Philaster[ Dramatis Persons
¶KING OF SICILY. The King's Guard and Train.PHILASTER, Heir to the Crown of Sicily.PHAKAMOND, Prince of Spain. ARETHUSA, Daughter of the King.DION, a Lord.EUPHRASIA, Daughter of DION, but disCLEREMONT, ) Noble Gentlemen,guised like a Page and called BELLARIO.THRASILINE, f his associates.An Old Captain. MEGRA, a lascivious Lady.Five Citizens. GALATEA, a wise modest Lady attendingA Country Fellow. the Princess.Two Woodmen. Two other Ladies.
Scene. Messina and Its Neighborhood]Act the First
¶SCENE I. [The presence chamber in-the palace]
Enter DION, CLEREMONT, and THRASILINE
¶Cleremont
¶HRE'S nor lords nor ladies.
¶Dion. Credit me, gentlemen, I wonder at it. They receiv'd strict charge from the King to attend here; besides, it was boldly published that no officer should forbid any gentleman that desired to attend and hear.
¶Cle. Can you guess the cause?
¶Dion. Sir, it is plain, about the Spanish Prince, that's come to marry our kingdom's heir and be our sovereign.
¶Thra. Many that will seem to know much say she looks not on him like a maid in love.
¶Dion. Faith, sir, the multitude, that seldom know any thing but their own opinions, speak that they would have; but the prince, before his own approach, receiv'd so many confident messages from the state, that I think she's resolv'd to be rul'd.
¶Cle. Sir, it is thought, with her he shall enjoy both these kingdoms of Sicily and Calabria.
p. 668¶Dion. Sir, it is without controversy so meant. But 'twill be a troublesome labour for him to enjoy both these kingdoms with safety, the right heir to one of them living, and living so virtuously; especially, the people admiring the bravery of his mind and lamenting his injuries.
¶Cle. Who, Philaster?
¶Dion. Yes; whose father, we all know, was by our late King of Calabria unrighteously deposed from his fruitful Sicily. Myself drew some blood in those wars, which I would give my hand to be washed from.
¶Cle. Sir, my ignorance in state-policy will not let me know why, Philaster being heir to one of these kingdoms, the King should suffer him to walk abroad with such free liberty.
¶Dion. Sir, it seems your nature is more constant than to inquire after state-news. But the King, of late, made a hazard of both the kingdoms, of Sicily and his own, with offering but to imprison Philaster; at which the city was in arms, not to be charmed down by any state-order or proclamation, till they saw Philaster ride through the streets pleased and without a guard; at which they threw their hats and their arms from them; some to make bonfires, some to drink, all for his deliverance: which wise men say is the cause the King labours to bring in the power of a foreign nation to awe his own with.
¶Enter GALATEA, a Lady and MEGRA
¶Thra. See, the ladies! What's the first?
¶Dion. A wise and modest gentlewoman that attends the princess. Cle. The second ?
¶Dion. She is one that may stand still discreetly enough, and illfavour'dly dance her measure; simper when she is courted by her friend, and slight her husband.
¶Cle. The last?
¶Dion. Faith, I think she is one whom the state keeps for the agents of our confederate princes; she'll cog1 and lie with a whole army, before the league shall break. Her name is common through the kingdom, and the trophies of her dishonour advanced beyond
p. 669¶Hercules' Pillars. She loves to try the several constitutions of men'sbodies; and, indeed, has destroyed the worth of her own body bymaking experiment upon it for the good of the commonwealth.Cle. She's a profitable member.Meg. Peace, if you love me! You shall see these gentlemen standtheir ground and not court us.Gal. What if they should?La. What if they should!Meg. Nay, let her alone.—What if they should! Why, if theyshould, I say they were never abroad. What foreigner would doso? It writes them directly untravell'd.Gal. Why, what if they be?La. What if they be!Meg. Good madam, let her go on.—What if they be! Why, ifthey be, I will justify, they cannot maintain discourse with a judiciouslady, nor make a leg1 nor say "Excuse me."Gal. Ha, ha, ha!Meg. Do you laugh, madam?Dion. Your desires upon you, ladies!Meg. Then you must sit beside us.Dion. I shall sit near you then, lady.Meg. Near me, perhaps; but there's a lady endures no stranger;and to me you appear a very strange fellow.La. Methinks he's not so strange; he would quickly be acquainted.Thra. Peace, the King!
¶Enter KING, PHARAMOND, ARETHUSA, and Train
¶King. To give a stronger testimony of loveThan sickly promises (which commonlyIn princes find both birth and burialIn one breath) we have drawn you, worthy sir,To make your fair endearments to our daughter,And worthy services known to our subjects,Now lov'd and wondered at; next, our intentTo plant you deeply our immediate heirBoth to our blood and kingdoms. For this lady,[670](The best part of your life, as you confirm me,And I believe,) though her few years and sexYet teach her nothing but her fears and blushes,Desires without desire, discourse and knowledgeOnly of what herself is to herself,Make her feel moderate health; and when she sleeps,In making no ill day, knows no ill dreams.Think not, dear sir, these undivided parts,That must mould up a virgin, are put onTo show her so, as borrowed ornamentsTo speak her perfect love to you, or addAn artificial shadow to her nature,—No, sir; I boldly dare proclaim her yetNo woman. But woo her still, and think her modestyA sweeter mistress than the offer'd languageOf any dame, were she a queen, whose eyeSpeaks common loves and comforts to her servants."Last, noble son (for so I now must call you),What I have done thus public, is not onlyTo add a comfort in particularTo you or me, but all; and to confirmThe nobles and the gentry of these kingdomsBy oath to your succession, which shall beWithin this month at most.Thra. This will be hardly done.Cle. It must be ill done, if it be done.Dion. When 'tis at best, 'twill be but half done, whilstSo brave a gentleman is wrong'd and flung off.Thra. I fear.Cle. Who does not ?Dion. I fear not for myself, and yet I fear too.Well, we shall see, we shall see. No more.Pha. Kissing your white hand, mistress, I take leaveTo thank your royal father; and thus farTo be my own free trumpet. Understand,Great King, and these your subjects, mine that must be,[671](For so deserving you have spoke me, sir.And so deserving I dare speak myself,)To what a person, of what eminence,Ripe expectation, of what faculties,Manners and virtues, you would wed your kingdoms;You in me have your wishes. Oh, this country!By more than all the gods, I hold it happy;Happy in their dear memories that have beenKings great and good; happy in yours that is;And from you (as a chronicle to keepYour noble name from eating age) do IOpine myself most happy. Gentlemen,Believe me in a word, a prince's word,There shall be nothing to make up a kingdomMighty and flourishing, defenced, fear'd,Equal to be commanded and obeyed,But through the travails of my life I'll find it,And tie it to this country. By all the gods,My reign shall be so easy to the subject,That every man shall be his prince himself,And his own law—yet I his prince and law.And, dearest lady, to your dearest self(Dear in the choice of him whose name and lustreMust make you more and mightier) let me say,You are the blessed'st living; for, sweet princess,You shall enjoy a man of men to beYour servant; you shall make him yours, for whomGreat queens must die.Thra. Miraculous!Cle. This speech calls him Spaniard, being nothing but a largeinventory of his own commendations.Dion. I wonder what's his price; for certainlyHe'll sell himself, he has so prais'd his shape.
Enter PHILASTER
¶But here comes one more worthy those large speeches,Than the large speaker of them.[672]Let me be swallowed quick, if I can find,In all the anatomy of yon man's virtues,One sinew sound enough to promise for him,He shall be constable. By this sun,He'll ne'er make king unless it be for trifles,In my poor judgment.Phi. [kneeling.] Right noble sir, as low as my obedience,And with a heart as loyal as my knee,I beg your favour.King. Rise; you have it, sir. [PHILASTER rises.]Dion. Mark but the King, how pale he looks! He fears!Oh, this same whorson conscience, how it jades us!King. Speak your intents, sir.Phi. Shall I speak 'em freely?Be still my royal sovereign.King. As a subject,We give you freedom.Dion. Now it heats.Phi. Then thus I turnMy language to you, prince; you, foreign man!Ne'er stare nor put on wonder, for you mustEndure me, and you shall. This earth you tread upon(A dowry, as you hope, with this fair princess),By my dead father (oh, I had a father,Whose memory I bow to!) was not leftTo your inheritance, and I up and living—Having myself about me and my sword,The souls of all, my name and memories,These arms and some few friends beside the gods—To part so calmly with it, and sit stillAnd say, "I might have been." I tell thee, Pharamond,When thou art king, look I be dead and rotten,And my name ashes: for, hear me, Pharamond!This very ground thou goest on, this fat earth,My father's friends made fertile with their faiths,Before that day of shame shall gape and swallowThee and thy nation, like a hungry grave,[673]Into her hidden bowels. Prince, it shall;By the just gods, it shall!Pha. He's mad; beyond cure, mad. He's mad; beyDion. Here is a fellow has some fire in's veins:The outlandish prince looks like a tooth-drawer.Phi. Sir prince of popinjays, 4 I'll make it wellAppear to you I am not mad.King. You displease us:You are too bold.Phi. No, sir, I am too tame,Too much a turtle, a thing born without passion,A faint shadow, that every drunken cloudSails over, and makes nothing.King. I do not fancy this.Call our physicians; sure, he's somewhat tainted. 5Thra. I do not think 'twill prove so.Dion. H'as given him a general purge already,For all the right he has; and now he meansTo let him blood. Be constant, gentlemen: •By heaven, I'll run his hazard,Although I run my name out of the kingdom!Cle. Peace, we are all one soul.Pha. What you have seen in me to stir offenceI cannot find, unless it be this lady,Offer'd into mine arms with the succession;Which I must keep, (though it hath pleas'd your furyTo mutiny within you,) without disputingYour genealogies, or taking knowledgeWhose branch you are. The King will leave it me,And I dare make it mine. You have your answer.Phi. If thou wert sole inheritor to himThat made the world his, 6 and couldst see no sunShine upon any thing but thine; were PharamondAs truly valiant as I feel him cold,And ring'd among the choicest of his friends[674](Such as would blush to talk such serious follies,Or back such bellied commendations),And from this presence, spite of all these bugs, 7You should hear further from me.King. Sir, you wrong the prince; I gave you not this freedomTo brave our best friends. You deserve our frown.Go to; be better temper'd.Phi. It must be, sir, when I am nobler us'd.Gal. Ladies,This would have been a pattern of succession,Had he ne'er met this mischief. By my life,He is the worthiest the true name of manThis day within my knowledge.Meg. I cannot tell what you may call your knowledge;But the other is the man set in mine eye.Oh, 'tis a prince of wax! 8Gal. A dog it is. 9King. Philaster, tell meThe injuries you aim at in your riddles.Phi. If you had my eyes, sir, and sufferance,My griefs upon you, and my broken fortunes,My wants great, and now nought but hopes and fears,My wrongs would make ill riddles to be laugh'd at.Dare you be still my king, and right me not?King. Give me your wrongs in private.Phi. Take them,And ease me of a load would bow strong Adas. They whisper.Cle. He dares not stand the shock.Dion. I cannot blame him; there's danger in't.Every man in this age has not a soul of crystal, for all men to readtheir actions through: men's hearts and faces are so far asunder,that they hold no intelligence. Do but view yon stranger well, andyou shall see a fever through all his bravery, and feel him shakelike a true tenant. 