lust, I would not aid
Her base desires; but what I came to know
As servant to her, I would not reveal, to make
my life last ages.
Phi. Oh my heart; this is a salve worse than the main disease.
Tell me thy thoughts; for I will know the least
That dwells within thee, or will rip thy heart
To know it; I will see thy thoughts as plain,
As I do know thy face.
Bell. Why, so you do.
She is (for ought I know) by all the gods,
As chaste as Ice; but were she foul as Hell
And I did know it, thus; the breath of Kings,
The points of Swords, Tortures nor Bulls of Brass,
Should draw it from me.
Phi. Then ’tis no time to dally with thee;
I will take thy life, for I do hate thee; I could curse
thee now.
Bell. If you do hate you could not curse me worse;
The gods have not a punishment in store
Greater for me, than is your hate.
Phi. Fie, fie, so young and so dissembling;
Tell me when and where thou di[d]st enjoy her,
Or let plagues fall on me, if I destroy thee not.
Bell. Heaven knows I never did: and when I lie
To save my life, may I live long and loath’d.
Hew me asunder, and whilst I can think
I’le love those pieces you have cut away,
Better than those that grow: and kiss these limbs,
Because you made ’em so.
Phi. Fearest thou not death?
Can boys contemn that?
Bell. Oh, what boy is he Can be content to live to be a man That sees the best of men thus passionate, thus without reason?
Phi. Oh, but thou dost not know what ’tis to die.
Bell. Yes, I do know my Lord;
’Tis less than to be born; a lasting sleep,
A quiet resting from all jealousie;
A thing we all pursue; I know besides,
It is but giving over of a game that must be lost.
Phi. But there are pains, false boy,
For perjur’d souls; think but on these, and then
Thy heart will melt, and thou wilt utter all.
Bell. May they fall all upon me whilst I live,
If I be perjur’d, or have ever thought
Of that you charge me with; if I be false,
Send me to suffer in those punishments you speak of;
kill me.
Phi. Oh, what should I do?
Why, who can but believe him? He does swear
So earnestly, that if it were not true,
The gods would not endure him. Rise Bellario,
Thy protestations are so deep; and thou
Dost look so truly, when thou utterest them,
That though I [know] ’em false, as were my hopes,
I cannot urge thee further; but thou wert
To blame to injure me, for I must love
Thy honest looks, and take no revenge upon
Thy tender youth; A love from me to thee
Is firm, what ere thou dost: It troubles me
That I have call’d the blood out of thy cheeks,
That did so well become thee: but good boy
Let me not see thee more; something is done,
That will distract me, that will make me mad,
If I behold thee: if thou tender’st me,
Let me not see thee.
Bell. I will fly as far
As there is morning, ere I give distaste
To that most honour’d mind. But through these tears
Shed at my hopeless parting, I can see
A world of Treason practis’d upon you,
And her and me. Farewel for evermore;
If you shall hear, that sorrow struck me dead,
And after find me Loyal, let there be
A tear shed from you in my memorie,
And I shall rest at peace.
[Exit Bel.
Phi. Blessing be with thee,
What ever thou deserv’st. Oh, where shall I
Go bath thy body? Nature too unkind,
That made no medicine for a troubled mind!
[Exit. Phi.
Enter Arethuse.
Are. I marvel my boy comes not back again;
But that I know my love will question him
Over and over; how I slept, wak’d, talk’d;
How I remembred him when his dear name
Was last spoke, and how, when I sigh’d, wept, sung,
And ten thousand such; I should be angry at his stay.
[_Enter _King.
King. What are your meditations? who attends you?
Are. None but my single self, I need no Guard, I do no wrong, nor fear none.
King. Tell me: have you not a boy?
Are. Yes Sir.
King. What kind of boy?
Are. A Page, a waiting boy.
King. A handsome boy?
Are. I think he be not ugly: Well qualified, and dutiful, I know him, I took him not for beauty.
King. He speaks, and sings and plays?
Are. Yes Sir.
King. About Eighteen?
Are. I never ask’d his age.
King. Is he full of service?
Are. By your pardon why do you ask?
King. Put him away.
Are. Sir?
King. Put him away, h’as done you that good service, Shames me to speak of.
Are. Good Sir let me understand you.
King. If you fear me, shew it in duty; put away that boy.
Are. Let me have reason for it Sir, and then
Your will is my command.
King. Do not you blush to ask it? Cast him off,
Or I shall do the same to you. Y’are one
Shame with me, and so near unto my self,
That by my life, I dare not tell my self,
What you, my self have done.
Are. What have I done my Lord?
King. ’Tis a new language, that all love to learn,
The common people speak it well already,
They need no Grammer; understand me well,
There be foul whispers stirring; cast him off!
And suddenly do it: Farewel.
[Exit King.
Are. Where may a Maiden live securely free,
Keeping her Honour safe? Not with the living,
They feed upon opinions, errours, dreams,
And make ’em truths: they draw a nourishment
Out of defamings, grow upon disgraces,
And when they see a vertue fortified
Strongly above the battery of their tongues;
Oh, how they cast to sink it; and defeated
(Soul sick with Poyson) strike the Monuments
Where noble names lie sleeping: till they sweat,
And the cold Marble melt.
Enter Philaster.
Phi. Peace to your fairest thoughts, dearest Mistress.
Are. Oh, my dearest servant I have a War within me.
Phi. He must be more than man, that makes these Crystals
Run into Rivers; sweetest fair, the cause;
And as I am your slave, tied to your goodness,
Your creature made again from what I was,
And newly spirited, I’le right your honours.
Are. Oh, my best love; that boy!
Phi. What boy?
Are. The pretty boy you gave me.
Phi. What of him?
Are. Must be no more mine.
Phi. Why?
Are. They are jealous of him.
Phi. Jealous, who?
Are. The King.
Phi. Oh, my fortune,
Then ’tis no idle jealousie. Let him go.
Are. Oh cruel, are you hard hearted too?
Who shall now tell you, how much I lov’d you;
Who shall swear it to you, and weep the tears I send?
Who shall now bring you Letters, Rings, Bracelets,
Lose his health in service? wake tedious nights
In stories of your praise? Who shall sing
Your crying Elegies? And strike a sad soul
Into senseless Pictures, and make them mourn?
Who shall take up his Lute, and touch it, till
He crown a silent sleep upon my eye-lid,
Making me dream and cry, Oh my dear, dear Philaster.
Phi. Oh my heart!
Would he had broken thee, that made thee know
This Lady was not Loyal. Mistress, forget
The boy, I’le get thee a far better.
Are. Oh never, never such a boy again, as my Bellario.
Phi. ’Tis but your fond affection.
Are. With thee my boy, farewel for ever,
All secrecy in servants: farewel faith,
And all desire to do well for it self:
Let all that shall succeed thee, for thy wrongs,
Sell and betray chast love.
Phi. And all this passion for a boy?
Are. He was your boy, and you put him to me, And the loss of such must have a mourning for.
Phi. O thou forgetful woman!
Are. How, my Lord?
Phi. False Arethusa! Hast thou a Medicine to restore my wits, When I have lost ’em? If not, leave to talk, and do thus.
Are. Do what Sir? would you sleep?
Phi. For ever Arethusa. Oh you gods,
Give me a worthy patience; Have I stood
Naked, alone the shock of many fortunes?
