PHILASTER: OR, Love lies a bleeding.  
A TRAGICOMEDY.  
As it is now acted at His MAJESTY's Theatre Royal.  
Revised, and the Two last Acts new Written.  
Multa renascentur, quae jam cecidere, cadentque  
Quae nunc sunt in honore—  Hor. de Art. Poet. 
LONDON: Printed for R. Bentley, at the Posthouse in Russel-Street, in Covent-Garden. 1695.   

TO His GRACE THE Duke of Schonberg and Lemster.  
MY LORD,  
FOR this Public Address to Your Grace, I have no other Plea, than that of a Refugee. The Muses in all Nations, and Ages (and long Custom is little less than a claim of Right) have still been sheltered under the Sanctuary of HONOUR; nor are Distance, Height, or Greatness a Bar to those Intruders. Besides, as WAR and WIT, the Mars and the Minerva, were both the Offspring of JOVE, they have some flattering dawn of Hopes from Your Grace's condescending Goodness; that the same Hand that wields the rougher Thunder, may, possibly, not disdain a Reception to the gentler Muses. And indeed, where should they boldlier intrude, than where they are the profoundest Homagers? That Renown, that like Your Grace's, is the fairest Theme to inspire them, must consequently be the strongest Charm to attract them. The Dedications of Poetry are but a part of her Devotion; and as Devotion under the present established English Liberty, may make her Orisons at what Shrine she pleases; I hope Your Grace will generously vouchsafe to pardon so bold a bending Knee before You.  
And indeed, where can all Knees more justly bend, than to the Heir of that Illustrious FATHER, that quitted all the Jewels of his own Native Ducal-Coronet, one of the proudest Wreaths of France, together with a Patrimony, that might dazzle common Eyes, though not so glittering in his own, as to shade his least Gem in Heaven for thrice that shining Earth: A Father that resigned even a proud Marshal's Staff, for little less than a Pilgrim' s. Nay, I may say, threw over board his whole Load of this lower World, to lighten his Transport for a Higher: A Father, to whose, and his whole Families Deathless Memory, and Honour, our whole Nation owes more than a Humane, even a Divine Veneration, as lighting Your Glories from an Altar-Coal, those Altars, to which You have sacrificed no less than Your ALL; left Honours, Inheritance, Hopes, Titles, Dignities, all behind You; to wander those voluntary naked Exiles to some remoter, more Hospitable Colony; with nothing but a Hand and a Heart, a Soul and a Sword to plant You there.  
'Twas thus the embracing BRITANNIA flew with open Arms, to the Reception of those Princely, more than welcome Guests to her Bosom: She looked upon You, as no less than the flying gallic Astraea, that had brought over the whole remaining Justice and Humanity of Your Native France, and left her only Oppression, Barbarity, and Rapine, the whole surviving growth of her Tyrannic Soil. But whilst our ever honoured SCHONBERG is not only England 's, but her great CAESAR ' s Darling too; His Royal Favours so conferred, are not His Grace but Gratitude: He stands so highly indebted to the Great SCHONBERGS, those fairest Fleur de Lis', planted into its own English Roses, a FATHER and a BROTHER both sleeping in the fatal Bed of Honour; those lovely Lilies died Crimson in His Cause; that all his most studied Smiles to the Great REMAINS of that Heroic Root, are but a faint Acknowledgement of Arrears so Infinite.  
But still, my Lord, as much Encouragement as Your Grace's highest Character and Worth, and my own Ambition can give me; (for Ambition, even in the humblest Veins, is the natural warmth of the Soil; and this little World of humane kind is but a barren Glebe without it:) Nevertheless, I durst not have ventured to have laid this Trifle at your Grace ' s Feet, had not the fairer Merit of the richer Stock I have grafted upon, the two famous Poets of the last Age, Beaumond and Fletcher, the original Parents of Philaster, a little animated this Presumption of subscribing myself,  
MY LORD, YOUR GRACE's Most Humble, and Most Devoted Servant, E. SETTLE.   

THE PROLOGUE.  Spoken by Mr. Horden. 
TO write a Play is pure Poetic Rage,  
For you're so hard to please in this Nice Age,  
Who less than mad would Scribble for the Stage?  
Poets, of their new Plays so vainly fond,  
Mistake the Bristol for the Diamond.  
But when Revived Philaster does appear,  
We come secure, bring Sterling Merit here.  
A staunch Old Orient, with true Lustre dressed;  
Wit that has stood the Hammer, bore the Test.  
No Poet shall by this Day's Doom be killed:  
We safely fight behind great Fletcher's Shield.  
That good old Play Philafter ne'er can fail,  
But we Young Actors how shall we prevail?  
Philaster and Bellario, let me tell ye,  
For those Bold Parts we have no Hart, no Nelly;  
Those Darlings of the Stage, that charmed you there;  
Our feebler Strength must of their Heights despair.  
We're tender Buds, till you the Lords o'th' Soil.  
Warm us to Life by your Auspicious Smile.  
The Elder Heroes of the other Stage  
Were Striplings once of our young Beardless Age;  
And to Perfection did not leap, but climb:  
Merit's the Product of long Growth and Time.  
Who push for Fame by fair Degrees must strike;  
A General in the Field has trailed a Pike.  
Grant us this first our Tryal-Year alone;  
Eexpect Performance when our Wings are grown;  
Let our Pen-feathered Strength this Favour borrow,  
Only to Creep to day, and Soar to morrow.   

Actor's Names.  

King. Mr. Simpson.  
Philaster. Mr. Powel.  
Pharamont. Mr. Cibbars.  
Dion. Mr. Powel, sen.  
Clerimont. Mr. Lee.  
Thraselin. Mr. Horden.  