10 If he give not back his crown again upon thereport of an elder-gun, I have no augury.[675]King. Go to;Be more yourself, as you respect our favour;You'll stir us else. Sir, I must have you know,That you are, and shall be, at our pleasure, whatFashion we will put upon you. Smooth your brow,Or by the godsPhi. I am dead, sir; you're my fate. It was not ISaid, I was wrong'd; I carry all about meMy weak stars lead me to, all my weak fortunes.Who dares in all this presence speak, (that isBut man of flesh, and may be mortal,) tell meI do not most entirely love this prince,And honour his full virtues!King. Sure, he's possess'd.Phi. Yes, with my father's spirit. It's here, O King,A dangerous spirit! Now he tells me, King,I was a king's heir, bids me be a king,And whispers to me, these are all my subjects.'Tis strange he will not let me sleep, but divesInto my fancy, and there gives me shapesThat kneel and do me service, cry me king:But I'll suppress him; he's a factious spirit,And will undo me.—[To PHAR.] Noble sir, your hand;I am your servant.King. Away! I do not like this:I'll make you tamer, or I'll dispossess youBoth of your life and spirit. For this timeI pardon your wild speech, without so muchAs your imprisonment.Exeunt KING, PHARAMOND, ARETHUSA [and Attendants.]Dion. I thank you, sir; you dare not for the people.Gal. Ladies, what think you now of this brave fellow?Meg. A pretty talking fellow, hot at hand. But eye yon stranger:is he not a fine complete gentleman ? Oh, these strangers, I do affectthem strangely! They do the rarest home-things, and please thefullest! As I live, I could love all the nation over and over for hissake.[676]Gal. Gods comfort your poor head-piece, lady! 'Tis a weak oneand had need of a night-cap. Exeunt Ladies.Dion. See, how his fancy labours! Has he notSpoke home and bravely ? What a dangerous trainDid he give fire to! How he shook the King,Made his soul melt within him, and his bloodRun into whey! It stood upon his browLike a cold winter-dew.Phi. Gentlemen,You have no suit to me ? I am no minion.You stand, methinks, like men that would be courtiers,If I1 1 could well be flatter'd at a priceNot to undo your children. You're all honest:Go, get you home again, and make your countryA virtuous court, to which your great ones may,In their diseased age, retire and live recluse.Cle. How do you, worthy sir?Phi. Well, very well;And so well that, if the King please, I findI may live many years.Dion. The King must please,Whilst we know what you are and who you are,Your wrongs and virtues. 12 Shrink not, worthy sir,But add your father to you; in whose nameWe'll waken all the gods, and conjure upThe rods of vengeance, the abused people,Who, like to raging torrents, shall swell high,And so begirt the dens of these male-dragons,That, through the strongest safety, they shall begFor mercy at your sword's point.Phi. Friends, no more;Our ears may be corrupted; 'tis an ageWe dare not trust our wills to. Do you love me ?Thra. Do we love Heaven and honour?Phi. My Lord Dion, you had[677]A virtuous gentlewoman call'd you father;Is she yet alive?Dion. Most honour'd sir, she is;And, for the penance but of an idle dream,Has undertook a tedious pilgrimage.
p. 677¶Enter a LadyPhi. Is it to me, or any of these gentlemen, you come?Lady. To you, brave lord; the princess would entreatYour present company.Phi. The princess send for me! You are mistaken.Lady. If you be called Philaster, 'tis to you.Phi. Kiss her fair hand, and say I will attend her. [Exit Lady.]Dion. Do you know what you do?Phi. Yes; go to see a woman.Cle. But do you weigh the danger you are in ?Phi. Danger in a sweet face!By Jupiter, I must not fear a woman!Thra. But are you sure it was the princess sent?It may be some foul train 13 to catch your life.Phi. I do not think it, gentlemen; she's noble.Her eye may shoot me dead, or those true redAnd white friends in her cheeks may steal my soul out;There's all the danger in't. But, be what may,Her single name hath armed me. Exit.Dion. Go on,And be as truly happy as thou'rt fearless!—Come, gentlemen, let's make our friends acquainted,Lest the King prove false. Exeunt.
¶[SCENE II. Arethusa's apartment in the palace]
¶"Plot.[678]Are. Will Philaster come?Lady. Dear madam, you were wont to credit meAt first.Are. But didst thou tell me so?I am forgetful, and my woman's strengthIs so o'ercharg'd with dangers like to growAbout my marriage, that these under-thingsDare not abide in such a troubled sea.How look'd he when he told thee he would come?Lady. Why, well.Are. And not a little fearful?Lady. Fear, madam! Sure, he knows not what it is.Are. You all are of his faction; the whole courtIs bold in praise of him; whilst IMay live neglected, and do noble things,As fools in strife throw gold into the sea,Drown'd in the doing. But, I know he fears.Lady. Fear, madam! Methought, his looks hid moreOf love than fear.Are. Of love! To whom? To you?Did you deliver those plain words I sent,With such a winning gesture and quick lookThat you have caught him?Lady. Madam, I mean to you.Are. Of love to me! alas, thy ignoranceLets thee not see the crosses of our births!Nature, that loves not to be questionedWhy she did this or that, but has her ends,And knows she does well, never gave the worldTwo things so opposite, so contrary,As he and I am: if a bowl of bloodDrawn from this arm of mine would poison thee,A draught of his would cure thee. Of love to me!Lady. Madam, I think I hear him.Are. Bring him in. [Exit Lady.]You gods, that would not have your dooms withstood,Whose holy wisdoms at this time it is[679]To make the passion of a feeble maidThe way unto your justice, I obey.
¶[Re]-enter [Lady with] PHILASTERLady. Here is my Lord Philaster.Are. Oh, 'tis well.Withdraw yourself. [Exit Lady.]Phi. Madam, your messengerMade me believe you wish'd to speak with me.Are. 'Tis true, Philaster; but the words are suchI have to say, and do so ill beseemThe mouth of woman, that I wish them said,And yet am loath to speak them. Have you knownThat I have aught detracted from your worth?Have I in person wrong'd you, or have setMy baser instruments to throw disgraceUpon your virtues ?Phi. Never, madam, you.Are. Why, then, should you, in such a public place,Injure a princess, and a scandal layUpon my fortunes, fam'd to be so great,Calling a great part of my dowry in question ?Phi. Madam, this truth which I shall speak will beFoolish: but, for your fair and virtuous self,I could afford myself to have no rightTo any thing you wish'd.Are. Philaster, know,I must enjoy these kingdoms.Phi. Madam, both?Are. Both, or I die: by heaven, I die, Philaster,If I not calmly may enjoy them both.Phi. I would do much to save that noble life;Yet would be loath to have posterityFind in our stories, that Philaster gaveHis right unto a sceptre and a crownTo save a lady's longing.Are. Nay, then, hear:[680]I must and will have them, and morePhi. What more?Are. Or lose that little life the gods preparedTo trouble this poor piece of earth withal.Phi. Madam, what more?Are. Turn, then, away thy face.Phi. No.Are. Do.Phi. I can endure it. Turn away my face!I never yet saw enemy that look'dSo dreadfully, but that I thought myselfAs great a basilisk1 as he; or spakeSo horrible, but that I thought my tongueBore thunder underneath, as much as his;Nor beast that I could turn from. Shall I thenBegin to fear sweet sounds? A lady's voice,Whom I do love? Say you would have my life;Why, I will give it you; for 'tis of meA thing so loath'd, and unto you that askOf so poor use, that I shall make no price:If you entreat, I will unmov'dly hear.Are. Yet, for my sake, a little bend thy looks.Phi. I do.Are. Then know, I must have them and thee.Phi. And me?Are. Thy love; without which, all the landDiscovered yet will serve me for no useBut to be buried in.Phi. Is't possible?Are. With it, it were too little to bestowOn thee. Now, though thy breath do strike me dead,(Which, know, it may,) I have unript my breast.Phi. Madam, you are too full of noble thoughts,To lay a train for this contemned life,Which you may have for asking. To suspectWere base, where I deserve no ill. Love you![681]By all my hopes, I do, above my life!But how this passion should proceed from youSo violently, would amaze a manThat would be jealous.1Are. Another soul into my body shotCould not have fill'd me with more strength and spiritThan this thy breath. But spend not hasty timeIn seeking how I came thus: 'tis the gods,The gods, that make me so; and, sure, our loveWill be the nobler and the better blest,In that the secret justice of the godsIs mingled with it. Let us leave, and kiss;Lest some unwelcome guest should fall betwixt us,And we should part without it.Phi. 'Twill be illI should abide here long.Are. 'Tis true; and worseYou should come often. How shall we deviseTo hold intelligence, that our true loves,On any new occasion, may agreeWhat path is best to tread ?Phi. I have a boy,Sent by the gods, I hope, to this intent,Not yet seen in the court. Hunting the buck,I found him sitting by a fountain's side,Of which he borrow'd some to quench his thirst,And paid the nymph again as much in tears.A garland lay him by, made by himself,Of many several flowers bred in the vale,Stuck in that mystic order that the rarenessDelighted me: but ever when he turn'dHis tender eyes upon 'em, he would weep,As if he meant to make 'em grow again.Seeing such pretty helpless innocenceDwell in his face, I ask'd him all his story.He told me that his parents gentle died,[682]Leaving him to the mercy of the fields,Which gave him roots; and of the crystal springs,Which did not stop their courses; and the sun,Which still, he thank'd him, yielded him his light.Then took he up his garland, and did showWhat every flower, as country-people hold,Did signify, and how all, ordered thus,Express'd his grief; and, to my thoughts, did readThe prettiest lecture of his country-artThat could be wish'd: so that methought I couldHave studied it. I gladly entertain'dHim, who was glad to follow; and have gotThe trustiest, loving'st, and the gentlest boyThat ever master kept. Him will I sendTo wait on you, and bear our hidden love.Are. 'Tis well; no more.