Have I seen mischiefs numberless, and mighty
Grow li[k]e a sea upon me? Have I taken
Danger as stern as death into my bosom,
And laught upon it, made it but a mirth,
And flung it by? Do I live now like him,
Under this Tyrant King, that languishing
Hears his sad Bell, and sees his Mourners? Do I
Bear all this bravely, and must sink at length
Under a womans falshood? Oh that boy,
That cursed boy? None but a villain boy, to ease
your lust?
Are. Nay, then I am betray’d,
I feel the plot cast for my overthrow; Oh I am wretched.
Phi. Now you may take that little right I have
To this poor Kingdom; give it to your Joy,
For I have no joy in it. Some far place,
Where never womankind durst set her foot,
For bursting with her poisons, must I seek,
And live to curse you;
There dig a Cave, and preach to birds and beasts,
What woman is, and help to save them from you.
How heaven is in your eyes, but in your hearts,
More hell than hell has; how your tongues like Scorpions,
Both heal and poyson; how your thoughts are woven
With thousand changes in one subtle webb,
And worn so by you. How that foolish man,
That reads the story of a womans face,
And dies believing it, is lost for ever.
How all the good you have, is but a shadow,
I’th’ morning with you, and at night behind you,
Past and forgotten. How your vows are frosts,
Fast for a night, and with the next sun gone.
How you are, being taken all together,
A meer confusion, and so dead a Chaos,
That love cannot distinguish. These sad Texts
Till my last hour, I am bound to utter of you.
So farewel all my wo, all my delight.
[Exit Phi.
Are. Be merciful ye gods and strike me dead;
What way have I deserv’d this? make my breast
Transparent as pure Crystal, that the world
Jealous of me, may see the foulest thought
My heart holds. Where shall a woman turn her eyes,
To find out constancy? Save me, how black,
[Enter Bell.
And guilty (me thinks) that boy looks now?
Oh thou dissembler, that before thou spak’st
Wert in thy cradle false? sent to make lies,
And betray Innocents; thy Lord and thou,
May glory in the ashes of a Maid
Fool’d by her passion; but the conquest is
Nothing so great as wicked. Fly away,
Let my command force thee to that, which shame
Would do without it. If thou understoodst
The loathed Office thou hast undergone,
Why, thou wouldst hide thee under heaps of hills,
Lest men should dig and find thee.
Bell. Oh what God
Angry with men, hath sent this strange disease
Into the noblest minds? Madam this grief
You add unto me is no more than drops
To seas, for which they are not seen to swell;
My Lord had struck his anger through my heart,
And let out all the hope of future joyes,
You need not bid me fly, I came to part,
To take my latest leave, Farewel for ever;
I durst not run away in honesty,
From such a Lady, like a boy that stole,
Or made some grievous fault; the power of gods
Assist you in your sufferings; hasty time
Reveal the truth to your abused Lord,
And mine: That he may know your worth: whilst I
Go seek out some forgotten place to die.
[Exit Bell.
Are. Peace guide thee, th’ast overthrown me once,
Yet if I had another Troy to lose,
Thou or another villain with thy looks,
Might talk me out of it, and send me naked,
My hair dishevel’d through the fiery streets.
[Enter a Lady
La. Madam, the King would hunt, and calls for you With earnestness.
Are. I am in tune to hunt! Diana if thou canst rage with a maid, As with a man, let me discover thee Bathing, and turn me to a fearful Hind, That I may die pursu’d by cruel Hounds, And have my story written in my wounds.
[Exeunt.
Actus Quartus. Scena Prima.
Enter King, Pharamond, Arethusa, Galatea, Megra,
Dion, Cleremont, Thrasilin, and Attendants.
K. What, are the Hounds before, and all the woodmen?
Our horses ready, and our bows bent?
Di. All Sir.
King. Y’are cloudy Sir, come we have forgotten
Your venial trespass, let not that sit heavy
Upon your spirit; none dare utter it.
Di. He looks like an old surfeited Stallion after his leaping, dull as a Dormouse: see how he sinks; the wench has shot him between wind and water, and I hope sprung a leak.
Thra. He needs no teaching, he strikes sure enough; his
greatest fault is, he Hunts too much in the Purlues,
would he would leave off Poaching.
Di. And for his horn, has left it at the Lodge where he lay late; Oh, he’s a precious Lime-hound; turn him loose upon the pursuit of a Lady, and if he lose her, hang him up i’th’ slip. When my Fox-bitch Beauty grows proud, I’le borrow him.
King. Is your Boy turn’d away?
Are. You did command Sir, and I obey you.
King. ’Tis well done: Hark ye further.
Cle. Is’t possible this fellow should repent? Me thinks that were not noble in him: and yet he looks like a mortified member, as if he had a sick mans Salve in’s mouth. If a worse man had done this fault now, some Physical Justice or other, would presently (without the help of an Almanack) have opened the obstructions of his Liver, and let him bloud with a Dog-whip.
Di. See, see, how modestly your Lady looks, as if she came from Churching with her Neighbour; why, what a Devil can a man see in her face, but that she’s honest?
Pha. Troth no great matter to speak of, a foolish twinkling
with the eye, that spoils her Coat; but he must be a
cunning Herald that finds it.
Di. See how they Muster one another! O there’s a Rank Regiment where the Devil carries the Colours, and his Dam Drum major, now the world and the flesh come behind with the Carriage.
Cle. Sure this Lady has a good turn done her against her will: before she was common talk, now none dare say, Cantharides can stir her, her face looks like a Warrant, willing and commanding all Tongues, as they will answer it, to be tied up and bolted when this Lady means to let her self loose. As I live she has got her a goodly protection, and a gracious; and may use her body discreetly, for her healths sake, once a week, excepting Lent and Dog-days: Oh if they were to be got for mony, what a great sum would come out of the City for these Licences?
King. To horse, to horse, we lose the morning, Gentlemen.
[Exeunt.
Enter two Woodmen.
1 Wood.What, have you lodged the Deer?
2 Wood. Yes, they are ready for the Bow.
1 Wood. Who shoots?
2 Wood. The Princess.
1 Wood. No she’l Hunt.
2 Wood. She’l take a Stand I say.
1 Wood. Who else?
2 Wood. Why the young stranger Prince.
1 Wood. He shall Shoot in a Stone-bow for me. I never lov’d his beyond-sea-ship, since he forsook the Say, for paying Ten shillings: he was there at the fall of a Deer, and would needs (out of his mightiness) give Ten groats for the Dowcers; marry the Steward would have had the Velvet-head into the bargain, to Turf his Hat withal: I think he should love Venery, he is an old Sir Tristram; for if you be remembred, he forsook the Stagg once, to strike a Rascal Milking in a Medow, and her he kill’d in the eye. Who shoots else?
2 Wood. The Lady Galatea.
1 Wood. That’s a good wench, and she would not chide us for tumbling of her women in the Brakes. She’s liberal, and by my Bow they say she’s honest, and whether that be a fault, I have nothing to do. There’s all?
2 Wood. No, one more, Megra.
1 Wood. That’s a firker I’faith boy; there’s a wench will Ride her Haunces as hard after a Kennel of Hounds, as a Hunting-saddle; and when she comes home, get ’em clapt, and all is well again. I have known her lose her self three times in one Afternoon (if the Woods had been answerable) and it has been work enough for one man to find her, and he has sweat for it. She Rides well, and she payes well. Hark, let’s go.
[Exeunt.
Enter Philaster.