Arethusa. Mrs. Knight.  
Galatea. Mrs. Cibbars.  
Megra. Mrs. Kent.  
Bellario. Mrs. Rogers.   
Woodmen, Rabble, Guards, Attendants, etc.  
Scene Sicily.   

PHILASTER.  

ACT I.  

SCENE I.  Enter Dion, Clerimont, and Tharselin. Cler. 
HERE's no Lords nor Ladies.  Dion. 
Credit me, gentlemans, I wonder at it! They received 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.  Cler. 
Can you guests the Cause?  Dion. 
Sir, 'tis 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, received so many confident Messages from the State, that I think she's resolved to be ruled.  Cler. 
Sir, it is thought, with her, he shall enjoy both these Kingdoms of Sicily and Calabria.  Dion. 
Sir, it is, without Controversy, so meant. But 'twill be a troublesome Labour for him to possess both these  
Kingdoms with Honour and with Safety,  
Whilst our brave General, the Prince of Arragon,  
The Conqueror of one of those fair Crowns,  
Is living; and living too so virtuously,  
The common Darling of the People's Love,  
His glorious Services so well remembered,  
And all his Injuries so much lamented.  Cler. 
Our brave Philaster.  Dion. 
Yes, that Gallant Hero,  
Who in our late Portuguese Wars, when our  
Inglorious King in two set battles lost,  
Our Armies broken, and our Glory tottering,  
Was sent by Heaven our Champion and Protector;  
Took up the falling Sword our feeble Monarch dropped,  
And led us on to that prodigious Victory,  
As washed off all our Stains, and more than healed  
Our Nation's Bleeding Honour.  Thra. 
Ay, my Lord,  
There spoke the Voice of Truth. The bold Philaster,  
Whose Sword has planted us those Fields of Laurel,  
No less a Trophy than the fair Portuguese Diadem  
Laid at the Feet of this ungrateful King.  Cler. 
Troth, Gentlemen, my Ignorance in State Politics  
Will not let me know, why our forgetful King,  
When this most generous Stranger,  
The Atlas of our Kingdom, had not only  
Repared our Loss, retrieved our Fame, won him  
A Crown, and shielded even the very Head that wore it.  
Our King, I say, in a Return for all  
This Prodigy of Obligations, should refuse him  
So reasonable and modest a Request,  
As only lending him part of those Forces,  
For the recovery of his lost Arragon,  
Which his own Hand had taught the Trade of War,  
Torn from him in his weak and sleeping Infancy  
By Spain's encroaching Monarch. Nay, and still  
Our King to heap those daily Slights upon him,  
Making his Services so poor a Payment,  
As if he studied to inform the World  
He never owed him any thing.  Dion. 
Right, Sir.  
Philaster won him a Crown; and still the old Custom,  
The Founder of the Feast has least part of the Banquet.  
But, Gentlemen, you have not nicked the Mark yet.  
For his refusing him to lend him Arms  
For the recovery of his lost Arragon,  
There's twenty State Excuses: As perhaps,  
He was not willing to provoke a Neighbour  
So Potent as the Spaniard. Or what not!  
But here's a 'Slight a hundred times more barbarous.  
Who must he choose a Husband for his Daughter,  
The Heir of both those Crowns, but this young Spaniard?  
All the Proud Trophies of Philaster's Sword,  
Made the fair Prize of his insulting Enemy.  
Such an Affront! Indignity like this,  
Not all the whole State-Rhetorick can soften.  Cler. 
But, Sir, how does the wronged Philaster bear it!  Dion. 
But ill enough, no doubt; I must confess,  
His Modesty and Virtue are too Dumb  
Complainants': Yet, his Murmurs have but whispered.  
But when th' Alarm of our Cries shall wake him,  
We hope to see that Day, when we shall teach him  
To make his Wrongs talk louder.  Enter Galatea, Megra, and Ladies. Thra. 
See, the Ladies! By this good Light a jolly Troop of fair ones. What's the first?  Dion. 
A wise and modest Gentlewoman, that attends the Princess.  Cler. 
The Second?  Dion. 
Faith, I think she is one whom the State keeps for the Agents of our Confederate Princes: Her Name is common through the Kingdom, and the Trophies of her Dishonour, advanced beyond Herculeses Pillars. She loves to ●y the several Constitutions of men's Bodies, for the good of the Common-wealth.  Cler. 
She's a profitable Member.  Meg. 
Peace, if you love me; you shall see these Gentlemen stand their Ground, and not Court us.  Gal. 
What if they should?  Meg. 
What if they should? Why, if they should, I say, they were never abroad; what Foreigner would do so? It writes them directly 〈◊〉 travelled.  Cler. 
Madam, your best Desires attend you.  Gal. 
So attended, my Train's a very fair one.  Cler. 
How fair, Madam?  Gal. 
As Virgin Innocence, Sir.  Cler. 
O fie! such blooming Youth, and smiling Charms,  
And sleep in melancholy Virgin-Sheets!  
〈◊〉 is a Fault, sweet Lady.  Gal. 
That you would mend, sweet Lord.  Cler. 
With all my Soul, dear Angel.  [Offering to embrace her. Gal. 
Nay, hold Sir, Distance and cool Air are Summer Blessings,  
and I shall be very angry if you rob me of them.  Cler. 
By this right Hand, a Gipsy.  Gal. 
What! for telling you your slender Fortune, Sir?  Thra. 
Why, Clerimont, look to yourself, she'll be too hard for you.  Gal. 
Not too easy, Sir, and the other Fault's more pardonable.  Meg. 
Why how now, Galatea, all the Hearts your own?  
●e shall grow envious presently, indeed we shall.  