p. 682¶Re-enter LadyLady. Madam, the prince is come to do his service.Are. What will you do, Philaster, with yourself?Phi. Why, that which all the gods have pointed out for me.Are. Dear, hide thyself.—Bring in the prince. [Exit Lady.]Phi. Hide me from Pharamond!When thunder speaks, which is the voice of God,Though I do reverence, yet I hide me not;And shall a stranger-prince have leave to bragUnto a foreign nation, that he madePhilaster hide himself?Are. He cannot know it.Phi. Though it should sleep for ever to the world,It is a simple sin to hide myself,Which will for ever on my conscience lie.Are. Then, good Philaster, give him scope and wayIn what he says; for he is apt to speakWhat you are loath to hear. For my sake, do.Phi. I will.[683][Re]-enter [Lady with] PHARAMONDPha. My princely mistress, as true lovers ought,I come to kiss these fair hands, and to show, [Exit Lady.]In outward ceremonies, the dear loveWrit in my heart.Phi. If I shall have an answer no directlier,I am gone.Pha. To what would he have answer?Are. To his claim unto the kingdom.Pha. Sirrah, I forbare you before the King—Phi. Good sir, do so still; I would not talk with you.Pha. But now the time is fitter. Do but offerTo make mention of right to any kingdom,Though it be scarce habitablePhi. Good sir, let me go.Pha. And by the gods—Phi. Peace, Pharamond! if thouAre. Leave us, Philaster.Phi. I have done. [Going.]Pha. You are gone! by Heaven I'll fetch you back.Phi. You shall not need. [Returning.]Pha. What now?Phi. Know, Pharamond,I loathe to brawl with such a blast as thou,Who art nought but a valiant voice; but ifThou shalt provoke me further, men shall say,"Thou wert," and not lament it.Pha. Do you slightMy greatness so, and in the chamber ofThe princess?Phi. It is a place to which I must confessI owe a reverence; but were't the church,Ay, at the altar, there's no place so safe,Where thou dar'st injure me, but I dare kill thee.And for your greatness, know, sir, I can graspYou and your greatness thus, thus into nothing.[684]Give not a word, not a word back! Farewell. Exit.Pha. 'Tis an odd fellow, madam; we must stopHis mouth with some office when we are married.Are. You were best make him your controller.Pha. I think he would discharge it well. But, madam,I hope our hearts are knit; but yet so slowThe ceremonies of state are, that 'twill be longBefore our hands be so. If then you please,Being agreed in heart, let us not waitFor dreaming form, but take a little stolenDelights, and so prevent 3 our joys to come.Are. If you dare speak such thoughts,I must withdraw in honour. Exit.Pha. The constitution of my body will never hold out till thewedding; I must seek elsewhere. Exit.
Act the Second
¶SCENE I. [An apartment in the palace]
Enter PHILASTER and BELLARIO
¶Phi. And thou shalt find her honourable, boy;Full of regard unto thy tender youth,For thine own modesty; and, for my sake,Apter to give than thou wilt be to ask,Ay, or deserve.Bel. Sir, you did take me upWhen I was nothing; and only yet am somethingBy being yours. You trusted me unknown;And that which you were apt to conster 1A simple innocence in me, perhapsMight have been craft, the cunning of a boyHard'ned in lies and theft: yet ventur'd youTo part my miseries and me; for which,I never can expect to serve a lady[685]That bears more honour in her breast than you.Phi. But, boy, it will prefer1 thee. Thou art young,And bear'st a childish overflowing loveTo 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 friendsThat plac'd thee in the noblest way of life.She is a princess I prefer thee to.Bel. In that small time that I have seen the world,I never knew a man hasty to partWith a servant he thought trusty. I remember,My father would prefer the boys he keptTo greater men than he; but did it notTill they were grown too saucy for himself.Phi. Why, gentle boy, I find no fault at allIn thy behaviour.Bel. Sir, if I have madeA fault in ignorance, instruct my youth:I shall be willing, if not apt, to learn;Age and experience will adorn my mindWith larger knowledge; and if I have doneA wilful fault, think me not past all hopeFor once. What master holds so strict a handOver his boy, that he will part with himWithout one warning? Let me be correctedTo 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 knowestIt is my business that doth call thee hence;And when thou art with her, thou dwelPst with me.Think so, and 'tis so; and when time is full,That thou hast well discharg'd this heavy trust,Laid on so weak a one, I will again[686]With joy receive thee; as I live, I will!Nay, weep not, gentle boy. 'Tis more than timeThou didst attend the princess.Bel. I am gone.But since I am to part with you, my lord,And none knows whether I shall live to doMore service for you, take this little prayer:Heaven bless your loves, your fights, all your designs!May sick men, if they have your wish, be well;And Heaven hate those you curse, though I be one! Exit.Phi. The love of boys unto their lords is strange;I have read wonders of it: yet this boyFor my sake (if a man may judge by looksAnd speech) would out-do story. I may seeA day to pay him for his loyalty. Exit.
Enter PHARAMOND
¶Pha. Why should these ladies stay so long? They must come this way. I know the queen employs 'em not; for the reverend mother 1 sent me word, they would all be for the garden. If they should all prove honest 2 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!
¶Enter GALATEA
¶Here's one bolted; I'll hound at her.—Madam!Gal. Your grace!Pha. Shall I not be a trouble?Gal. Not to me, sir.Pha. Nay, nay, you are too quick. By this sweet handGal. You'll 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;
p. 687¶And then, I think, I shall have sense enough
¶To answer all the weighty apophthegms
¶Your royal blood shall manage.
¶Pha. Dear lady, can you love?
¶Gal. Dear prince! how dear? I ne'er cost you a coach yet, nor put you to the dear repentance of a banquet. Here's no scarlet, sir, to blush the sin out it was given for. This wire mine own hair covers; and this face has been so far from being dear to any, that it ne'er cost penny painting; and, for the rest of my poor wardrobe, such as you see, it leaves no hand 3 behind it, to make the jealous mercer's wife curse our good doings.
¶Pha. You mistake me, lady.
¶Gal. Lord, I do so; would you or I could help it!
¶Pha. You're very dangerous bitter, like a potion.
¶Gal. No, sir, I do not mean to purge you, though
¶I mean to purge a little time on you.
¶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, 4 then fast till supper; about eight you may eat; use exercise, and keep a sparrow-hawk; you can shoot in a tiller: 5 but, of all, your grace must fly phlebotomy, 6 fresh pork, conger, 7 and clarified whey; they are all duller of the vital spirits.
¶Pha. Lady, you talk of nothing all this while.
¶Gal. 'Tis very true, sir; I talk of you.
¶Pha. [Aside.] 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 shower 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'll send my man with silver and keep your gold for [688]you. Pha. Lady, lady!
p. 688¶Gal. She's coming, sir, behind, will take white money.—[Aside.] Yet for all this I'll match ye. Exit behind the hangings.
¶Pha. If there be but two such more in this kingdom, and near the court, we may even hang up our harps. Ten such camphire1 constitutions as this would call the golden age again in question, and teach the old way for every ill-fac'd husband to get his own children; and what a mischief that would breed, let all consider!
¶Enter MEGRA
¶Here's another: if she be of the same last, the devil shall pluck heron.—Many fair mornings, lady!Meg. As many mornings bring as many days,Fair, sweet and hopeful to your grace!Pha. [Aside.] 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 will talkAn hour out quickly.Meg. What would your grace talk of?Pha. Of some such pretty subject as yourself:I'll go no further than your eye, or lip;There's theme enough for one man for an age.Meg. Sir, they stand right, and my lips are yet even,Smooth, young enough, ripe enough, and red enough,Or my glass wrongs me.Pha. Oh, they are two twinn'd cherries dy'd in blushesWhich those fair suns above with their bright beamsReflect upon and ripen. Sweetest beauty,Bow down those branches, that the longing tasteOf the faint looker-on may meet those blessings,And taste and live. They kiss.Meg. [Aside.] Oh, delicate sweet prince!She that hath snow enough about her heartTo take the wanton spring of ten such lines off,May be a nun without probation.—Sir,[689]You have in such neat poetry gathered a kiss,That if I had but five lines of that number,Such pretty begging blanks, 10 I should commendYour forehead 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, but you shall not;I'll prompt you first. [Kisses her.] Can you do it now?Meg. Methinks 'tis easy, now you ha' done't before me;But yet I should stick at it. [Kisses him.]Pha. Stick till to-morrow;I'll ne'er part you, sweetest. But we lose time:Can you love me?Meg. Love you, my lord! How would you have me love you?Pha. I'll teach you in a short sentence, 'cause I will not load yourmemory; this 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 teachyou to do it as easily in one night as you'll go to bed, I'll lose myroyal blood for't.Meg. Why, prince, you have a lady of your ownThat yet wants teaching.Pha. I'll sooner teach a mare the old measures" than teach heranything belonging to the function. She's afraid to lie with herselfif she have but any masculine imaginations about her. I know, whenwe are married, I must ravish her.Meg. By mine honour, that's a foul fault, indeed;But time and your good help will wear it out, sir.Has your grace seen the court-star, Galatea?Pha. Out upon her! She's as cold of her favour as an apoplex;she sailed by but now.Meg. And how do you hold her wit, sir?Pha. I hold her wit? The strength of all the guard cannot holdit, 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[690]you, and you may find a tongue-bolt. But speak, sweet lady, shall Ibe freely welcome? If you mistrust my faith, you do me the un-noblest wrong.Meg. I dare not, prince, I dare not.Pha. Make your own conditions, my purse shall seal 'em; andwhat you dare imagine you can want, I'll furnish you withal. Givetwo hours to your thoughts every morning about it. Come, I knowyou 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'll find some means to slip into your lodging;Till whenPha. Till when, this and my heart go with thee!Exeunt several ways.Re-enter GALATEA from behind the hangingsGal. Oh, thou pernicious petticoat prince! are these your virtues?Well, if I do not lay a train to blow your sport up, I am no woman:and, Lady Towsabel, I'll fit you for't. Exit.
p. 690¶[SCENE HI. Arethusa's apartment in the palace]Enter ARETHUSA and a LadyAre. Where's the boy?Lady. Within, madam.Are. Gave you him gold to buy him clothes?Lady. I did.Are. And has he done't?Lady. Yes, madam.Are. Tis a pretty sad-talking boy, is it not?Asked you his name ?Lady. No, madam.