Phi. Oh, that I had been nourished in these woods
With Milk of Goats, and Acorns, and not known
The right of Crowns, nor the dissembling Trains
Of Womens looks; but dig’d my self a Cave,
Where I, my Fire, my Cattel, and my Bed
Might have been shut together in one shed;
And then had taken me some Mountain Girl,
Beaten with Winds, chast as the hardened Rocks
Whereon she dwells; that might have strewed my Bed
With leaves, and Reeds, and with the Skins of beasts
Our Neighbours; and have born at her big breasts
My large course issue. This had been a life free
from vexation.
[Enter Bellario.
Bell. Oh wicked men!
An innocent man may walk safe among beasts,
Nothing assaults me here. See, my griev’d Lord
Sits as his soul were searching out a way,
To leave his body. Pardon me that must
Break thy last commandment; For I must speak;
You that are griev’d can pity; hear my Lord.
Phi. Is there a Creature yet so miserable,
That I can pity?
Bell. Oh my Noble Lord,
View my strange fortune, and bestow on me,
According to your bounty (if my service
Can merit nothing) so much as may serve
To keep that little piece I hold of life
From cold and hunger.
Phi. Is it thou? be gone:
Go sell those misbeseeming Cloaths thou wear’st,
And feed thy self with them.
Bell. Alas! my Lord, I can get nothing for them:
The silly Country people think ’tis Treason
To touch such gay things.
Phi. Now by my life this is
Unkindly done, to vex me with thy sight,
Th’art fain again to thy dissembling trade:
How should’st thou think to cozen me again?
Remains there yet a plague untri’d for me?
Even so thou wept’st and spok’st when first
I took thee up; curse on the time. If thy
Commanding tears can work on any other,
Use thy art, I’le not betray it. Which way
Wilt thou take, that I may shun thee;
For thine eyes are poyson to mine; and I
Am loth to grow in rage. This way, or that way?
Bell. Any will serve. But I will chuse to have
That path in chase that leads unto my grave.
[Exeunt Phil. and Bell. severally.
Enter Dion and the Woodmen.
Di. This is the strangest sudden change! You Woodman.
1 Wood. My Lord Dion.
Di. Saw you a Lady come this way on a Sable-horse stubbed with stars of white?
2 Wood. Was she not young and tall?
Di. Yes; Rode she to the wood, or to the plain?
2 Wood. Faith my Lord we saw none.
[Exeunt Wood.
Enter Cleremont.
Di. Pox of your questions then. What, is she found?
Cle. Nor will be I think.
Di. Let him seek his Daughter himself; she cannot stray about a little necessary natural business, but the whole Court must be in Arms; when she has done, we shall have peace.
Cle. There’s already a thousand fatherless tales amongst us; some say her Horse run away with her; some a Wolf pursued her; others, it was a plot to kill her; and that Armed men were seen in the Wood: but questionless, she rode away willingly.
Enter King, and Thrasiline.
King. Where is she?
Cle. Sir, I cannot tell.
King. How is that? Answer me so again.
Cle. Sir, shall I lie?
King. Yes, lie and damn, rather than tell me that; I say again, where is she? Mutter not; Sir, speak you where is she?
Di. Sir, I do not know.
King. Speak that again so boldly, and by Heaven
It is thy last. You fellows answer me,
Where is she? Mark me all, I am your King.
I wish to see my Daughter, shew her me;
I do command you all, as you are subjects,
To shew her me, what am I not your King?
If I, then am I not to be obeyed?
Di. Yes, if you command things possible and honest.
King. Things possible and honest! Hear me, thou,
Thou Traytor, that darest confine thy King to things
Possible and honest; shew her me,
Or let me perish, if I cover not all Cicily with bloud.
Di. Indeed I cannot, unless you tell me where she is.
King. You have betray’d me, y’have, let me lose
The Jewel of my life, go; bring her me,
And set her before me; ’tis the King
Will have it so, whose breath can still the winds,
Uncloud the Sun, charm down the swelling Sea,
And stop the Flouds of Heaven; speak, can it not?
Di. No.
King. No, cannot the breath of Kings do this?
Di. No; nor smell sweet it self, if once the Lungs Be but corrupted.
King. Is it so? Take heed.
Di. Sir, take you heed; how you dare the powers
That must be just.
King. Alas! what are we Kings?
Why do you gods place us above the rest;
To be serv’d, flatter’d, and ador’d till we
Believe we hold within our hands your Thunder,
And when we come to try the power we have,
There’s not a leaf shakes at our threatnings.
I have sin’d ’tis true, and here stand to be punish’d;
Yet would not thus be punish’d; let me chuse
My way, and lay it on.
Di. He Articles with the gods; would some body would draw bonds, for the performance of Covenants betwixt them.
Enter Pha. Galatea, and Megra.
King. What, is she found?
Pha. No, we have ta’ne her Horse. He gallopt empty by: there’s some Treason; You Galatea rode with her into the wood; why left you her?
Gal. She did command me.
King. Command! you should not.
Gal. ’Twould ill become my Fortunes and my Birth
To disobey the Daughter of my King.
King. Y’are all cunning to obey us for our hurt,
But I will have her.
Pha. If I have her not,
By this hand there shall be no more Cicily.
Di. What will he carry it to Spain in’s pocket?
Pha. I will not leave one man alive, but the King,
A Cook and a Taylor.
Di. Yet you may do well to spare your Ladies Bed-fellow,
and her you may keep for a Spawner.
King. I see the injuries I have done must be reveng’d.
Di. Sir, this is not the way to find her out.
King. Run all, disperse your selves: the man that finds her, Or (if she be kill’d) the Traytor; I’le [make] him great.
Di. I know some would give five thousand pounds to find her.
Pha. Come let us seek.
King. Each man a several way, here I my self.
Di. Come Gentlemen we here.
Cle. Lady you must go search too.
Meg. I had rather be search’d my self.
[Exeunt omnes.
Enter Arethusa.
Are. Where am I now? Feet find me out a way,
Without the counsel of my troubled head,
I’le follow you boldly about these woods,
O’re mountains, thorow brambles, pits, and flouds:
Heaven I hope will ease me. I am sick.
Enter Bellario.
Bell. Yonder’s my Lady; Heaven knows I want nothing;
Because I do not wish to live, yet I
Will try her Charity. Oh hear, you that have plenty,
From that flowing store, drop some on dry ground; see,
The lively red is gone to guard her heart;
I fear she faints. Madam look up, she breaths not;
Open once more those rosie twins, and send
Unto my Lord, your latest farewell; Oh, she stirs:
How is it Madam? Speak comfort.
Are. ’Tis not gently done,
To put me in a miserable life,
And hold me there; I pray thee let me go,
I shall do best without thee; I am well.
Enter Philaster.
Phil. I am to blame to be so much in rage,
I’le tell her coolely, when and where I heard
This killing truth. I will be temperate
In speaking, and as just in hearing.
Oh monstrous! Tempt me not ye gods, good gods
Tempt not a frail man, what’s he, that has a heart
But he must ease it here?
Bell. My Lord, help the Princess.
Are. I am well, forbear.
Phi. Let me love lightning, let me be embrac’d
And kist by Scorpions, or adore the eyes
Of Basilisks, rather than trust to tongues,
And shrink these veins up; stick me here a stone
Lasting to ages in the memory
Of this damn’d act. Hear me you wicked ones,
You have put the hills on fire into this breast,
Not to be quench’d with tears, for which may guilt
Sit on your bosoms; at your meals, and beds,
Despair await you: what, before my face?