●is you that carry the whole Court away.  Gal. 
As much of it as I can bear, Madam; and truly  
A very little tires me. But envious Madam,  
Not quite to lose your Kindness,  
Nor engross all the Love; my tender Weakness  
Is ready to resign the heavier weight of it,  
To your more able strength.  Meg. 
Say you so, pert one?  
You are very brisk, methinks, but I shall match you.  Gal. 
At your own Play, no doubt; for I am no Gamester.  Meg. 
Well, well, the time may come—  Gal. 
When yond and I may laugh together: You at making the Jest, and I at marring it.  Thra. 
But see the King.  Enter King, Pharamont, Arethusa, Guards, etc. King. 
To give a stronger Testimony of our Love,  
Than sickly Promises (which commonly  
In Princes find both Birth and Burial  
In one Breath,) we have drawn you worthy, Sir,  
To make your fair Endearments to our Daughter;  
And worthy Services known to our Subjects:  
Now loved, and wondered at. Next, our Intent,  
To plant you deeply, our immediate Heir,  
Both to our Blood and Kingdoms. For this Lady,  
(The best part of your Life, as you confirm me,  
And I believe you) her few Years, and Sex,  
Yet teach her nothing but her Fears and Blushes,  
Desires without Desire, Discourse and Knowledge,  
Only of what herself, is to herself,  
Make her feel moderate Health: And when she Sleeps,  
In making no ill Day, knows no ill Dreams.  
Last, Noble Son, (for so I now must call you)  
What I have done thus public, is not only  
To add a Comfort in particular,  
To you or me, but all; and to confirm  
The Nobles and the Gentry of these Kingdoms,  
By Oath to your Succession, which shall be  
Within this Month at most.  Thra. 
This will be hardly done.  Cler. 
It must be ill done, if it be done.  Dion. 
When 'tis at best, 'twill be but half done,  
Whilst so brave a Gentleman is wronged and flung off.  Thra. 
I fear.  Cler. 
Who does not?  Dion. 
I fear not for myself, and yet I fear too:  
Well, we shall see, we shall see: no more.  Pha. 
Kissing your white Hand (Mistress) I take leave,  
To thank your Royal Father: And thus far,  
To be my own free Trumpet. Understand,  
Great King, and these your Subjects, mine that must be,  
(For so deserving you have spoke me, Sir,  
And so deserving I dare speak myself)  
To what a Person, of what Eminence,  
Ripe Expectation, of what Faculties,  
Manners and Virtues, you would wed your Kingdoms;  
You in me have your Wishes. Gentlemen,  
Believe me in a Word, a Prince's Word,  
There shall be nothing to make up a Kingdom  
Mighty and flourishing, defenced, and feared,  
Equal to be Commanded and Obeyed;  
But through the Travels of my Life I'll find it,  
And tie it to this Country.  
And, dearest Lady, to your dearest self,  
(Dear in the choice of him, whose Name and Lustre  
Must make you more and mightier) Let me say,  
You are the Blessedest living; for, sweet Princess,  
You shall enjoy a Man of Men to be  
Your Servant, you shall make him yours, for whom  
Even Queens must die.  Thra. 
Miraculous!  Cler. 
This Speech calls him Spaniard, being nothing but a large Inventory of his own Commendations.  Enter Philaster. Dion. 
I wonder what's his Price? for certainly he'll sell himself, he has so praised his Shape: But here comes one more worthy those large Speeches, than the large Speaker of them: Let me be swallowed quick, if I can find in all the Anatomy of yond Man's Virtues, one Sinnew sound enough to promise for him, He shall be Constable. By this Sun, he'll ne'er make King, unless it be of Trifles, in my poor Judgement.  Phi. 
Right noble Sir, as low as my Obedience,  
I bend to beg your Favour.  K. 
Sir, you have it.  Dion. 
Mark but the King, how pale he looks, he fears!  
Oh! this same whoreson Conscience, how it jade's us!  K. 
Speak your Intents, Sir.  Phi. 
Shall I speak 'em freely?  K. 
Free as good Manners will allow, you may.  Phi. 
Then, Sir, if Truth without the Sin of Vanity  
May be its own Remonstrance, I come  
To tell you (not that I upbraid, or boast)  
That I have served you, King. And tho' the fair  
Portuguese Diadem was that poor Offering,  
That the Acceptance more than paid the Present:  
However, Sir, the humblest Modesty  
May claim this Merit from a conquered Crown,  
To say, 'twas hard, from the adoring World  
To choose no Homager for those fair Eyes,  
But th' only Person of the whole Creation  
Th' ungrateful Object of my deepest Hate:  
Not that I think the Man he wears about him  
Is worth my Angry Thought: But as the Spaniard,  
The Son and Heir of that low Spirited Father  
That took th' Advantage of my sleeping Cradle,  
To dispossess me of my native Arragon;  
Him to be called to wear my Wreaths, my Trophies:  
Oh! King, this is too cruel!  Dion. 
Now it heats.  Phi. 
And now, Sir, for you, Prince, you Foreign Man:  
ne'er stare, nor put on wonder; for you must  
endure me, and you shall. This Earth you tread on,  
A Dowry as you hope with this fair Princess,  
Whose Name I bow to) is a Soil too Rich  
for thy 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, besides the Gods,  
to see thee calmly reap the Royal Harvest  
My Sweat and Blood have planted. I tell thee, Pharamont,  
When thou art King, look I be Dead and Rotten,  
And my Name Ashes: For hear me, Pharamont,  
This very Ground thou goest on; this fat Earth,  
〈◊〉 and my Friends made Fertile with their Faiths,  
Before that Day of Shame, shall gape and swallow  
Thee and thy Nation, like a hungry Grave,  
into her hidden Bowels: Prince it shall;  
By the just Gods it shall.  Pha. 