¶Enter GALATEA
¶Are. Oh, you are welcome. What good news?Gal. As good as any one can tell your grace,That says she has done that you would have wish'd.[691]Are. Hast thou discovered?Gal. I have strain'd a point of modesty for you.Are. I prithee, how?Gal. In list'ning after bawdry. I see, let a lady live never so modestly, she shall be sure to find a lawful time to hearken after bawdry.Your prince, brave Pharamond, was so hot on't!Are. With whom?Gal. Why, with the lady I suspected. I can tell the time andplace.Are. Oh, when, and where?Gal. To-night, his lodging.Are. Run thyself into the presence; mingle there againWith other ladies; leave the rest to me. [Exit GALATEA.]If destiny (to whom we dare not say,"Why didst thou this?") have not decreed it so,In lasting leaves (whose smallest charactersWere never alter'd yet), this match shall break.—Where's the boy?Lady. Here, madam.
¶Enter BELLARIO
¶Are. Sir, you are sad to change your service; is't not so?Bel. Madam, I have not chang'd; I wait on you,To do him service.Are. Thou disclaim'st in me.Tell me thy name.Bel. Bellario.Are. Thou canst sing and play ?Bel. If grief will give me leave, madam, I can.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 beWhen no breath 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, doth your lord love me ?[692]Bel. 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 meAs if he wish'd me well ?Bel. If it be loveTo forget all respect of his own friendsWith thinking of your face; if it be loveTo sit cross-arm'd and sigh away the day,Mingled with starts, crying your name as loudAnd hastily as men i' the streets do fire;If it be love to weep himself awayWhen he but hears of any lady deadOr kill'd, because it might have been your chance;If, when he goes to rest (which will not be),'Twixt every prayer he says, to name you once,As others drop a bead, be to be in love,Then, madam, I dare swear he loves you.Are. Oh you're a cunning boy, and taught to lieFor your lord's credit! But thou know'st a lieThat bears this sound is welcomer to meThan any truth that says he loves me not.Lead the way, boy.—[To Lady.] Do you attend me too.—'Tis thy lord's business hastes me thus. Away! Exeunt.
¶[SCENE IV. Before Pharamond's lodging in the court of the palace]
Enter DION, CLEREMONT, THRASILINE, MEGRA, and GALATEA
¶Dion. Come, ladies, shall we talk a round? As menDo walk a mile, women should talk an hourAfter supper: 'tis their exercise.Gal. 'Tis late.Meg. 'Tis allMy eyes will do to lead me to my bed.Gal. I fear, they are so heavy, you'll scarce findThe way to your own lodging with 'em to-night.
Enter PHARAMOND
¶Thra. The prince!Pha. Not a-bed, ladies? You're good sitters-up.What think you of a pleasant dream, to lastTill morning?Meg. I should choose, my lord, a pleasing wake before it.
Enter ARETHUSA and BELLARIO
¶Are. 'Tis well, my lord; you're courting of these ladies.—Is't not late, gentlemen?Cle. Yes, madam.Are. Wait you there. Exit.Meg. [Aside.] She's jealous, as I live.—Look you, my lord,The princess has a Hylas, an Adonis.Pha. His form is angel-like.Meg. Why, this is he that must, when you are wed,Sit by your pillow, like young Apollo, withHis hand and voice binding your thoughts in sleep;The princess does provide him for you and for herself.Pha. I find no music in these boys.Meg. Nor I:They can do little, and that small they do,They have not wit to hide.Dion. Serves he the princess?Thra. Yes.Dion. 'Tis a sweet boy: how brave1 she keeps him!Pha. Ladies all, good rest; I mean to kill a buckTo-morrow morning ere you've done your dreams.Meg. All happiness attend your grace! [Exit PHARAMOND.] Gentlemen, good rest.—Come, shall we go to bed?Gal. Yes.—All good night.Dion. May your dreams be true to you!—
¶Exeunt GALATEA and MEGRA.
p. 694¶What shall we do, gallants? 'tis late. The KingIs up still: see, he comes; a guard alongWith him.
¶Enter KING, ARETHUSA, and Guard
¶King. Look your intelligence be true.Are. Upon my life, it is; and I do hopeYour highness will not tie me to a manThat in the heat of wooing throws me off,And takes another.Dion. What should this mean?King. If it be true,That lady had been better have embrac'dCureless diseases. Get you to your rest:You shall be righted. Exeunt ARETHUSA and BELLARIO.—Gentlemen, draw near;We shall employ you. Is young PharamondCome to his lodging?Dion. I saw him enter there.King. Haste, some of you, and cunningly discoverIf Megra be in her lodging. [Exit DION.]Cle. Sir,She parted hence but now, with other ladies.King. It she be there, we shall not need to makeA vain discovery of our suspicion.[Aside.] You gods, I see that who unrighteouslyHolds wealth or state from others shall be curs'dIn that which meaner men are blest withal:Ages to come shall know no male of himLeft to inherit, and his name shall beBlotted from earth; if he have any child,It shall be crossly match'd; the gods themselvesShall sow wild strife betwixt her lord and her.Yet, if it be your wills, forgive the sinI have committed; let it not fallUpon this understanding child of mine![695]She has not broke your laws. But how can ILook to be heard of gods that must be just,Praying upon the ground I hold by wrong?
¶Re-enter DIONDion. Sir, I have asked, and her women swear she is within; butthey, I think, are bawds. I told 'em, I must speak with her; theylaugh'd, and said, their lady lay speechless. I said, my business wasimportant; they said, their lady was about it. I grew hot, and cried,my business was a matter that concern'd life and death; they answered, so was sleeping, at which their lady was. I urg'd again, shehad scarce time to be so since last I saw her: they smil'd again, andseem'd to instruct me that sleeping was nothing but lying down andwinking.1 Answers more direct I could not get: in short, sir, I thinkshe is not there.King. 'Tis then no time to dally.—You o' the guard,Wait at the back door of the prince's lodging,And see that none pass thence, upon your lives. [Exeunt Guards.]Knock, gentlemen; knock loud; louder yet.[DION, CLER., &c. knock at the door ofPHARAMOND'S Lodging.]What, has their pleasure taken off their hearing?—I'll break your meditations.—Knock again.—Not yet ? I do not think he sleeps, having thisLarum by him.—Once more.—Pharamond! prince!PHARAMOND [appears] above.Pha. What saucy groom knocks at this dead of night?Where be our waiters? By my vexed soul,He meets his death that meets me, for this boldness.King. Prince, prince, you wrong your thoughts; we are yourfriends:Come down.Pha. The King!King. The same, sir. Come down, sir:We have cause of present counsel with you.[696]Pha. If your grace pleaseTo use me, I'll attend you to your chamber.
p. 696¶Enter PHARAMOND belowKing. No, 'tis too late, prince; I'll make bold with yours.Pha. I have some private reasons to myselfMake me unmannerly, and say you cannot.—They press to come in.Nay, press not forward, gentlemen; he mustCome through my life that comes here.King. Sir, be resolv'd 3 I must and will come.—Enter.Pha. I will not be dishonour'd.He that enters, enters upon his death.Sir, 'tis a sign you make no stranger of me,To bring these renegadoes to my chamberAt these unseasoned hours.King. Why do youChafe yourself so? You are not wronged nor shall be;Only I'll search your lodging, for some causeTo ourself known.—Enter, I say.Pha. I say, no.
¶Enter MEGRA aboveMeg. Let 'em enter, prince, let 'em enter;I am up and ready: 41 know their business;'Tis the poor breaking of a lady's honourThey hunt so hotly after; let 'em enjoy it.—You have your business, gentlemen; I lay here.Oh, my lord the King, this is not noble in youTo make public the weakness of a woman 1King. Come down.Meg. I dare, my lord. Your hootings and your clamours,Your private whispers and your broad fleerings,Can no more vex my soul than this base carriage. 5But I have vengeance yet in store for some[697]Shall, in the most contempt you can have of me,Be joy and nourishment.King. Will you come down ?Meg. Yes, to laugh at your worst; but I shall wring you,If my skill fail me not. [Exit above.]King. Sir, I must dearly chide you for this looseness;You have wrong'd a worthy lady; but, no more.—Conduct him to my lodging and to bed.[Exeunt PHARAMOND and Attendants.]Cle. Get him another wench, and you bring him to bed indeed.Dion. 'Tis strange a man cannot ride a stageOr two, to breathe himself, without a warrant.If his gear hold, that lodgings be search'd thus,Pray God we may lie with our own wives in safety,That they be not by some trick of state mistaken!
¶King. Now, lady of honour, where's your honour now?No man can fit your palate but the prince.Thou most ill-shrouded rottenness, thou pieceMade by a painter and a 'pothecary,Thou troubled sea of lust, thou wildernessInhabited by wild thoughts, thou swoln cloudOf infection, thou ripe mine of all diseases,Thou all-sin, all-hell, and last all-devils, tell me,Had you none to pull on with your courtesiesBut he that must be mine, and wrong my daughter?By all the gods, all these, and all the pages,And all the court, shall hoot thee through the court,Fling rotten oranges, make ribald rhymes,And sear thy name with candles upon walls!Do you laugh, Lady Venus?Meg. Faith, sir, you must pardon me;I cannot choose but laugh to see you merry.If you do this, O King! nay, if you dare do it,By all those gods you swore by, and as manyMore of my own, I will have fellows, and such[698]Fellows in it, as shall make noble mirth!The princess, your dear daughter, shall stand by meOn walls, and sung in ballads, any thing.Urge me no more; I know her and her haunts,Her lays, leaps, and outlays, and will discover all;Nay, will dishonour her. I know the boyShe keeps; a handsome boy, about eighteen;Know what she does with him, where, and when.Come, sir, you put me to a woman's madness,The glory of a fury; and if I do notDo't to the heightKing. What boy is this she raves at?Meg. Alas! good-minded prince, you know not these things!I am loath to reveal 'em. Keep this fault,As you would keep your health from the hot airOf the corrupted people, or, by Heaven,I will not fall alone. What I have knownShall be as public as a print; all tonguesShall speak it as they do the language theyAre born in, as free and commonly; I'll set it,Like a prodigious1 star, for all to gaze at,And so high and glowing, that other kingdoms far and foreignShall read it there, nay, travel with it, till they findNo 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 waitOn her, a fair boy.King. Go, get you to your quarter:For this time I will study to forget you.Meg. Do you study to forget me, and I'll studyTo forget you. Exeunt KING, MEGRA, and Guard.Cle. Why, here's a male spirit fit for Hercules. If ever there beNine Worthies of women, this wench shall ride astride and be theircaptain.Dion. Sure, she has a garrison of devils in her tongue, she uttered
p. 699¶such balls of wild-fire. She has so netded 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, chaste, virtuous lady's boy; and a fair boy, a well-spoken boy! All these considered, can make nothing else—but there I leave you, gentlemen.