Poyson of Aspes between your lips; Diseases
Be your best issues; Nature make a Curse
And throw it on you.
Are. Dear Philaster, leave
To be enrag’d, and hear me.
Phi. I have done;
Forgive my passion, not the calm’d sea,
When Æolus locks up his windy brood,
Is less disturb’d than I, I’le make you know it.
Dear Arethusa, do but take this sword,
And search how temperate a heart I have;
Then you and this your boy, may live and raign
In lust without control; Wilt thou Bellario?
I prethee kill me; thou art poor, and maist
Nourish ambitious thoughts, when I am dead:
This way were freer; Am I raging now?
If I were mad I should desire to live;
Sirs, feel my pulse; whether have you known
A man in a more equal tune to die?
Bel. Alas my Lord, your pulse keeps madmans time,
So does your tongue.
Phi. You will not kill me then?
Are. Kill you?
Bell. Not for a world.
Phi. I blame not thee, Bellario; thou hast done but that, which gods Would have transform’d themselves to do; be gone, Leave me without reply; this is the last Of all our meeting. Kill me with this sword; Be wise, or worse will follow: we are two Earth cannot bear at once. Resolve to do, or suffer.
Are. If my fortunes be so good to let me fall
Upon thy hand, I shall have peace in death.
Yet tell me this, will there be no slanders,
No jealousies in the other world, no ill there?
Phi. No.
Are. Shew me then the way.
Phi. Then guide
My feeble hand, you that have power to do it,
For I must perform a piece of justice. If your youth
Have any way offended Heaven, let prayers
Short and effectual reconcile you to it.
Are. I am prepared.
Enter a Country-fellow.
Coun. I’le see the King if he be in the Forest, I have hunted him these two hours; if I should come home and not see him my Sisters would laugh at me; I can see nothing but people better horst than my self, that outride me; I can hear nothing but shouting. These Kings had need of good brains, this whooping is able to put a mean man out of his wits. There’s a Courtier with his sword drawn, by this hand upon a woman, I think.
Phi. Are you at peace?
Are. With Heavens and Earth.
Phi. May they divide thy soul and body?
Coun. Hold dastard, strike a Woman! th’art a craven I warrant thee, thou wouldst be loth to play half a dozen of venies at wasters with a good fellow for a broken head.
Phi. Leave us good friend.
Are. What ill bred man art thou, to intrude thy self
Upon our private sports, our recreations?
Coun. God ‘uds, I understand you not, but I know the
Rogue has hurt you.
Phi. Pursue thy own affairs: it will be ill To multiply bloud upon my head; which thou wilt force me to.
Coun. I know not your Rhetorick, but I can lay it on if you touch the woman.
[They fight.
Phi. Slave, take what thou deservest.
Are. Heavens guard my Lord.
Coun. Oh do you breath?
Phi. I hear the tread of people: I am hurt.
The gods take part against me, could this Boor
Have held me thus else? I must shift for life,
Though I do loath it. I would find a course,
To lose it, rather by my will than force.
[Exit Phil.
Coun. I cannot follow the Rogue. I pray thee wench come and kiss me now.
Enter Phara. Dion, Cle. Thra. and Woodmen.
Pha. What art thou?
Coun. Almost kil’d I am for a foolish woman; a knave
has hurt her.
Pha. The Princess Gentlemen! Where’s the wound Madam?
Is it dangerous?
Are. He has not hurt me.
Coun. I’faith she lies, has hurt her in the breast, look else.
Pha. O sacred spring of innocent blood!
Di. ’Tis above wonder! who should dare this?
Are. I felt it not.
Pha. Speak villain, who has hurt the Princess?
Coun. Is it the Princess?
Di. I.
Coun. Then I have seen something yet.
Pha. But who has hurt her?
Coun. I told you a Rogue I ne’re saw him before, I.
Pha. Madam who did it?
Are. Some dishonest wretch, Alas I know him not,
And do forgive him.
Coun. He’s hurt too, he cannot go far, I made my Fathers old Fox flie about his ears.
Pha. How will you have me kill him?
Are. Not at all, ’tis some distracted fellow.
Pha. By this hand, I’le leave ne’er a piece of him bigger than a Nut, and bring him all in my Hat.
Are. Nay, good Sir;
If you do take him, bring him quick to me,
And I will study for a punishment,
Great as his fault.
Pha. I will.
Are. But swear.
Pha. By all my love I will: Woodmen conduct the Princess to the King, and bear that wounded fellow to dressing: Come Gentlemen, we’l follow the chase close.
[Ex. Are. Pha. Di. Cle. Thra. and 1 Woodman.
Coun. I pray you friend let me see the King.
2 Wood.That you shall, and receive thanks.
[Exeunt.
Coun. If I get clear with this, I’le go see no more gay sights.
Enter Bellario.
Bell. A heaviness near death sits on my brow,
And I must sleep: Bear me thou gentle bank,
For ever if thou wilt: you sweet ones all,
Let me unworthy press you: I could wish
I rather were a Coarse strewed o’re with you,
Than quick above you. Dulness shuts mine eyes,
And I am giddy; Oh that I could take
So sound a sleep, that I might never wake.
Enter Philaster.
Phi. I have done ill, my conscience calls me false,
To strike at her, that would not strike at me:
When I did fight, me thought I heard her pray
The gods to guard me. She may be abus’d,
And I a loathed villain: if she be,
She will conceal who hurt her; He has wounds,
And cannot follow, neither knows he me.
Who’s this; Bellario sleeping? If thou beest
Guilty, there is no justice that thy sleep
[Cry within.
Should be so sound, and mine, whom thou hast wrong’d,
So broken: Hark I am pursued: you gods
I’le take this offer’d means of my escape:
They have no mark to know me, but my wounds,
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 him.
Bell. Oh death I hope is come, blest be that hand, It meant me well; again, for pities sake.
Phi. I have caught my self,
[Phi. falls.
The loss of bloud hath stayed my flight. Here, here,
Is he that stroke thee: take thy full revenge,
Use me, as I did mean thee, worse than death:
I’le teach thee to revenge this luckless hand
Wounded the Princess, tell my followers
Thou didst receive these hurts in staying me,
And I will second thee: Get a reward.
Bell. Fly, fly my Lord and save your self.
Phi. How’s this?
Wouldst thou I should be safe?
Bell. Else it were vain
For me to live. These little wounds I have,
Ha’ not bled much, reach me that noble hand,
I’le help to cover you.
Phi. Art thou true to me?
Bell. 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?
Bell. Shift for my self well: peace, I hear ’em come.
Within. Follow, follow, follow; that way they went.
Bell. With my own wounds I’le bloudy my own sword. I need not counterfeit to fall; Heaven knows, That I can stand no longer.
Enter Pha. Dion, Cle. and Thra.
Pha. To this place we have tract him by his bloud.
Cle. Yonder, my Lord, creeps one away.
Di. Stay Sir, what are you?
Bell. A wretched creature wounded in these Woods
By Beasts; relieve me, if your names be men,
Or I shall perish.
Di. This is he my Lord,
Upon my soul that hurt her; ’tis the boy,
That wicked boy that serv’d her.
Pha. O thou damn’d in thy creation!
What cause could’st thou shape to hurt the Princess?