He's Mad, beyond cure, Mad.  Dion. 
Here's a Fellow has some Fire in's Veins:  
The Outlandish Prince looks like a Tooth-drawer.  Phi. 
Sir Prince of popinjays, I'll make it well appear  
to you, I am not Mad.  K. 
You displease us,  
You are too bold.  Phi. 
No, Sir, I am too tame,  
too much a Turtle, a thing born without Passion,  
〈◊〉 faint Shadow, that every drunken Cloud sails over,  
and makes nothing.  K. 
I do not fancy this,  
Call our Physicians? Sure he's somewhat tainted.  Thra. 
I do not think 'twill prove so.  Dion. 
Does he intent to give him a general Purge for all the Pains 〈◊〉 suffers, or means to let him Blood? Be constant, Gentlemen, by Heaven I'll run his Hazard, although I run my Name out of the Kingdom.  Cler. 
Peace, we are all one Soul.  Pha. 
What you have seen in me, to stir Offence,  
I cannot find, unless it be this Lady,  
Offered into my Arms, with the Succession,  
Which I must keep: tho' it hath pleased your Fury  
To mutiny within you: 'Tis sufficient,  
The King will leave it me,  
And I dare make it mine: You have your Answer.  Phi. 
If thou wert sole Inheritor to him  
That made the World his; and couldst see no Sun  
Shine upon any thing, but thine: were Pharamont  
As truly Valiant, as I feel him cold,  
And ringed amongst the choicest of his Friends,  
And from this Presence: Spite of all these Boasts,  
You should hear farther from me.  K. 
Sir, you wrong the Prince:  
I gave you not this Freedom, to brave our best Friends;  
You deserve our Frown: Go to, be better tempered.  Phi. 
It must be, Sir, when I am nobler used.  Gal. 
Ladies,  
This would have been a Pattern of Succession,  
Could Merit but claim Diadems. By my Life,  
He is the worthiest the true Name of Man,  
This Day, within my Knowledge.  Meg. 
I cannot tell what you may call your Knowledge,  
But the other is the Man set in my Eye:  
Oh! 'tis a Prince of Wax.  Gal. 
A Dog, it is.  Phi. 
Oh! King! my Griefs and Sufferance.  K. 
Give me your Grievances in private.  [They Whisper. Phi. 
Take them,  
And case me of a Load, would bow strong Atlas.  Cler. 
He dares not stand the Shock.  Dion. 
I cannot blame him, There's Danger in't. Every Man in this Age has not a Soul of Crystal, for all Men to read their Actions through men's Hearts and Faces are so far asunder, that they hold no Intelligence. Do but view yond Stranger well, and you shall see a Fever through all his Bravery, and feel him shake; if he give not back his Crown again, upon the report of an Elder Gun, I have no Augury.  K. 
Go to:  
Be more yourself, as you respect our Favour;  
You'll stir us else: Smooth your Brow, or by the Gods—  Phi. 
I am dead, Sir, you're my Fate: It was not I  
Said I was wronged: I carry all about me,  
My weak Stars led me to, all my weak Fortunes.  
Who dares in all this Presence speak (that is  
But Man of Flesh, and may be Mortal) tell me  
I do not most entirely love this Prince,  
And honour his full Virtuos?  K. 
Sure he's possessed!  Phi. 
Yes, with my Father's Spirit: It's here, O King,  
A dangerous Spirit: now he tells me, King,  
I was a King's Heir, bids me be a King,  
And whispers to me, I was born to Empire.  
'Tis strange he will not let me sleep, but dives  
Into my Fancy, and there gives me shapes,  
That kneel, and do me service, cry me King:  
Tho' that Proud Daw struts in my borrowed Plumes.  
What tho' I've fixed a Crown on other's Brows,  
And want an aiding Hand to claim my own?  
What tho' ungrateful Man denies me Justice:  
Yet there are Gods will hear, and do me Right.  
But I'll suppress him, he's a factious Spirit,  
And will undo me; noble Sir, your Hand,  
I am your Servant.  K. 
Away, I do not like this:  
I'll make you tamer, or I'll dispossess you you  
Both of Life and Spirit.  [Exeunt K. Pha. Are. Dion. 
I thank you, Sir, you dare not for the People.  Gal. 
Ladies, what think you now of this brave Fellow?  Meg. 
A pretty talking Fellow, hot at hand: but eye yond Stranger, is he not a fine complete Gentleman? O these Strangers, I do affect them strangely; as I live, I could love all the Nation over and over for his sake.  Gal. 
Comfort your poor Head-piece, Lady, 'tis a weak one.  [Exeunt Ladies. Dion. 
See how his Fancy labours, has he not  
Spoke home and bravely? what a dangerous Train  
Did he give fire to? How he shook the King,  
Made his Soul melt within him, and his Blood  
Run into Whey; it stood upon his Brow,  
Like a cold Winter Dew.  Phi. 
Gentlemen,  
You have no suit to me? I am no Minion:  Cle. 
How do you, worthy Sir?  Phi. 
Well, very well;  
And so well, that if the King please I find  
I may live many Years.  Di. 
The King must please,  
Whilst we know what you are, and who you are,  
Your Wrongs and Injuries: Shrink not, worthy Sir,  
But add the Merit of your Glories to you,  
In whose fair Name we'll waken all the Gods,  
To arm for your Protection.  Phi. 
Friends, no more;  
Our Ears may be corrupted:  
Do you love me?  Thra. 
Do we love Heaven, and Honour?  Phi. 
My Lord Dion, you had  
A virtuous Gentlewoman, called you Father,  
Is she yet alive?  Dion. 