¶Thra. Nay, we'll go wander with you. Exeunt.
Act the Third
¶SCENE I. [The court of the palace]
Enter DION, CLEREMONT, and THRASILINE
¶Cle. Nay, doubtless, 'tis true.Dion. Ay; and 'tis the godsThat rais'd this punishment, to scourge the KingWith his own issue. Is it not a shameFor us that should write noble in the land,For us that should be freemen, to beholdA man that is the bravery of his age,Philaster, press'd down from his royal rightBy this regardless King? and only lookAnd see the sceptre ready to be castInto the hands of that lascivious ladyThat lives in lust with a smooth boy, now to be marriedTo yon strange prince, who, but that people pleaseTo let him be a prince, is born a slaveIn that which should be his most noble part,His mind ?Thra. That man that would not stir with youTo aid Philaster, let the gods forgetThat 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 movedWith a stiff gale, their heads bow all one way.[700]Dion. The only cause that draws Philaster backFrom this attempt is the fair princess' love,Which he admires, and we can now confute.Thra. Perhaps he'll not believe it.Dion. Why, gentlemen, 'tis without question so.Cle. Ay, 'tis past speech, she lives dishonestly.But how shall we, if he be curious, 1 workUpon his faith?Thra. We all are satisfied within ourselves.Dion. Since it is true, and tends to his own good,I'll make this new report to be my knowledge;I'll say I know it; nay, I'll swear I saw it.Cle. It will be best.Thra. 'Twill move him.
Enter PHILASTER
¶Dion. Here he comes.Good morrow to your honour: we have spentSome time in seeking you.Phi. My worthy friends,You that can keep your memories to knowYour friend in miseries, and cannot frownOn men disgrac'd for virtue, a good dayAttend you all I What service may I doWorthy your acceptation?Dion. My good lord,We come to urge that virtue, which we knowLives in your breast, forth. Rise, and make a head: 2The nobles and the people are all dulledWith this usurping king; and not a man,That ever heard the word, or knew such a thingAs virtue, but will second your attempts.Phi. How honourable is this love in youTo me that have deserv'd none! Know, my friends,(You, that were born to shame your poor PhilasterWith too much courtesy,) I could afford
¶Scrupulous. 2 Raise an armed force.[701]To melt myself in thanks: but my designsAre not yet ripe. Suffice it, that ere longI shall employ your loves; but yet the timeIs short of what I would.Dion. The time is fuller, sir, than you expect;That which hereafter will not, perhaps, be reach'dBy violence, may now be caught. As for the King,You know the people have long hated him;But now the princess, whom they lov'dPhi. Why, what of her ?Dion. Is loathed as much as he.Phi. By what strange means?Dion. She's known a whore.Phi. Thou liest.Dion. My lord-Phi. Thou liest, Offers to draw and is held.And thou shalt feel it! I had thought thy mindHad been of honour. Thus to rob a ladyOf her good name, is an infectious sinNot to be pardon'd. Be it false as hell,'Twill never be redeem'd, if it be sownAmongst the people, fruitful to increaseAll evil they shall hear. Let me aloneThat I may cut off falsehood whilst it springs!Set hills on hills betwixt me and the manThat utters this, and I will scale them all,And from the utmost top fall on his neck,Like thunder from a cloud.Dion. This is most strange:Sure, he does love her.Phi. I do love fair truth.She is my mistress, and who injures herDraws vengeance from me. Sirs, let go my arms.Thra. Nay, good my lord, be patient.Cle. Sir, remember this is your honour'd friend,That comes to do his service, and will show youWhy he utter'd this.[702]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 beenAs much distemper'd and enrag'd as now.Dion. But this, my lord, is truth.Phi. Oh, say not so!Good sir, forbear to say so; 'tis then truth,That womankind is false: urge it no more;It is impossible. Why should you thinkThe princess light?Dion. Why, she was taken at it.Phi. 'Tis false! by Heaven, 'tis false! It cannot be! Can it? Speak,gentlemen; for God's love, speak! Is't possible? Can women allbe damn'd?Dion. Why, no, my lord.Phi. Why, then, it cannot be.Dion. And she was taken with her boy.Phi. What boy?Dion. A page, a boy that serves her.Phi. Oh, good gods!A little boy?Dion. Ay; know you him, my lord?Phi. [Aside.] Hell and sin know him!—Sir, you are deceiv'd;I'll reason it a little coldly with you.If she were lustful, would she take a boy,That knows not yet desire ? She would have oneShould meet her thoughts and know the sin he acts,Which is the great delight of wickedness.You are abus'd,1 and so is she, and I.Dion. How you, my lord?Phi. Why, all the world's abusedIn an unjust report.Dion. Oh, noble sir, your virtuesCannot look into the subtle thoughts of woman!In short, my lord, I took them; I myself.[703]Phi. Now, all the devils, thou didst! Fly from my rage!Would thou hadst ta'en devils engend'ring plagues,When thou didst take them! Hide thee from mine eyes!Would thou hadst taken thunder on thy breast,When thou didst take them; or been strucken dumbFor ever; that this foul deed might have sleptIn silence!Thra. Have you known him so ill-tempered ?Cle. Never before.Phi. The winds, that are let looseFrom the four several corners of the earth,And spread themselves all over sea and land,Kiss not a chaste one. What friend bears a swordTo run me thorough ?Dion. Why, my lord, are youSo moved at this ?Phi. When any fall from virtue,I am distract; I have an interest in't.Dion. But, good my lord, recall yourself, and thinkWhat's best to be done.Phi. I thank you; I will do it.Please you to leave me; I'll consider of it.To-morrow I will find your lodging forth,And give you answer.Dion. All the gods direct youThe readiest way!Thra. He was extreme impatient.Cle. It was his virtue and his noble mind.
[Exeunt DION, CLEREMONT, and THRASUJ
¶Phi. I had forgot to ask him where he took them;I'll follow him. Oh, that I had a seaWithin my breast, to quench the fire I feel!More circumstances will but fan this fire:It more afflicts me now, to know by whomThis 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.[704]Oh, that, like beasts, we could not grieve ourselvesWith that we see not! Bulls and rams will fightTo keep their females, standing in their sight;But take 'em from them, and you take at onceTheir spleens away; and they will fall againUnto their pastures, growing fresh and fat;And taste the waters of the springs as sweetAs 'twas before, finding no start in sleep;But miserable man
¶Enter BELLARIO
¶See, see, you gods,He walks still; and the face you let him wearWhen he was innocent is still the same,Not blasted! Is this justice? Do you meanTo intrap mortality, that you allowTreason so smooth a brow ? I cannot nowThink he is guilty.Bel. Health to you, my lord!The princess doth commend her love, her life,And this, unto you. Gives a letter.Phi. Oh, Bellario,Now I perceive she loves me; she does show itIn loving thee, my boy; she has made thee brave.Bel. My lord, she has attir'd me past my wish,Past my desert; more fit for her attendant,Though far unfit for me who do attend.Phi. Thou art grown courtly, boy.—Oh, let all women,That love black deeds, learn to dissemble here,Here, by this paper! She does write to meAs if her heart were mines of adamantTo 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.Bel. Scarce like her servant, but as if I wereSomething allied to her, or had preserv'd[705]Her life three times by my fidelity;As mothers fond do use their only sons,As I'd use one that's left unto my trust,For whom my life should pay if he met harm,So she does use me.Phi. Why, this is wondrous well:But what kind language does she feed thee with ?Bel. Why, she does tell me she will trust my youthWith all her loving secrets, and does call meHer pretty servant; bids me weep no moreFor leaving you; she'll see my servicesRegarded: and such words of that soft strain,That I am nearer weeping when she endsThan ere she spake.Phi. This is much better still.Bel. Are you not ill, my lord ?Phi. 111? No, Bellario.Bel. Methinks your wordsFall not from off your tongue so evenly,Nor is there in your looks that quietnessThat I was wont to see.Phi. Thou art deceiv'd, boy:And she strokes thy head ?Bel. Yes.Phi. And she does clap thy cheeks?Bel. She does, my lord.Phi. And she does kiss thee, boy? ha!Bel. How, my lord?Phi. She kisses thee?Bel. Never, my lord, by heaven.Phi. That's strange; I know she does.Bel. No, by my life.Phi. Why then she does not love me. Come, she does.I bade her do it; I charg'd her, by all charmsOf love between us, by the hope of peaceWe should enjoy, to yield thee all delightsNaked as to her bed; I took her oath[706]Thou should'st enjoy her. Tell me, gentle boy,Is she not parallelless ? Is not her breathSweet as Arabian winds when fruits are ripe?Are not her breasts two liquid ivory balls?Is she not all a lasting mine of joy?Bel. Ay, now I see why my disturbed thoughtsWere so perplex'd. When first I went to her,My heart held augury. You are abus'd;Some villain has abus'd you; I do seeWhereto you tend. Fall rocks upon his headThat put this to you! 'Tis some subtle trainTo 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 moreThan I love happiness, and placed thee thereTo pry with narrow eyes into her deeds.Hast thou discovered? Is she fallen to lust,As I would wish her ? Speak some comfort to me.Bel. My lord, you did mistake the boy you sent.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 aidHer base desires; but what I came to knowAs 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 leastThat dwells within thee, or will rip thy heartTo know it. I will see'thy thoughts as plainAs I do now thy face.Bel. Why, so you do.She is (for aught I know) by all the gods,As chaste as ice! But were she foul as hell,And I did know it thus, the breath of kings,The points of swords, tortures, nor bulls of brass,Should draw it from me.Phi. Then it is no time[707]To dally with thee; I will take thy life,For I do hate thee. I could curse thee now.Bel. If you do hate, you could not curse me worse;The gods have not a punishment in storeGreater for me than is your hate.Phi. Fie, fie,So young and so dissembling! Tell me whenAnd where thou didst enjoy her, or let plaguesFall on me, if I destroy thee not! He draws his sword.Bel. By heaven, I never did; and when I lieTo save my life, may I live long and loath'd!Hew me asunder, and, whilst I can think,I'll love those pieces you have cut awayBetter than those that grow, and kiss those limbsBecause you made 'em so.Phi. Fear'st thou not death?Can boys contemn that?Bel. Oh, what boy is heCan 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 knowWhat 'tis to die.Bel. Yes, I do know, my lord:'Tis less than to be born; a lasting sleep;A quiet resting from all jealousy,A thing we all pursue. I know, besides,It is but giving over of a gameThat must be lost.Phi. But there are pains, false boy,For perjur'd souls. Think but on those, and thenThy heart will melt, and thou wilt utter all.Bel. May they fall all upon me whilst I live,If I be perjur'd, or have ever thoughtOf that you charge me with! If I be false,Send me to suffer in those punishmentsYou speak of; kill me!Phi. Oh, what should I do?[708]Why, who can but believe him? He does swearSo earnestly, that if it were not true,The gods would not endure him. Rise, Bellario:Thy protestations are so deep, and thouDost look so truly when thou utter'st them,That, though I know 'em false as were my hopes,I cannot urge thee further. But thou wertTo blame to injure me, for I must loveThy honest looks, and take no revenge uponThy tender youth. A love from me to theeIs firm, whate'er thou dost; it troubles meThat 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 doneThat will distract me, that will make me mad,If I behold thee. If thou tender'st me,Let me not see thee.Bel. I will fly as farAs there is morning, ere I give distasteTo that most honour'd mind. But through these tears,Shed at my hopeless parting, I can seeA world of treason practis'd upon you,And her, and me. Farewell for evermore!If you shall hear that sorrow struck me dead,And after find me loyal, let there beA tear shed from you in my memory,And I shall rest at peace. Exit.Phi. Blessing be with thee,Whatever thou deserv'st! Oh, where shall IGo bathe this body? Nature too unkind;That made no medicine for a troubled mind! Exit.