Bell. Then I am betrayed.
Di. Betrayed! no, apprehended.
Bell. I confess;
Urge it no more, that big with evil thoughts
I set upon her, and did take my aim
Her death. For charity let fall at once
The punishment you mean, and do not load
This weary flesh with tortures.
Pha. I will know who hir’d thee to this deed?
Bell. Mine own revenge.
Pha. Revenge, for what?
Bell. It pleas’d her to receive
Me as her Page, and when my fortunes ebb’d,
That men strid o’re them carelesly, she did showr
Her welcome graces on me, and did swell
My fortunes, till they overflow’d their banks,
Threatning 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
The streams she had bestowed, 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,
Long as thy natural life, resolve to feel
The utmost rigour.
[Philaster creeps out of a 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?
Di. ’Tis the Lord Philaster.
Phi. ’Tis 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 vertue. It was I that hurt the Princess.
Place me, some god, upon a Piramis,
Higher than hills of earth, and lend a voice
Loud as your Thunder to me, that from thence,
I may discourse to all the under-world,
The worth that dwells in him.
Pha. How’s this?
Bell. My Lord, some man Weary of life, that would be glad to die.
Phi. Leave these untimely courtesies Bellario.
Bell. Alas he’s mad, come will you lead me on?
Phi. By all the Oaths that men ought most to keep:
And Gods do punish most, when men do break,
He toucht her not. Take heed Bellario,
How thou dost drown the vertues thou hast shown
With perjury. By all that’s good ’twas I:
You know she stood betwixt me and my right.
Pha. Thy own tongue be thy judge.
Cle. It was Philaster.
Di. Is’t not a brave boy? Well Sirs, I fear we were all deceived.
Phi. Have I no friend here?
Di. Yes.
Phi. Then shew it;
Some good body lend a hand to draw us nearer.
Would you have tears shed for you when you die?
Then lay me gentle on his neck that there
I may weep flouds, and breath out my spirit:
’Tis not the wealth of Plutus, nor the gold
Lockt in the heart of earth, can buy away
This arm-full from me, this had been a ransom
To have redeem’d the great Augustus Caesar,
Had he been taken: you hard-hearted men,
More stony than these Mountains, can you see
Such clear pure bloud drop, and not cut your flesh
To stop his life? To bind whose better wounds,
Queens ought to tear their hair, and with their tears,
Bath ’em. Forgive me, thou that art the wealth of
poor Philaster.
[Enter King, Arethusa and a Guard.
King. Is the villain ta’ne?
Pha. Sir, here be two confess the deed; but say it was Philaster.
Phi. Question it no more, it was.
King. The fellow that did fight with him will tell us.
Are. Ay me, I know he will.
King. Did not you know him?
Are. Sir, if it was he, he was disguised.
Phi. I was so. Oh my stars! that I should live still.
King. Thou ambitious fool; Thou that hast laid a train for thy own life; Now I do mean to do, I’le leave to talk, bear him 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)
Their custodies, and that I may appoint
Their tortures and their death.
Di. Death? soft, our Law will not reach that, for this fault.
King. ’Tis granted, take ’em to you, with a Guard. Come Princely Pharamond, this business past, We may with more security go on to your intended match.
Cle. I pray that this action lose not Philaster the hearts of the people.
Di. Fear it not, their overwise heads will think it but a trick.
[Exeunt Omnes.
Actus Quintus. Scena Prima.
Enter Dion, Cleremont, and Thrasiline.
Thra. Has the King sent for him to death?
Di. Yes, but the King must know, ’tis not in
his power to war with Heaven.
Cle. We linger time; the King sent for Philaster and the
Headsman an hour ago.
Thra. Are all his wounds well?
Di. All they were but scratches; but the loss of bloud made him faint.
Cle. We dally Gentlemen.
Thra. Away.
Di. We’l scuffle hard before he perish.
[Exeunt.
Enter Philaster, Arethusa, and Bellario.
Are. Nay dear Philaster grieve not, we are well.
Bell. Nay good my Lord forbear, we are wondrous well.
Phi. Oh Arethusa! O Bellario! leave to be kind:
I shall be shot from Heaven, as now from
Earth, If you continue so; I am a man,
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,
And then forget me: And for thee my boy,
I shall deliver words will mollifie
The hearts of beasts, to spare thy innocence.
Bell. Alas my Lord, my life is not a thing
Worthy your noble thoughts; ’tis not a life,
’Tis but a piece of child-hood thrown away:
Should I out-live, I shall then out-live
Vertue and honour. And when that day comes,
If ever I should close these eyes but once,
May I live spotted for my perjury,
And waste my limbs to nothing.
Are. And I (the woful’st maid as 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.
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.
Injoy your Kingdoms peaceably, whil’st I
For ever sleep forgotten with my faults,
Every just servant, every maid in love
Will have a piece of me if you be true.
Are. My dear Lord say not so.
Bell. A piece of you?
He was not born of women that can cut it and look on.
Phi. Take me in tears betwixt you,
For my heart will break with shame and sorrow.
Are. Why ’tis well.
Bell. Lament no more.
Phi. What would you have done
If you had wrong’d me basely, and had found
My life no price, compar’d to yours? For love Sirs,
Deal with me truly.
Bell. ’Twas mistaken, Sir.
Phi. Why if it were?
Bell. Then Sir we would have ask’d you pardon.
Phi. And have hope to enjoy it?
Are. Injoy it? I.
Phi. Would you indeed? be plain.
Bell. We would my Lord.
Phi. Forgive me then.
Are. So, so.
Bell. ’Tis as it should be now.
Phi. Lead to my death.
[Exeunt.
Enter King, Dion, Cleremont, and Thrasiline.
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.
King. Tell her we stay.
Di. King, you may be deceiv’d yet:
The head you aim at cost more setting on
Than to be lost so slightly: If it must off
Like a wild overflow, that soops before him
A golden Stack, and with it shakes down Bridges,
Cracks the strong hearts of Pines, whose Cable roots
Held out a thousand Storms, a thousand Thunders,
And so made mightier, takes whole Villages
Upon his back, and in that heat of pride,
Charges strong Towns, Towers, Castles, Palaces,
And layes 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 ruines.
Enter Phil. Are. and Bell, in a Robe and Garland.
King. How now, what Mask is this?
Bell. Right Royal Sir, I should
Sing you an Epithalamium of these lovers,
But having lost my best ayres with my fortunes,
And wanting a celestial Harp to strike
This blessed union on; thus in glad story
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 layers, and slept
Free from the Syrian Star, and the fell Thunder-stroke,
Free from the Clouds, when they were big with humour,
And delivered in thousand spouts, their issues to
the earth: O there was none but silent quiet there!
Till never pleas’d fortune shot up shrubs,
Base under brambles to divorce these branches;
And for a while they did so, and did raign
Over the Mountain, and choakt up his beauty
With Brakes, rude Thornes and Thistles, till thy Sun
Scorcht them even to the roots, and dried them there:
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
Your Children mighty King, and I have done.
King. How, how?
Are. Sir, if you love it in plain truth,
For there is no Masking in’t; This Gentleman
The prisoner that you gave me is become
My keeper, and through all the bitter throws
Your jealousies and his ill fate have wrought him,
Thus nobly hath he strangled, and at length
Arriv’d here my dear Husband.