Most honoured Sir, she is:  
But for the Penance of an idle Dream,  
Has undertaken a tedious Pilgrimage.  Enter Galatea. Phi. 
Is it to me, or any of these Gentlemen you come?  Gal. 
To you, my Lord: The Princess would entreat  
Your present Company.  Phi. 
The Princess send for me? You are mistaken.  Gal. 
If you be called Philaster, 'tis to you.  [Ex. Gal. Phi. 
Kiss her fair Hand, and say I will attend her.  Dion. 
Do you know what you do?  Phi. 
Yes, go to see a Woman.  Cler. 
But do you weigh the danger you are in?  Phi. 
Danger in a sweet Face!  
By Jupiter I must not fear a Woman.  Thra. 
But are you sure it was the Princess sent?  
It may be some soul Train to catch your Life.  Phi. 
I do not think it, Gentlemen: She's Noble.  
Hear Eye may shoot me Dead, or those true red  
And white Fiends in her Face may steal my Soul out:  
There's all the Danger in't: but be what may,  
Her single name has armed me.  [Exit Phi. Dion. 
Go on:  
And be as truly Happy, as thouart Fearless.  [Exeunt. Enter Arethusa and Galatea. Are. 
Comes he not?  Gal. 
Madam?  Are. 
Will Philaster come?  Gal. 
Dear, Madam, you were wont  
To credit me at first.  Are. 
But didst thou tell me so?  
I am forgetful, and my Woman's Strength  
Is so o'ercharged with Dangers like to grow  
About my Marriage, that these Under-things  
Dare not abide in such a troubled Sea.  
How looked he, when he told thee he would come?  Gal. 
Why, well.  Are. 
And not a little fearful?  Gal. 
Fear, Madam! sure he knows not what it is.  Are. 
You all are of his Faction; the whole Court  
Is bold in Praise of him; whilst I  
May live neglected, and do noble things,  
As Fools in Strife throw Gold into the Sea,  
Drowned in the doing: But I know he fears.  Gal. 
Fear, Madam! (methought) his looks had more  
Of Love than Fear.  Are. 
Of Love? To whom? To you?  
Did you deliver those plain Words I sent  
With such a winning Gesture, and quick Look,  
That you have caught him?  Gal. 
Madam, I mean to you.  Are. 
Of Love to me? Alas! thy Ignorance  
Lets thee not see the Crosses of our Births:  
Nature that loves not to be questioned  
Why she did this, or that; but has her Ends,  
And knows she does well, never gave the World  
Two things so opposite, so contrary  
As he and I am: If a Bowl of Blood  
Drawn from this Arm of mine would poison thee,  
A Draught of his would cure thee. Love to me!  Gal. 
Madam, I think I hear him.  Are. 
Bring him in.  
You Gods that would not have your Dooms withstood,  
Whose holy Wisdoms at this time it is,  
To make the Passions of a feeble Maid  
The way to your bright Justice; I Obey.  Enter Philaster. Gal. 
Here is my Lord Philaster.  Are. 
Oh, 'tis well.  
Withdraw yourself.  [Exit Galatea. Phi. 
Madam, your Messenger  
Made me believe you wished to speak with me.  Are. 
'Tis true, Philaster; but the Words are such  
I have to say, and do so ill beseem  
The Mouth of Woman, that I wish them said,  
And yet am loath to speak them. Oh! Philaster,  
Tho' by my own rich Veins born Heir to this  
Fair Sicily, and by thy richer Glories  
Entitled to the no less Fair Calabria,  
Yet that unsatisfied Ambition haunts me,  
And whispers me, I must enjoy thy Arragon.  Phi. 
My Arragon!  Are. 
Thine, or I die, by Heaven I die, Philaster,  
If I not calmly may enjoy thy Right.  Phi. 
I would do much to save that Noble Life:  
Yet would be loath to have Posterity  
Find in our Stories that Philaster gave  
His Right to a Royal Sceptre, tho' a broken one,  
To save a Lady's longing.  Are. 
Nay then hear:  
I must and will have that, and more.  Phi. 
What more?  Are. 
Or lose that little Life the Gods prepared,  
To trouble this poor piece of Earth withal.  Phi. 
Madam what more?  Are. 
Turn then away thy Face.  Phi. 
No.  Are. 
Do.  Phi. 
Turn away my Face!  
I never yet saw Enemy that looked  
So dreadfully, but that I thought myself  
As great a Basalisks as he; or spoke  
So horrible, but that I thought my Tongue  
Bore Thunder underneath as much as his:  
Nor Beast that I could turn from: Shall I then  
Begin to fear sweet Sounds? a Lady's Voice,  
Whom I do love? Say you would have my Life,  
Why, I will give it you; for 'tis of me  
A thing so loathed, and to yourself that ask,  
Of so poor use, that I shall make no Price.  
If you entreat, I will unmovedly hear.  Are. 
Yet for my sake a little bend thy looks.  Phi. 
I do.  Are. 
Then Know I must have that, and thee.  Phi. 
And me?  Are. 
Thy Love: without which all the Land  
Discovered yet, will serve me for no use,  
But to be buried in.  Phi. 
Is't possible?  Are. 
Now, my Philaster, if my blushing Weakness,  
Has not made cheap the easy Heart I've given thee,  
I have unripped my Breast.  Phi. 
Madam, you are too full of noble thoughts,  
To lay a Train for so contemned a Life,  
Which you may have for ask: to suspect  
Were base, where I deserve no ill; love you!  
By all my Hopes I do, above my Life:  
But how this generous Goodness should proceed  
From you, those lovely Eyes to smile so kind,  
And shine so warm upon the lost Philaster,  
By Heaven, is all amazing!  Are. 