¶[SCENE II. Arethusa's apartment in the palace]
¶Enter ARETHUSA
¶Are. I marvel my boy comes not back again:But that I know my love will question him[709]Over and over,—how I slept, wak'd, talk'd,How I rememb'red him when his dear nameWas last spoke, and how when I sigh'd, wept, sung,And ten thousand such,—I should be angry at his stay.Enter KINGKing. What, at your meditations! Who attends you?Are. None but my single self. I need no guard;I do no wrong, nor fear none.King. Tell me, have you not a boy?Are. Yes, sir.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, I say.H'as done you that good service shames me to speak of.Are. Good sir, let me understand you.King. If you fear mShow it in duty; put away that boy.Are. Let me have reason for it, sir, and thenYour will is my command.King. Do not you blush to ask it? Cast him off,Or I shall do the same to you. You're oneShame with me, and so near unto myself,That, by my life, I dare not tell myselfWhat you, myself, have done.[710]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 grammar. Understand me well;There be foul whispers stirring. Cast him off,And suddenly. Do it! Farewell. Exit.Are. Where may a maiden live securely free,Keeping her honour fair ? Not with the living.They feed upon opinions, errors, dreams,And make 'em truths; they draw a nourishmentOut of defamings, grow upon disgraces,And, when they see a virtue fortifiedStrongly above the battery of their tongues,Oh, how they cast1 to sink it! and, defeated,(Soul-sick with poison) strike the monumentsWhere 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, 21 have a war within me!Phi. He must be more than man that makes these crystalsRun into rivers. Sweetest fair, the cause ?And, as I am your slave, tied to your goodness,Your creature, made again from what I wasAnd newly-spirited, I'll right your honour.Are. Oh, my best love, that boy!Phi. What boy?Are. The pretty boy you gave mePhi. What of him?Are. Must be no more mine.Phi. Why?Are. They are jealous of him.Phi. Jealous! Who?Are. The King.[711]Phi. [Aside.] Oh, my misfortune!Then 'tis no idle jealousy.—Let him go.Are. Oh, cruel!Are you hard-hearted too? Who shall now tell youHow much I lov'd you ? Who shall swear it to you,And weep the tears I send ? Who shall now bring youLetters, rings, bracelets? Lose his health in service?Wake tedious nights in stories of your praise?Who shall now 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 sleepUpon my eye-lids, making me dream, and cry,"Oh, my dear, dear Philaster!"Phi. [Aside.] Oh, my heart!Would he had broken thee, that made me knowThis lady was not loyal!—Mistress,Forget the boy; I'll get thee a far better.Are. Oh, never, never such a boy againAs my Bellario!Phi. 'Tis but your fond affection.Are. With thee, my boy, farewell for everAll secrecy in servants! Farewell faith,And all desire to do well for itself!Let all that shall succeed thee for thy wrongsSell and betray chaste 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. Oh, 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?[712]Phi. For ever, Arethusa. Oh, you gods,Give me a worthy patience! Have I stoodNaked, alone, the shock of many fortunes ?Have I seen mischiefs numberless and mightyGrow like a sea upon me ? Have I takenDanger as stern as death into my bosom,And laugh'd upon it, made it but a mirth,And flung it by ? Do I live now like him,Under this tyrant King, that languishingHears his sad bell and sees his mourners ? Do IBear all this bravely, and must sink at lengthUnder a woman's falsehood? Oh, that boy,That cursed boy! None but a villain boyTo ease your lust ?Are. Nay, then, I am betrayed:I feel the plot cast for my overthrow.Oh, I am wretched!Phi. Now you may take that little right I haveTo this poor kingdom. Give it to your joy;For I have no joy in it. Some far place,Where never womankind durst set her footFor1 bursting with her poisons, must I seek,And live to curse you;There dig a cave, and preach to birds and beastsWhat woman is, and help to save them from you;How heaven is in your eyes, but in your heartsMore hell than hell has; how your tongues, like scorpions,Both heal and poison;2 how your thoughts are wovenWith thousand changes in one subtle web,And worn so by you; how that foolish man,That reads the story of a woman's faceAnd dies believing it, is lost for ever;How all the good you have is but a shadow,F the morning with you, and at night behind you,Past and forgotten; how your vows are frosts,[713]Fast for a night, and with the next sun gone;How you are, being taken all together,A mere confusion, and so dead a chaos,That love cannot distinguish. These sad texts,Till my last hour, I am bound to utter of you.So, farewell all my woe, all my delight!Are. Be merciful, ye gods, and strike me dead!What way have I deserv'd this ? Make my breastTransparent as pure crystal, that the world,Jealous of me, may see the foulest thoughtMy heart holds. Where shall a woman turn her eyes,To find out constancy ?
¶Save me, how blackAnd guiltily, methinks, that boy looks now!Oh, thou dissembler, that, before thou spak'st,Wert in thy cradle false, sent to make liesAnd betray innocents! Thy lord and thouMay glory in the ashes of a maidFool'd by her passion; but the conquest isNothing so great as wicked. Fly away!Let my command force thee to that which shameWould do without it. If thou understood'stThe loathed office thou hast undergone,Why, thou wouldst hide thee under heaps of hills,Lest men should dig and find thee.Bel. Oh, what god,Angry with men, hath sent this strange diseaseInto the noblest minds! Madam, this griefYou add unto me is no more than dropsTo seas, for which they are not seen to swell.My lord hath struck his anger through my heart,And let out all the hope of future joys.You need not bid me fly; I came to part,To take my latest leave. Farewell for ever!I durst not run away in honesty[714]From such a lady, like a boy that stoleOr made some grievous fault. The power of godsAssist you in your sufferings! Hasty timeReveal the truth to your abused lordAnd mine, that he may know your worth; whilst IGo seek out some forgotten place to die! Exit.Are. Peace guide thee! Thou hast overthrown me once;Yet, if I had another Troy to lose,Thou, or another villain with thy looks,Might talk me out of it, and send me naked,My hair dishevell'd, through the fiery streets.
¶Enter a LadyLady. Madam, the King would hunt, and calls for youWith earnestness.Are. I am in tune to hunt!Diana, if thou canst rage with a maidAs with a man,1 let me discover theeBathing, and turn me to a fearful hind,That I may die pursued by cruel hounds,And have my story written in my wounds! Exeunt.
Act the Fourth
¶SCENE I. [Before the palace]
¶King. What, are the hounds before and all the woodmen,Our horses ready and our bows bent ?Dion. All, sir.King [to PHARAMOND.] You are cloudy, sir. Come, we have forgottenYour venial trespass; let not that sit heavyUpon your spirit; here's none dare utter it.Dion. He looks like an old surfeited stallion, dull as a dormouse.See how he sinks!
p. 715¶Thra. He needs no teaching, he strikes sure enough. His greatest fault is, he hunts too much in the purlieus; would he would leave off poaching!
¶Dion. And for his horn, h'as left it at the lodge where he lay late. Oh, he's a precious limehound! 1 Turn him loose upon the pursuit of a lady, and if he lose her, hang him up i' the slip. When my foxbitch Beauty grows proud, I'll borrow him.
¶King. Is your boy turn'd away ?
¶Are. You did command, sir, and I obey'd you.
¶King. 'Tis well done. Hark ye further. [They tal\ apart.\
¶Cle. Is't possible this fellow should repent? Methinks, that were not noble in him; and yet he looks like a mortified member, as if he had a sick man's salve 2 in's mouth. If a worse man had done this fault now, some physical 3 justice or other would presently (without the help of an almanack 4) have opened the obstructions of his liver, and let him blood with a dog-whip.
¶Dion. See, see how modestly yon lady looks, as if she came from churching with her neighbour! Why, what a devil can a man see in her face but that she's honest! 5
¶Thra. Faith, no great matter to speak of; a foolish twinkling with the eye, that spoils her coat; 6 but he must be a cunning herald that finds it.
¶Dion. See how they muster one another! Oh, there's a rank regiment where the devil carries the colours and his dam drum-major! Now the world and the flesh come behind with the carriage. 7
¶Cle. Sure this lady has a good turn done her against her will; before she was common talk, now none dare say cantharides 8 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 herself loose. As I live, she has got her a goodly protection and a gracious; and may use her body discreetly for her health's sake, once a week, excepting Lent and dog-days. Oh, if they
¶' A hunting dog. Lyme = leash. 2 An allusion to a religious work, Thomas Bacon's "The Sicke Man's Salve," 1561. 3 Acting as a [716]doctor. were to be got for money, what a great sum would come out of the city for these licences!
p. 716¶King. To horse, to horse! we lose the morning, gentlemen.
¶Exeunt.
¶[SCENE II. A forest]
¶Enter two Woodmen
¶ist Wood. What, have you lodged the deer ?
¶2nd Wood. Yes, they are ready for the bow.
¶ist Wood. Who shoots ?
¶2nd Wood. The princess.
¶ist Wood. No, she'll hunt.
¶2nd Wood. She'll take a stand, I say.
¶ist Wood. Who else ?
¶2nd Wood. Why, the young stranger-prince.