King. Your dear Husband! call in
The Captain of the Cittadel; There you shall keep
Your Wedding. I’le provide a Mask shall make
Your Hymen turn his Saffron into a sullen Coat,
And sing sad Requiems to your departing souls:
Bloud shall put out your Torches, and instead
Of gaudy flowers about your wanton necks,
An Ax 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
Cast amongst Dogs, or rob’d of his dear young,
The same inforc’t more terrible, more mighty,
Expect from me.
Are. Sir,
By that little life I have left to swear by,
There’s nothing that can stir me from my self.
What I have done, I have done without repentance,
For death can be no Bug-bear unto me,
So long as Pharamond is not my headsman.
Di. Sweet peace upon thy soul, thou worthy maid
When ere thou dyest; for this time I’le excuse thee,
Or be thy Prologue.
Phi. Sir, let me speak next,
And let my dying words be better with you
Than my dull living actions; if you aime
At the dear life of this sweet Innocent,
Y’are a Tyrant and a savage Monster;
Your memory shall be as foul behind you
As you are living, all your better deeds
Shall be in water writ, but this in Marble:
No Chronicle shall speak you, though your own,
But for the shame of men. No Monument
(Though high and big as Pelion) shall be able
To cover this base murther; make it rich
With Brass, with purest Gold, and shining Jasper,
Like the Pyramids, lay on Epitaphs,
Such as make great men gods; my little marble
(That only cloaths my ashes, not my faults)
Shall far out shine it: And for after issues
Think not so madly of the heavenly wisdoms,
That they will give you more, for your mad rage
To cut off, unless it be some Snake, or something
Like your self, that in his birth shall strangle you.
Remember, my Father King; there was a fault,
But I forgive it: let that sin perswade you
To love this Lady. If you have a soul,
Think, save her, and be saved, for my self,
I have so long expected this glad hour,
So languisht under you, and daily withered,
That heaven knows it is my joy to dye,
I find a recreation in’t.
Enter a Messenger.
Mess. Where’s the King?
King. Here.
Mess. Get you to your strength,
And rescue the Prince Pharamond from danger,
He’s taken prisoner by the Citizens,
Fearing the Lord Philaster.
Di. Oh brave followers;
Mutiny, my fine dear Country-men, mutiny,
Now my brave valiant foremen, shew your weapons
In honour of your Mistresses.
[Enter another Messenger.
Mess. Arm, arm, arm.
King. A thousand devils take ’em.
Di. A thousand blessings on ’em.
Mess. Arm O King, the City is in mutiny, Led by an old Gray Ruffin, who comes on In rescue of the Lord Philaster.
[Exit with Are. Phi. Bell.
King. Away to the Cittadel, I’le see them safe, And then cope with these Burgers: Let the Guard And all the Gentlemen give strong attendance.
[Ex. King.
[Manent Dion, Cleremont, Thrasiline.
Cle. The City up! this was above our wishes.
Di. I and the Marriage too; by my life, This noble Lady has deceiv’d us all, a plague upon my self; a thousand plagues, for having such unworthy thoughts of her dear honour: O I could beat my self, or do you beat me and I’le beat you, for we had all one thought.
Cle. No, no, ’twill but lose time.
Di. You say true, are your swords sharp? Well my dear Country-men, what ye lack, if you continue and fall not back upon the first broken shin, I’le have you chronicled, and chronicled, and cut and chronicled and all to be prais’d, and sung in Sonnets, and bath’d in new brave Ballads, that all tongues shall troule you in Saecula Saeculorum my kind Can-carriers.
Thra. What if a toy take ’em i’th’ heels now, and they run all away, and cry the Devil take the hindmost?
Di. Then the same Devil take the foremost too, and sowce him for his breakfast; if they all prove Cowards, my curses fly amongst them and be speeding. May they have Murreins raign to keep the Gentlemen at home unbound in easie freeze: May the Moths branch their Velvets, and their Silks only be worn before sore eyes. May their false lights undo ’em, and discover presses, holes, stains, and oldness in their Stuffs, and make them shop-rid: May they keep Whores and Horses, and break; and live mued up with necks of Beef and Turnips: May they have many children, and none like the Father: May they know no language but that gibberish they prattle to their Parcels, unless it be the goarish Latine they write in their bonds, and may they write that false, and lose their debts.
Enter the King.
King. Now the vengeance of all the gods confound them; how they swarm together! what a hum they raise; Devils choak your wilde throats; If a man had need to use their valours, he must pay a Brokage for it, and then bring ’em on, they will fight like sheep. ’Tis Philaster, none but Philaster must allay this heat: They will not hear me speak, but fling dirt at me, and call me Tyrant. Oh run dear friend, and bring the Lord Philaster: speak him fair, call him Prince, do him all the courtesie you can, commend me to him. Oh my wits, my wits!
[Exit Cle.
Di. Oh my brave Countrymen! as I live, I will not buy a pin out of your walls for this; Nay, you shall cozen me, and I’le thank you; and send you Brawn and Bacon, and soil you every long vacation a brace of foremen, that at Michaelmas shall come up fat and kicking.
King. What they will do with this poor Prince, the gods know, and I fear.
Di. Why Sir: they’l flea him, and make Church Buckets on’s skin to squench rebellion, then clap a rivet in’s sconce, and hang him up for a sign.
Enter Cleremont with Philaster.
King. O worthy Sir forgive me, do not make
Your miseries and my faults meet together,
To bring a greater danger. Be your self,
Still sound amongst Diseases, I have wrong’d you,
And though I find it last, and beaten to it,
Let first your goodness know it. Calm the people,
And be what you were born to: take your love,
And with her my repentance, and my wishes,
And all my prayers, by the gods my heart speaks this:
And if the least fall from me not perform’d,
May I be struck with Thunder.
Phi. Mighty Sir,
I will not do your greatness so much wrong,
As not to make your word truth; free the Princess,
And the poor boy, and let me stand the shock
Of this mad Sea breach, which I’le either turn
Or perish with it.
King. Let your own word free them.
Phi. Then thus I take my leave kissing your hand,
And hanging on your Royal word: be Kingly,
And be not moved Sir, I shall bring your peace,
Or never bring my self back.
King. All the gods go with thee.
[Exeunt Omnes.
Enter an old Captain and Citizens with Pharamond.
Cap. Come my brave Mirmidons let’s fall on, let our caps
Swarm my boys, and you nimble tongues forget your mothers
Gibberish, of what do you lack, and set your mouths
Up Children, till your Pallats fall frighted half a
Fathom, past the cure of Bay-salt and gross Pepper.
And then cry Philaster, brave Philaster,
Let Philaster be deeper in request, my ding-dongs,
My pairs of dear Indentures, King of Clubs,
Than your cold water Chamblets or your paintings
Spitted with Copper; let not your hasty Silks,
Or your branch’d Cloth of Bodkin, or your Tishues,
Dearly belov’d of spiced Cake and Custard,
Your Robin-hoods scarlets and Johns, tie your affections
In darkness to your shops; no, dainty Duckers,
Up with your three pil’d spirits, your wrought valours.
And let your un-cut Coller make the King feel
The measure of your mightiness Philaster.
Cry my Rose nobles, cry.
All. Philaster, Philaster.
Cap. How do you like this my Lord Prince, these are mad boys, I tell you, these are things that will not strike their top-sayles to a Foist. And let a man of war, an Argosie hull and cry Cockles.
Pha. Why you rude slave, do you know what you do?