Another Soul into my Body shot,  
Could not have filled me with more Strength and Spirit,  
Than this thy Breath: But spend not hasty time  
In seeking how I came thus: 'Tis the Gods,  
The Gods, that make me so; and sure our Love  
Will be the nobler, and the better blessed,  
In that the secret Justice of Heaven  
Is mingled with it. Thou hast been wronged Philaster,  
And fated by the Powers that reward Virtue,  
'Tis I am born to right thee.  Phi. 
Brightest Excellence!  
From those dear Charms there pours such Blessings on me,  
Thus kneeling let me catch the golden Shower.  Are. 
Rise, my Philaster, and forgive the Cruelty  
Of our hard Stars, when I am forced to tell you,  
That there's a thousand dangerous Eyes upon us:  
Nor must we give our Foes the Power to hurt us.  
Since than our happy Meetings must be few:  
Say, how shall we devise  
To hold Intelligence? That our true Loves  
On any new Occasion may consult  
What Path is best to tread?  Phi. 
I have a Boy  
Sent by the Gods, I hope, to this intent,  
Not yet seen in the Court. Hunting the Buck,  
I found him sitting by a Fountain side,  
Of which he borrowed some to quench his Thirst,  
And paid the Nymph again as much in Tears;  
By him a Garland lay, made by himself,  
Of many several Flowers, bred in the Bay,  
Stuck in that mystic Order, that the rareness  
Delighted me: But ever when he turned  
His tender Eyes upon 'em, he would weep,  
As if he meant to make 'em grow again.  
Seeing such pretty helpless Innocence  
Dwell in his Face, I asked him all his Story.  
He told me that his Parents gentle died,  
Leaving him to the Mercy of the Fields,  
Which gave him Roots; and of the Crystal Springs,  
Which did not stop their Courses; and the Sun,  
Which still, he thanked him, yielded him his Light.  
Then took he up his Garland, and did show,  
What every Flower, as Countrypeople hold,  
Did signify; and how all ordered thus,  
Expressed his Grief: And to my thoughts did read  
The prettiest Lecture of his Country Art,  
That could be wished. I gladly entertained him,  
Who was as glad to follow; and have got  
The trustiest, lovingest, and the gentlest Boy,  
That ever Master kept. Him will I send  
To wait on you, and bear our hidden love.  Enter a Lady. Are. 
'Tis well, no more.  La. 
Madam, the Prince is come to do his Service.  Are. 
What will you do, Philaster, with yourself?  Phi. 
Why, that which all the Gods appoint out for me.  Are. 
Dear, hide thyself;  
Bring in the Prince.  Phi. 
Hide me from Pharamont?  
When Thunder speaks, which is the Voice of Jove,  
Though I do reverence, yet I hide me not;  
And shall a Stranger Prince have leave to brag▪  
To a Foreign Nation, that he made  
Philaster hide himself?  Are. 
He cannot know it.  Phi. 
Though it should sleep for ever to the World,  
It is a simple sin to hide myself,  
Which will for ever on my Conscience liel.  Are. 
Then, good Philaster, give him scope and way  
In what he says; for he is apt to speak  
What you are loath to hear: For my sake do.  Phi. 
I will.  Enter Pharamont. Pha. 
My Princely Mistress, as true Lovers ought,  
I come to kiss these fair hands; and to show  
In outward Ceremonies, the dear Love  
Writ in my Heart.  Phi. 
If I shall have an answer no directlier,  
I am gone.  Pha. 
To what would he have answer?  Are. 
To his Claim to the Crown of Arragon.  Pha. 
Sir I forbore you before the King.  Phi. 
Good Sir, do so still, I would not talk with you,  Pha. 
But now the time is fitter, do but offer  
To make mention of Right to any Kingdom,  
Tho' it be scarce habitable.  Phi. 
Good Sir, let me go.  Pha. 
And, by the Gods!  Phi. 
Peace, Pharamont: If thou—  Are. 
Leave us, Philaster.  Phi. 
I have done.  Pha. 
You are Gone: by Heaven I'll fetch you back.  Phi. 
You shall not need.  Pha. 
What now?  Phi. 
Know, Pharamont,  
I loathe to brawl with such a blast as thou,  
Who art nought but a valiant Voice: But if  
Thou shalt provoke me farther, Men shall say,  
Thou wert, and not lament it.  Pha. 
Do you slight  
My Greatness so? and in the Chamber of the Princess?  Phi. 
It is a Place to which I must confess  
I owe a Reverence: But were't the Church;  
I, at the Altar, there's no Place so safe  
Where thou dar'st injure me, but I dare kill thee:  
And for your Greatness, know, Sir, I can grasp  
You and your Greatness, thus, thus into nothing;  
Give not a Word, not a Word back: Farewell.  [Exit. Pha. 
'Tis an odd Fellow, Madam, we must stop  
His Mouth with some Office, when we are married.  Are. 
You were best make him your Controller.  Pha. 
I think he would discharge it well. But, Madam,  
I hope our Hearts are knit; but yet so slow  
The Ceremonies of State are, that 'twill be long  
Before our Hands be so: A Month, an Age!  
So long a Fast, and not one Taste of Love.  Are. 
If you dare speak such Thoughts,  
I must withdraw in Honour.  [Exit Are. Pha. 
The Constitution of my Body will never hold out till the Wedding:  
I must seek out elsewhere.  [Exit Pha.   

ACT II.  

SCENE I.  Enter Philaster and Bellario. Phi. 
AND thou shalt find her honourable, Boy,  
Full of regard to thy sweet tender Youth,  
For thine own Modesty, and for my sake,  
Apt to give, than thou wilt be to ask,  
I, or deserve.  Bel. 