¶ist Wood. He shall shoot in a stone-bow 1 for me. I never lov'd his beyond-sea-ship since he forsook the say, 2 for paying ten shillings. He was there at the fall of a deer, and would needs (out of his mightiness) give ten groats for the dowcets; marry, his steward would have the velvet-head 3 into the bargain, to turf 4 his hat withal. I think he should love venery; he is an old Sir Tristrem; for, if you be rememb'red, he forsook the stag once to strike a rascal 5 miching 6 in a meadow, and her he killed in the eye. Who shoots else?
¶2nd Wood. The Lady Galatea.
¶ist Wood. That's a good wench. She's liberal, and, by the Gods, they say she's honest, and whether that be a fault, I have nothing to do. There's all?
¶2nd Wood. No, one more; Megra.
¶ist Wood. That's a firker, 7 i'faith, boy. There's a wench will ride her haunches as hard after a kennel of hounds as a hunting saddle, and when she comes home, get 'em clapt, and all is well again. I have known her lose herself three times in one afternoon (if the woods have been answerable) , 8 and it has been work enough for [717]one man to find her, and he has sweat for it. She rides well and she pays well. Hark! let's go. Exeunt.
Enter PHILASTER
¶Phi. Oh, that I had been nourish'd in these woodsWith milk of goats and acorns, and not knownThe right of crowns nor the dissembling trainsOf women's looks; but digg'd myself a cave,Where I, my fire, my cattle, and my bed,Might have been shut together in one shed;And then had taken me some mountain-girl,Beaten with winds, chaste as the hard'ned rocksWhereon she dwelt, that might have strewed my bedWith leaves and reeds, and with the skins of beasts,Our neighbours, and have borne at her big breastsMy large coarse issue! This had been a lifeFree from vexation.
¶Enter BELLARIO
¶Bel. Oh, wicked men!An innocent may walk safe among beasts;Nothing assaults me here. See, my griev'd lordSits as his soul were searching out a wayTo leave his body!—Pardon me, that mustBreak 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 ?Bel. Oh, my noble lord,View my strange fortune, and bestow on me,According to your bounty (if my serviceCan merit nothing), so much as may serveTo keep that little piece I hold of lifeFrom cold and hunger!Phi. Is it thou? Begone!Go, sell those misbeseeming clothes thou wear'st,And feed thyself with them.[718]Bel. Alas, my lord, I can get nothing for them!The silly country-people think 'tis treasonTo touch such gay things.Phi. Now, by the gods, this isUnkindly done, to vex me with thy sight.Thou'rt fallen again to thy dissembling trade;How shouldst thou think to cozen me again?Remains there yet a plague untried for me ?Even so thou wept'st, and looked'st, and spok'st when firstI took thee up.Curse on the time! If thy commanding tearsCan work on any other, use thy art;I'll not betray it. Which way wilt thou take,That I may shun thee, for thine eyes are poisonTo mine, and I am loath to grow in rage;This way, or that way ?Bel. Any will serve; but I will choose to haveThat path in chase that leads unto my grave. Exeunt severally.
¶Enter [on one side] DION, and [on the other] the two WoodmenDion. This is the strangest sudden chance!—You, woodmen!ist Wood. My lord Dion ?Dion. Saw you a lady come this way on a sable horse studdedwith stars of white?2nd Wood. Was she not young and tall ?Dion. Yes. Rode she to the wood or to the plain ?2nd Wood. Faith, my lord, we saw none. Exeunt Woodmen.Dion. Pox of your questions then!
Enter CLEREMONT
¶What, is she found?Cle. Nor will be, I think.Dion. Let him seek his daughter himself. She cannot stray abouta little necessary natural business, but the whole court must be inarms. When she has done, we shall have peace.Cle. There's already a thousand fatherless tales amongst us. Some
p. 719¶say, her horse ran away with her; some, a wolf pursued her; others, 'twas a plot to kill her, and that arm'd 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's that?Answer me so again!Cle. Sir, shall I lie?King. Yes, lie and damn, rather than tell me that.I say again, where is she? Mutter not!—Sir, speak you; where is she?Dion. Sir, I do not know.King. Speak that again so boldly, and, by Heaven,It is thy last!—You, fellows, answer me;Where is she? Mark me, all; I am your King:I wish to see my daughter; show her me;I do command you all, as you are subjects,To show her me! What! am I not your King?If ay, then am I not to be obeyed ?Dion. Yes, if you command things possible and honest.King. Things possible and honest! Hear me, thou,—Thou traitor, that dar'st confine thy King to thingsPossible and honest! Show her me,Or, let me perish, if I cover notAll Sicily with blood!Dion. Faith, I cannot,Unless you tell me where she is.King. You have betray'd me; you have let me loseThe jewel of my life. Go, bring her to me,And set her here before me. 'Tis the KingWill have it so; whose breath can still the winds,Uncloud the sun, charm down the swelling sea,And stop the floods of heaven. Speak, can it not ?Dion. No.[720]King. No! cannot the breath of kings do this?Dion. No; nor smell sweet itself, if once the lungsBe but corrupted.King. Is it so? Take heed!Dion. Sir, take you heed how you dare the powersThat 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 weBelieve 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 threatenings.I have sinn'd, 'tis true, and here stand to be punish'd;Yet would not thus be punish'd. Let me chooseMy way, and lay it on!Dion. [Aside.] He articles with the gods. Would somebodywould draw bonds for the performance of covenants betwixtthem!
Enter PHARAMOND, GALATEA, and MEGRA
¶King. What, is she found?Pha. No; we have ta'en her horse;He gallop'd empty by. There is 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 birthTo disobey the daughter of my King.King. You're all cunning to obey us for our hurt;But I will have her.Pha. If I have her not,By this hand, there shall be no more Sicily.Dion. [Aside.] What, will he carry it to Spain in's pocket?Pha. I will not leave one man alive, but the King,A cook, and a tailor.King. [Aside.] I see the injuries I have done must be reveng'd.[721]Dion. Sir, this is not the way to find her out.King. Run all, disperse yourselves. The man that finds her,Or (if she be kill'd) the traitor, I'll make him great.Dion. I know some would give five thousand pounds to find her.Pha. Come, let us seek.King. Each man a several way; here I myself.Dion. Come, gentlemen, we here.Cle. Lady, you must go search too.Meg. I had rather be search'd myself. Exeunt [severally].
¶[SCENE III. Another part of the forest]
¶Enter ARETHUSA
¶Are. Where am I now? Feet, find me out a way,Without the counsel of my troubled head.I'll follow you boldly about these woods,O'er mountains, thorough brambles, pits, and floods.Heaven, I hope, will ease me: I am sick. Sits down.
¶Enter BELLARIO
¶Bel. Yonder's my lady. God knows I want nothing,Because I do not wish to live; yet IWill try her charity. [Aside.]—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 breathes not.—Open once more those rosy twins, and sendUnto 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 prithee, let me go;I shall do best without thee; I am well.
Enter PHILASTER
¶Phi. I am to blame to be so much in rage.I'll tell her coolly when and where I heard[722]This killing truth. I will be temperateIn speaking, and as just in hearing.Oh, monstrous! Tempt me not, you gods! good gods,Tempt me not a frail man! What's he, that has a heart,But he must ease it here!Bel. My lord, help, help! The princess!Are. I am well: forbear.Phi. [Aside.] Let me love lightning, let me be embrac'dAnd kiss'd by scorpions, or adore the eyesOf basilisks, rather than trust the tonguesOf hell-bred women! Some good god look down,And shrink these veins up! Stick me here a stoneLasting to ages in the memoryOf this damn'd act!—Hear me, you wicked ones!You have put hills of fire into this breast,Not to be quench'd with tears; for which may guiltSit on your bosoms! At your meals and bedsDespair await you! What, before my face?Poison of asps between your lips! DiseasesBe your best issues! Nature make a curse,And throw it on you!Are. Dear Philaster, leaveTo be enrag'd, and hear me.Phi. I have done;Forgive my passion. Not the calmed sea,When iEolus locks up his windy brood,Is less disturb'd than I. I'll make you know't.Dear Arethusa, do but take this sword, Offers his drawn sword.And search how temperate a heart I have;Then you and this your boy may live and reignIn lust without control.—Wilt thou, Bellario ?I prithee kill me; thou art poor, and may'stNourish ambitious thoughts; when I am dead,Thy way were freer. Am I raging now ?If I were mad, I should desire to live.Sirs,1 feel my pulse, whether you have known[723]A man in a more equal tune to die.Bel. Alas, my lord, your pulse keeps madman's time!So does your tongue.Phi. You will not kill me, then?Are. Kill you!Bel. Not for the world.Phi. I blame not thee,Bellario; thou hast done but that which godsWould have transform'd themselves to do. Be gone,Leave me without reply; this is the lastOf all our meetings—Exit BELLARIO. Kill me with this sword;Be wise, or worse will follow: we are twoEarth cannot bear at once. Resolve to do,Or suffer.Are. If my fortune be so good to let me fallUpon thy hand, I shall have peace in death.Yet tell me this, will there be no slanders,No jealousy in the other world; no ill there?Phi. No.Are. Show me, then, the way.Phi. Then guide my feeble hand,You that have power to do it, for I mustPerform a piece of justice!—If your youthHave any way offended Heaven, let prayersShort and effectual reconcile you to it.Are. I am prepared.
p. 723¶Enter a Country FellowC. Fell. I'll see the King, if he be in the forest; I have hunted himthese two hours. If I should come home and not see him, mysisters would laugh at me. I can see nothing but people betterhors'd than myself, that out-ride me; I can hear nothing but shouting. These kings had need of good brains; this whooping is ableto put a mean man out of his wits. There's a courder with hissword drawn; by this hand, upon a woman, I think!Phi. Are you at peace ?Are. With heaven and earth.[724]Phi. May they divide thy soul and body! Wounds her.C. Fell. Hold, dastard! strike a woman! Thou'rt a craven, Iwarrant thee; thou wouldst be loth to play half a dozen venies 2 atwasters 3 with a good fellow for a broken head.Phi. Leave us, good friend.Are. What ill-bred man art thou, to intrude thyselfUpon our private sports, our recreation?C. Fell. God 'uds 4 me, I understand you not; butI know the rogue has hurt you.Phi. Pursue thy own affairs: it will be illTo multiply blood upon my head; which thouWilt force me to.C. Fell. I know not your rhetoric; but I can lay it on, if you touchthe woman.Phi. Slave, take what thou deservest! They fight.Are. Heavens guard my lord!C. Fell. Oh, do you breathe?Phi. I hear the tread of people. I am hurt.The gods take part against me: could this boorHave held me thus else ? I must shift for life,Though I do loathe it. I would find a courseTo lose it rather by my will than force. Exit.C. Fell. I cannot follow the rogue. I pray thee, wench, come andkiss me now.