Cap. My Pretty Prince of Puppets, we do know,
And give your greatness warning, that you talk
No more such Bugs-words, or that soldred Crown
Shall be scratch’d with a Musket: Dear Prince Pippen,
Down with your noble bloud; or as I live,
I’le have you codled: let him lose my spirits,
Make us a round Ring with your Bills my Hectors,
And let us see what this trim man dares do.
Now Sir, have at you; here I [lie],
And with this swashing blow, do you swear Prince;
I could hulk your Grace, and hang you up cross-leg’d,
Like a Hare at a Poulters, and do this with this wiper.
Pha. You will not see me murder’d wicked Villains?
1 Cit. Yes indeed will we Sir, we have not seen one fo[r] a great while.
Capt. He would have weapons would he? give him a Broad-side my brave boyes with your pikes, branch me his skin in Flowers like a Satin, and between every Flower a mortal cut, your Royalty shall ravel, jag him Gentlemen, I’le have him cut to the kell, then down the seames, oh for a whip To make him Galoone-Laces, I’le have a Coach-whip.
Pha. O spare me Gentlemen.
Cap. Hold, hold, the man begins to fear and know himself,
He shall for this time only be seal’d up
With a Feather through his nose, that he may only see
Heaven, and think whither he’s going,
Nay beyond-Sea Sir, we will proclaim you, you would
be King Thou tender Heir apparent to a Church-Ale,
Thou sleight Prince of single Sarcenet;
Thou Royal Ring-tail, fit to fly at nothing
But poor mens Poultry, and have every Boy
Beat thee from that too with his Bread and Butter.
Pha. Gods keep me from these Hell-hounds.
2 Cit. Shall’s geld him Captain?
Cap. No, you shall spare his dowcets my dear Donsels,
As you respect the Ladies let them flourish;
The curses of a longing woman kill as speedy as a
Plague, Boys.
1 Cit. I’le have a Leg that’s certain.
2 Cit. I’le have an Arm.
3 Cit. I’le have his Nose, and at mine own charge build
a Colledge, and clap’t upon the Gate.
4 Cit. I’le have his little Gut to string a Kit with,
For certainly a Royal Gut will sound like silver.
Pha. Would they were in thy belly, and I past my pain once.
5 Cit. Good Captain let me have his Liver to feed Ferrets.
Cap. Who will have parcels else? speak.
Pha. Good gods consider me, I shall be tortur’d.
1 Cit. Captain, I’le give you the trimming of your hand-sword, and let me have his Skin to make false Scabbards.
2. He had no horns Sir had he?
Cap. No Sir, he’s a Pollard, what would’st thou do with horns?
Cit. O if he had, I would have made rare Hafts and Whistles of ’em, but his Shin-bones if they be sound shall serve me.
[Enter Philaster.
All. Long live Philaster, the brave Prince Philaster.
Phi. I thank you Gentlemen, but why are these
Rude weapons brought abroad, to teach your hands
Uncivil Trades?
Cap. My Royal Rosiclear,
We are thy Mirmidons, thy Guard, thy Rorers,
And when thy noble body is in durance,
Thus do we clap our musty Murrions on,
And trace the streets in terrour: Is it peace
Thou Mars of men? Is the King sociable,
And bids thee live? Art thou above thy foemen,
And free as Phoebus? Speak, if not, this stand
Of Royal blood shall be abroach, atilt, and run
Even to the lees of honour.
Phi. Hold and be satisfied, I am my self
Free as my thoughts are, by the gods I am.
Cap. Art thou the dainty darling of the King?
Art thou the Hylas to our Hercules?
Do the Lords bow, and the regarded scarlets,
Kiss their Gumd-gols, and cry, we are your servants?
Is the Court Navigable, and the presence struck
With Flags of friendship? if not, we are thy Castle
And this man sleeps.
Phi. I am what I desire to be, your friend,
I am what I was born to be, your Prince.
Pha. Sir, there is some humanity in you,
You have a noble soul, forget my name,
And know my misery, set me safe aboard
From these wild Canibals, and as I live,
I’le quit this Land for ever: there is nothing,
Perpetual prisonment, cold, hunger, sickness
Of all sorts, all dangers, and all together
The worst company of the worst men, madness, age,
To be as many Creatures as a woman,
And do as all they do, nay to despair;
But I would rather make it a new Nature,
And live with all those than endure one hour
Amongst these wild Dogs.
Phi. I do pity you: Friends discharge your fears,
Deliver me the Prince, I’le warrant you
I shall be old enough to find my safety.
3 Cit. Good Sir take heed he does not hurt you,
He’s a fierce man I can tell you Sir.
Cap. Prince, by your leave I’le have a Sursingle,
And Male you like a Hawke.
[He stirs.
Phi. Away, away, there is no danger in him:
Alas he had rather sleep to shake his fit off.
Look you friends, how gently he leads, upon my word
He’s tame enough, he need[s] no further watching.
Good my friends go to your houses and
by me have your pardons, and my love,
And know there shall be nothing in my power
You may deserve, but you shall have your wishes.
To give you more thanks were to flatter you,
Continue still your love, and for an earnest
Drink this.
All. Long maist thou live brave Prince, brave Prince,
brave Prince.
[Exeunt Phi. and Pha.
Cap. Thou art the King of Courtesie: Fall off again my sweet youths, come and every man Trace to his house again, and hang his pewter up, then to The Tavern and bring your wives in Muffes: we will have Musick and the red grape shall make us dance, and rise Boys.
[Exeunt.
Enter King, Are. Gal. Meg. Cle. Dion, Thra. Bellario, and Attendants.
King. Is it appeas’d?
Di. Sir, all is quiet as this dead of night,
As peaceable as sleep, my Lord Philaster
Brings on the Prince himself.
King. Kind Gentlemen!
I will not break the least word I have given
In promise to him, I have heap’d a world
Of grief upon his head, which yet I hope
To wash away.
Enter Philaster and Pharamond.
Cle. My Lord is come.
King. My Son!
Blest be the time that I have leave to call
Such vertue mine; now thou art in mine arms,
Me thinks I have a salve unto my breast
For all the stings that dwell there, streams of grief
That I have wrought thee, and as much of joy
That I repent it, issue from mine eyes:
Let them appease thee, take thy right; take her,
She is thy right too, and forget to urge
My vexed soul with that I did before.
Phi. Sir, [it is] blotted from my memory,
Past and forgotten: For you Prince of Spain,
Whom I have thus redeem’d, you have full leave
To make an honourable voyage home.
And if you would go furnish’d to your Realm
With fair provision, I do see a Lady
Me thinks would gladly bear you company:
How like you this piece?
Meg. Sir, he likes it well,
For he hath tried it, and found it worth
His princely liking; we were ta’ne a bed,
I know your meaning, I am not the first
That Nature taught to seek a fellow forth:
Can shame remain perpetually in me,
And not in others? or have Princes salves
To cure ill names that meaner people want?
Phi. What mean you?
Meg. You must get another ship To clear the Princess and the boy together.
Di. How now!
Meg. Others took me, and I took her and him
At that all women may be ta’ne sometimes:
Ship us all four my Lord, we can endure
Weather and wind alike.
King. Clear thou thy self, or know not me for Father.
Are. This earth, How false it is? what means is left for me
To clear my self? It lies in your belief,
My Lords believe me, and let all things else
Struggle together to dishonour me.