Sir, you did take me up when I was nothing:  
And only yet am something by being yours;  
You trusted me unknown, and that which you were apt  
To construe, a simple Innocence in me,  
Perhaps might have been Craft: The Cunning of a Boy  
Hardened in Lies and Theft; yet ventured you  
To part my Miseries and me: For which  
I never can expect to serve a Lady,  
That bears more Honour in her Breast than you.  Phi. 
But Boy, it will prefer thee: thou art young,  
And bearest a childish overflowing Love  
To them that clap thy Cheeks, and speak thee fair;  
But when thy Judgement comes to rule those Passions,  
Thou wilt remember best those careful Friends,  
That placed thee in the noblest way of Life:  
She is a Princess I prefer thee to.  Bel. 
In that small time that I have seen the World,  
I never knew a Man hasty to part  
With a Servant he thought trusty; I remember  
My Father would prefer the Boys he kept  
To greater Men than he, but did it not,  
Till they were grown too saucy for himself.  Phi. 
Why, gentle Boy, I find no Fault at all  
In thy Behaviour.  Bel. 
Sir, if I have made  
A Fault of Ignorance, instruct my Youth;  
I shall be willing, if not apt to learn:  
Age and Experience will adorn my Mind  
With larger Knowledge; and if I have done  
A wilful Fault, think me not past all hope  
For once; what Master holds so strict a Hand  
Over his boy, that he will part with him  
Without one warning? Let me be corrected,  
To break my Stubborness, if it be so,  
Rather than turn me off, and I shall mend.  Phi. 
Thy Love does plead so prettily to stay,  
That (trust me) I could weep to part with thee.  
Alas, I do not turn thee off: thou knowest  
It is my business that does call thee hence,  
And when thou art with her, thou dwellest with me:  
Think so, and 'tis so: And when time is full,  
That thou hast well discharged this heavy Trust,  
Laid on so weak a one; I will again  
With Joy receive thee; as I live, I will:  
Nay, weep not, gentle Boy: 'Tis more than time  
Thou didst attend the Princess.  Bel. 
I am gone:  
But since I am to part with you, my Lord,  
And none knows whether I live shall to do  
More Service for you: take this little Prayer;  
Heaven bless your Loves, your Fights, all your Designs:  
May sick Men, if they have your wish be well:  
And Heaven hate those you curse, tho' I be one.  [Exit. Phi. 
The Love of Boys to their dear Lords, is strange;  
I have read Wonders of it: Yet this Boy  
For my sake (if a Man may judge by looks  
And speech) would outdo story. I may see  
A Day to pay him for his Loyalty.  [Exit Phi. Enter Pharamont. Pha. 
Why should these Ladies stay so long? They must come this way, I know the Princess employs 'em not, for the reverend Mother sent me word, they would be all for the Garden. If they should all prove honest now, I were in a fair taking.  Enter Galatea, crossing the Stage in haste. Pha. 
So, here's one bolted: Now for a fair Chase.  [Aside. 
Whither so fast, fair Lady?  
What, running Races to catch Hearts?  Gal. 
Catch Hearts! Catch Woodcocks.  Pha. 
How, Madam! Are poor Lovers—  Gal. 
O'th' two, the more brainless Animals,  Pha. 
Nay, Madam, speak not so contemptibly  
Of your poor Captives, nor that noble Passion, Love:  
It is the daily Work of your Creation:  
Those Eyes can't look abroad without inspiring  
A Thousand Sighs, and melting Souls. No, Madam,  
Those lovely Eyes, with all their Heaven of Charms,  
Must have one starry Spark of Mercy shine too.  
Yes, you can love a little.  Gal. 
I love! Yes, Sir, most passionately. I love a Morning's Ramble, an Evening's Play, gay Mirth, and flowing Joys; soft Hours, sweet sleeps, and golden Dreams to crown 'em; provided I have neither Fops, Fools, nor Fiddles to wake me out of 'em.  Pha. 
Nay, Madam, if Fops and Fools are only excluded, than Wit and Sense, belike, those happier Favourites, may hope a kinder Treatment.  Gal. 
Nay, Sir, I cant tell that neither; For Wit and Sense are such Strangers to this part of the World, that I declare I am that young Traveller, as never went far enough to meet with either of 'em.  Pha. 
Nay, my fair Critic, now you are too severe.  
But, Madam, not to lose th' important Minute,  
But come a little seriously  
To the great business Love and Beauty's born for;  
Should a bold pushing Lover pitch before you,  
What with a fair Challenge and a fair Field, is there no hopes of drawing you to a fair Battle too.  Gal. 
Faith, Sir, none at all: For, to answer you in your own Martial Dialect, there's Policy in Love, as well as War: And wise Lady's act like prudent Generals; we love, as they fight; never engage, but upon Advantage.  Pha. 
Nay, then, there's no way left but downright Canonading.  Gal. 
Nay, troth, Sir, that will do but little service neither: For to tell you the Truth, what between a little natural Pride, feminine Honour, and some other Virgin Ramparts about me, my Outworks are so very strong, that all your Canonading will do but feeble Execution.  Pha. 
This is a crafty Wench, I like her Wit well: She's a Danae, and must be courted in a Shower of Gold. Madam, look here, all these, and more,—  Gal. 
What have you there, my Lord? Gold? Now, as I live, 'tis fair Gold; you would have Silver for it to Play with the Pages: you could not have taken me in a worse time: But if you have present use, my Lord, I'll send my Man with Silver, and keep your Gold for you.  Pha. 
Lady, Lady.  Gall. 
She's coming, Sir, behind, will take white Money. Yet for all this I'll watch ye.  [Exit Gal. behind the Hangings. Pha. 