Enter PHARAMOND, DION, CLEREMONT, THRASILINE, and
¶WoodmenPha. What art thou?C. Fell. Almost kill'd I am for a foolish woman; a knave hashurt her.Pha. The princess, gentlemen!—Where's the wound, madam! Isit dangerous?Are. He has not hurt me.C. Fell. By God, she lies; h'as hurt her in the breast;Look else.[725]Pha. O, sacred spring of innocent blood!Dion. 'Tis above wonder! Who should dare this?Are. I felt it not.Pha. Speak, villain, who has hurt the princess?C. Fell. Is it the princess?Dion. Ay.C. Fell. Then I have seen something yet.Pha. But who has hurt her ?C. Fell. I told you, a rogue; I ne'er saw him before, I.Pha. Madam, who did it?Are. Some dishonest wretch;Alas, I know him not, and do forgive him!C. Fell. He's hurt too; he cannot go far; I made my father's oldfox 5 fly about his ears.Pha. How will you have me kill him ?Are. Not at all; 'tis some distracted fellow.Pha. By this hand, I'll leave ne'er a piece of him bigger than anut, and bring him all to you in my hat.Are. Nay, good sir,If you do take him, bring him quick 6 to me,And I will study for a punishmentGreat 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'll follow the chase close.
p. 725¶Exeunt [on one side] PHARAMOND, DION, CLEREMONT, and THRASI
¶LINE; [exit on the other] ARETHUSA [attended by the] FirstWoodman.C. Fell. I pray you, friend, let me see the King.2nd Wood. That you shall, and receive thanks.C. Fell. If I get clear with this, I'll go see no more gay sights.Exeunt.[726][SCENE IV. Another part of the forest]
¶Bel. A heaviness near death sits on my brow,And I must sleep. Bear me, thou gentle bank,For ever, if thou wilt. You sweet ones all, [Lies down.]Let me unworthy press you; I could wishI rather were a corse strew'd o'er with youThan quick above you. Dulness1 shuts mine eyes,And I am giddy: oh, that I could takeSo sound a sleep that I might never wake! [Sleeps.]
Enter PHILASTER
¶Phi. I have done ill; my conscience calls me false,To strike at her that would not strike at me.When I did fight, methought I heard her prayThe 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 woundsAnd cannot follow; neither knows he me.Who's this? Bellario sleeping! If thou be'stGuilty, there is no justice that thy sleepShould be so sound, and mine, whom thou hast wrong'd,So broken. Cry within. Hark! I am pursued. You godsI'll take this offer'd means of my escape.They have no mark to know me but my blood,If she be true; if false, let mischief lightOn all the world at once! Sword, print my woundsUpon this sleeping boy! I ha' none, I think,Are mortal, nor would I lay greater on thee. Wounds BELLARIO.Bel. Oh, death, I hope, is come! Blest be that hand!It meant me well. Again, for pity's sake!Phi. I have caught myself; Falls.The loss of blood hath stay'd my flight. Here, here,Is he that struck thee: take thy full revenge;[727]Use me, as I did mean thee, worse than death;I'll teach thee to revenge. This luckless handWounded the princess; tell my followers1Thou didst receive these hurts in staying me,And I will second thee; get a reward.Bel. Fly, fly, my lord, and save yourself IPhi. How's this?Wouldst thou I should be safe?Bel. Else were it vainFor me to live. These little wounds I haveHa' not bled much. Reach me that noble hand;I'll help to cover you.Phi.. Art thou then true to me?Bel. Or let me perish loath'd! Come, my good lord,Creep in amongst those bushes; who does knowBut 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?Bel. Shift for myself well. Peace! I hear'em come.[PHILASTER creeps into a bush.][Voices] within. Follow, follow, follow! that way they went.Bel. With my own wounds I'll bloody my own sword.I need not counterfeit to fall; Heaven knowsThat I can stand no longer. Falls.
Enter PHARAMOND, DION, CLEREMONT, and THRASILINE
¶Pha. To this place we have track'd him by his blood.Cle. Yonder, my lord, creeps one away.Dion. Stay, sir! what are you?Bel. A wretched creature, wounded in these woodsBy beasts. Relieve me, if your names be men,Or I shall perish.Dion. This is he, my lord,Upon my soul, that hurt her. 'Tis the boy,That wicked boy, that serv'd her.Pha. Oh, thou damn'd[728]In thy creation! What cause couldst thou shapeTo hurt the princess?Bel. Then I am betrayed.Dion. Betrayed! No, apprehended.Bel. I confess,(Urge it no more) that, big with evil thoughtsI set upon her, and did take my aim,Her death. For charity let fall at onceThe punishment you mean, and do not loadThis weary flesh with tortures.Pha.. I will knowWho hir'd thee to this deed.Bel. Mine own revenge.Pha. Revenge! for what?Bel. It pleas'd her to receiveMe as her page, and, when my fortunes ebb'd,That men strid o'er them careless, she did showerHer welcome graces on me, and did swellMy fortunes till they overflow'd their banks,Threat'ning the men that crossed 'em; when, as swiftAs storms arise at sea, she turn'd her eyesTo burning suns upon me, and did dryThe streams she had bestow'd, leaving me worseAnd more contemn'd than other little brooks,Because I had been great. In short, I knewI could not live, and therefore did desireTo die reveng'd.Pha. If tortures can be foundLong as thy natural life, resolve to feelThe utmost rigour.Cle. Help to lead him hence.PHILASTER creeps out of the bush.Phi. Turn back, you ravishers of innocence!Know ye the price of that you bear awaySo rudely?Pha. Who's that?Dion. 'Tis the Lord Philaster.[729]Phi. 'Tis not the treasure of all kings in one,The wealth of Tagus, nor the rocks of pearlThat pave the court of Neptune, can weigh downThat virtue. It was I that hurt the princess.Place me, some god, upon a pyramis 3Higher than hills of earth, and lend a voiceLoud as your thunder to me, that from thenceI may discourse to all the under-worldThe worth that dwells in him!Pha. How's this?Bel. My lord, some manWeary of life, that would be glad to die.Phi. Leave these untimely courtesies, Bellario.Bel. Alas, he's mad! Come, will you lead me on?Phi. By all the oaths that men ought most to keep,And gods to punish most when men do break,He touch'd her not.—Take heed, Bellario,How thou dost drown the virtues thou hast shownWith 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.Dion. Is't not a brave boy?Well, sirs, I fear me we were all deceived.Phi. Have I no friend here?Dion. Yes.Phi. Then show it: someGood body lend a hand to draw us nearer.Would you have tears shed for you when you die?Then lay me gently or* his neck, that thereI may weep floods and breathe forth my spirit.'Tis not the wealth of Plutus, nor the gold [Embraces BEL.]Lock'd in the heart of earth, can buy awayThis arm-full from me; this had been a ransomTo have redeemed the Great Augustus Caesar,Had he been taken. You hard-hearted men,[730]More stony than these mountains, can you seeSuch clear pure blood drop, and not cut your fleshTo stop his life, to bind whose bitter wounds,Queens ought to tear their hair, and with their tearsBathe 'em ?—Forgive me, thou that art the wealthOf poor Philaster!
p. 730¶Enter KING, ARETHUSA, and GuardKing. Is the villain ta'en?Pha. Sir, here be two confess the deed; but sureIt was Philaster.Phi. Question it no more;It was.King. The fellow that did fight with him,Will tell us that.Are. Aye me! I know he will.King. Did not you know him?Are. Sir, if it was he,He was disguis'd.Phi. I was so. Oh, my stars,That I should live still. Aside.King. Thou ambitious fool,Thou that hast laid a train for thy own life!—Now I do mean to do, I'll leave to talk.Bear them to prison.Are. Sir, they did plot together to take henceThis 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 appointTheir tortures and their deaths.Dion. 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 onTo your intended match.
¶[Exeunt all except DION, CLEREMONT, and THRASILINE.]
p. 731¶Cle. I pray that this action lose not Philaster the hearts of the people.
¶Dion. Fear it not; their over-wise heads will think it but a trick.
¶Exeunt.
Act the Fifth
¶SCENE I. [Before the palace]
Enter DION, CLEREMONT, and THRASILINE
¶Thra. Has the King sent for him to death?Dion. Yes; but the King must know 'tis not in his power to warwith Heaven.Cle. We linger time; the King sent for Philaster and the headsman an hour ago.Thra. Are all his wounds well?Dion. All; they were but scratches; but the loss of blood madehim faint.Cle. We dally, gentlemen.Thra. Away!Dion. We'll scuffle hard before he perish. Exeunt.
¶[SCENE II. A prison]
Enter PHILASTER, ARETHUSA, and BELLARIO
¶Are. Nay, dear Philaster, grieve not; we are well.Bel. Nay, good my lord, forbear; we are wondrous well.Phi. Oh, Arethusa, oh, Bellario,Leave to be kind!I shall be shut from Heaven, as now from earth,If you continue so. I am a manFalse to a pair of the most trusty onesThat ever earth bore; can it bear us all?Forgive, and leave me. But the King hath sentTo call me to my death: oh, shew it me,And then forget me! And for thee, my boy,I shall deliver words will mollify[732]The hearts of beasts to spare thy innocence.Bel. Alas, my lord, my life is not a thingWorthy your noble thoughts! 'Tis not a life,'Tis but a piece of childhood thrown away.Should I outlive you, I should then outliveVirtue and honour; and when that day comes,If ever I shall close these eyes but once,May I live spotted for my perjury,And waste my limbs to nothing!Are. And I (the wof ul'st maid that ever was,Forc'd with my hands to bring my lord to death)Do by the honour of a virgin swearTo 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 trueTo such a wretch as I; I shall die loath'd.Enjoy your kingdoms peaceably, whilst IFor 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.Bel. A piece of you!He was not born of woman that can cutIt and look on.Phi. Take me in tears betwixt you, for my heartWill break with shame and sorrow.Are. Why, 'tis well.Bel. Lament no more.Phi. Why, what would you have doneIf you had wrong'd me basely, and had foundYour 1 life no price compared to mine? 1 For love, sirs,Deal with me truly.Bel. 'Twas mistaken, sir.Phi. Why, if it were ?Bel. Then, sir, we would have ask'd[733]You pardon.Phi. And have hope to enjoy it?Are. Enjoy it! ay.Phi. Would you indeed? be plain.Bel. We would, my lord.Phi. Forgive me, then.Are. So, so.Bel. 'Tis as it should be now.Phi. Lead to my death. Exeunt.