Bell. O stop your ears great King, that I may speak
As freedom would, then I will call this Lady
As base as be her actions, hear me Sir,
Believe [y]our hated bloud when it rebels
Against your reason sooner than this Lady.
Meg. By this good light he bears it hansomely.
Phi. This Lady? I will sooner trust the wind
With Feathers, or the troubled Sea with Pearl,
Than her with any thing; believe her not!
Why think you, if I did believe her words;
I would outlive ’em: honour cannot take
Revenge on you, then what were to be known
But death?
King. Forget her Sir, since all is knit
Between us: but I must request of you
One favour, and will sadly be denied.
Phi. Command what ere it be.
King. Swear to be true to what you promise.
Phi. By the powers above, Let it not be the death of her or him, And it is granted.
King. Bear away the boy
To Torture, I will have her clear’d or buried.
Phi. O let me call my words back, worthy Sir,
Ask something else, bury my life and right
In one poor grave, but do not take away my
life and fame at once.
King. Away with him, it stands irrevocable.
Phi. Turn all your eyes on me, here stands a man
The falsest and the basest of this world:
Set swords against this breast some honest man,
For I have liv’d till I am pitied,
My former deeds are hateful, but this last
Is pitifull, for I unwillingly
Have given the dear preserver of my life
[Offers to kill himself.]
Unto his Torture: is it in the power
Of flesh and blood, to carry this and live?
Are. Dear Sir be patient yet, or stay that hand.
King. Sirs, strip that boy.
Di. Come Sir, your tender flesh will try your constancie.
Bell. O kill me gentlemen.
Di. No, help Sirs.
Bell. Will you Torture me?
King. Hast there, why stay you?
Bell. Then I shall not break my vow, You know just gods, though I discover all.
King. How’s that? Will he confess?
Di. Sir, so he says.
King. Speak then.
Bell. Great King if you command
This Lord to talk with me alone, my tongue
Urg’d by my heart, shall utter all the thoughts
My youth hath known, and stranger things than these
You hear not often.
King. Walk aside with him.
Di. Why speak’st thou not?
Bell. Know you this face my Lord?
Di. No.
Bell. Have you not seen it, nor the like?
Di. Yes, I have seen the like, but readily
I know not where.
Bell. I have been often told
In Court, of one Euphrasia, a Lady
And Daughter to you; betwixt whom and me
(They that would flatter my bad face would swear)
There was such strange resemblance, that we two
Could not be known asunder, drest alike.
Di. By Heaven and so there is.
Bell. For her fair sake,
Who now doth spend the spring time of her life
In holy Pilgrimage, move to the King,
That I may scape this Torture.
Di. But thou speak’st
As like Euphrasia as thou dost look,
How came it to thy knowledge that she
lives in Pilgrimage?
Bell. I know it not my Lord,
But I have heard it, and do scarce believe it.
Di. Oh my shame, is’t possible? Draw near,
That I may gaze upon thee, art thou she?
Or else her Murderer? where wert thou born?
Bell. In Siracusa.
Di. What’s thy name?
Bell. Euphrasia.
Di. O ’tis just, ’tis she now, I do know thee, Oh
that thou hadst died
And I had never seen thee nor my shame,
How shall I own thee? shall this tongue of mine
E’re call thee Daughter more?
Bell. Would I had died indeed, I wish it too,
And so I must have done by vow, e’re published
What I have told, but that there was no means
To hide it longer, yet I joy in this,
The Princess is all clear.
King. What have you done?
Di. All is discovered.
Phi. Why then hold you me?
Di. All is discovered, pray you let me go. [He offers to stab himself_.]
King. Stay him.
Are. What is discovered?
Di. Why my shame, it is a woman, let her speak the rest.
Phi. How! that again.
Di. It is a woman.
Phi. Blest be you powers that favour innocence.
King. Lay hold upon that Lady.
Phi. It is a woman Sir, hark Gentlemen!
It is a woman. Arethusa take
My soul into thy breast, that would be gone
With joy: it is a woman, thou art fair,
And vertuous still to ages, in despight of malice.
King. Speak you, where lies his shame?
Bell. I am his Daughter.
Phi. The Gods are just.
Di. I dare accuse none, but before you two
The vertue of our age, I bend my knee
For mercy.
Phi. Take it freely; for I know,
Though what thou didst were undiscreetly done,
’Twas meant well.
Are. And for me,
I have a power to pardon sins as oft
As any man has power to wrong me.
Cle. Noble and worthy.
Phi. But Bellario,
(For I must call thee still so) tell me why
Thou didst conceal thy Sex, it was a fault,
A fault Bellario, though thy other deeds
Of truth outweigh’d it: All these Jealousies
Had flown to nothing, if thou hadst discovered,
What now we know.
Bell. My Father would oft speak
Your worth and vertue, and as I did grow
More and more apprehensive, I did thirst
To see the man so rais’d, but yet all this
Was but a Maiden longing to be lost
As soon as found, till sitting in my window,
Printing my thoughts in Lawne, I saw a God
I thought (but it was you) enter our Gates,
My bloud flew out, and back again as fast
As I had puft it forth, and suck’t it in
Like breath, then was I call’d away in hast
To entertain you. Never was a man
Heav’d from a Sheep-coat to a Scepter rais’d
So high in thoughts as I, you left a kiss
Upon these lips then, which I mean to keep
From you for ever, I did hear you talk
Far above singing; after you were gone,
I grew acquainted with my heart, and search’d
What stir’d it so, Alas I found it love,
Yet far from lust, for could I have but liv’d
In presence of you, I had had my end,
For this I did delude my noble Father
With a feign’d Pilgrimage, and drest my self
In habit of a boy, and, for I knew
My birth no match for you, I was past hope
Of having you. And understanding well
That when I made discovery of my Sex,
I could not stay with you, I made a vow
By all the most religious things a Maid
Could call together, never to be known,
Whilst there was hope to hide me from mens eyes,
For other than I seem’d; that I might ever
Abide with you, then sate I by the Fount
Where first you took me up.
King. Search out a match
Within our Kingdom where and when thou wilt,
And I will pay thy Dowry, and thy self
Wilt well deserve him.
Bell. Never Sir will I
Marry, it is a thing within my vow,
But if I may have leave to serve the Princess,
To see the vertues of her Lord and her,
I shall have hope to live.
Are. I Philaster,
Cannot be jealous, though you had a Lady
Drest like a Page to serve you, nor will I
Suspect her living here: come live with me,
Live free, as I do, she that loves my Lord,
Curst be the wife that hates her.
Phi. I grieve such vertues should be laid in earth
Without an Heir; hear me my Royal Father,
Wrong not the freedom of our souls so much,
To think to take revenge of that base woman,
Her malice cannot hurt us: set her free
As she was born, saving from shame and sin.
King. Set her at liberty, but leave the Court,
This is no place for such: you Pharamond
Shall have free passage, and a conduct home
Worthy so great a Prince, when you come there,
Remember ’twas your faults that lost you her,
And not my purpos’d will.
Pha. I do confess,
Renowned Sir.
King. Last joyn your hands in one, enjoy Philaster
This Kingdom which is yours, and after me
What ever I call mine, my blessing on you,
All happy hours be at your Marriage joyes,
That you may grow your selves over all Lands,
And live to see your plenteous branches spring
Where ever there is Sun. Let Princes learn
By this to rule the passions of their blood,
For what Heaven wills, can never be withstood.
[Exeunt Omnes.