If there be but two such more in this Kingdom, and near the Court, we may even hang up our Harps; ten such Champhier Constitutions as this, would call the Golden Age again in question,  Enter Megra. 
Here's another. Many fair Mornings, Lady.  Meg. 
As many Mornings bring as many Days,  
Fair, sweet, and hopeful to your Grace.  Pha. 
She gives good Words yet, sure this Wench is free.  
If your more serious Business do not call you,  
let me hold Quarter with you, we'll talk an Hour  
Out quickly.  Meg. 
What would your grace talk of?  Pha. 
Of some such pretty Subject as yourself.  
I'll go no farther than your Eye or Lip;  
There's Theme enough for one Man for an Age.  Meg. 
Sir, they stand right, and my Lips are yet even,  
Smooth, young enough, ripe enough, and red enough;  
Or my Glass wrongs me.  Pha. 
O they are two twin Cherrries died in Blushes,  
Which those fair Suns above, with their bright Beams,  
Reflect upon, and ripen: Sweetest Beauty,  
Bow down those Branches, that the longing taste  
Of the faint looker on may meet those Blessings,  
And taste and live.  Meg. 
O delicate sweet Prince;  
She that has Snow enough about her Heart  
To take the wanton Spring of ten such Lines off,  
May be a Nun without Probation.  Pha. 
But we lose time, dear Madam:  
Can you love?  Meg. 
Love you, my Lord! How would you have me love you?  Pha. 
I'll teach you in a short Sentence, 'cause I will not load your Memory.  
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 teach you to do it as easily in one Night, as you'll go to Bed; I'll lose my royal Blood for't.  Meg. 
Why, Prince, you have a Lady of your own, that yet wants teaching.  Pha. 
I'll sooner teach a Mare the old measures, than teach her any thing belonging to the Function: she's afraid to lie with herself, if she have but any masculine Imaginations about her; I know, when we are married, I must ravish her.  Meg. 
By my Honour, that's a foul Fault indeed.  Pha. 
And for any other I see, excepting your dear self, dearest Lady—  Meg. 
Has your Grace seen the Court-Star, Galatea?  Pha. 
Out upon her, she's as cold of her Favour as an Apoplex; she 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 hold it, if they were tied to it. But speak, sweet Lady, shall I be freely welcome.  Meg. 
Whither?  Pha. 
To your Bed; if you mistrust my Faith, you do me the unnoblest Wrong.  Meg. 
I dare not, Prince, I dare not.  Pha. 
Make your own Conditions, my Purse shall seal 'em. Come, I know you are bashful, speak in my Ear, will you be mine? Keep this, and with it me, at Night I'll visit you.  Meg. 
My Lord, my Chamber's most unsafe, but when 'tis Night, I'll find some means to slip into your Lodging: till when—  Pha. 
Till when, this, and my heart go with thee.  [Ex. several ways. Enter Galatea from behind the Hangings. Gal. 
Oh thou pernicious Petticoat Prince, are these your 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 Gal. Enter Arethusa and a Lady. Are. 
Where's the Boy?  La. 
Within, Madam.  Are. 
Gave you him Gold to buy him clothes?  La. 
I did.  Are. 
And has he done't?  La. 
Yes, Madam.  Are. 
'Tis a pretty sad talking Boy, is it not?  
Asked you his Name?  La. 
No, Madam.  Enter Galatea. Are. 
O you are welcome, what good News?  Gal. 
As good as any one can tell your Grace,  
That says she has done that you would have wished.  Are. 
Hast thou discovered?  Gal. 
I have strained a point of Modesty for you.  Are. 
I prithee how?  Gal. 
In listening after bawdry: I see, let a Lady live never so modestly, she shall be sure to find one lawful time to hearken after bawdry; your Prince, brave Pharamont, was so hot on't.  Are. 
With whom?  Gal. 
Why, with the Lady I suspected: I can tell the time and place.  Are. 
O when, and where?  Gal. 
To Night, his Lodging.  Are. 
Run thyself into the Presence, mingle there again  
With other Ladies, leave the rest to me:  
Where's the Boy?  Enter Bellario. La. 
Here, Madam.  Are. 
Sir, you are sad to change your Service, is't not so?  Bel. 
Madam, I have not changed: I wait on you,  
To do him Service.  Are. 
Tell me thy Name.  Bell. 
Bellario.  Are. 
Thou canst sing, and play?  Bell. 
If Grief will give me leave, Madam, I can.  Are. 
Alas! What kind of Grief can thy Years know?  
Hadst thou a cursed Master when thou wentest to School?  
Thou art not capable of other Grief;  
Thy Brows and Cheeks are smooth as Waters be,  
When no Breath troubles them: Believe me, Boy,  
Care seeks out wrinkled Brows, and hollow Eyes,  
And builds himself Caves to abide in them.  
Come, Sir, tell me truly, does your Lord love me?  Bell. 
Love, Madam? I know not what it is.  Are. 
Canst thou know Grief, and never yet knewest Love?  
Thou art deceived, Boy; does he speak of me as if he wished me well?  Bell. 
If it be Love,  
To forget all respect to his own Friends,  
With thinking of your Face; if it be Love  
To sit cross-armed, and think away the Day,  
Mingled with Starts, crying your Name as loud  
And hastily, as Men i'th' Streets do Fire;  
If it be Love, to weep himself away,  
When he but hears of any Lady dead,  
Or killed, because it might have been your chance;  
If when he goes to rest (which will not be)  
'Twixt every Prayer he says, to name you once,  
As others drop a Bead; if this be to be in Love;  
Then, Madam, I dare swear he loves you.  Are. 
O, you're a cunning Boy, and taught to lie  
For your Lord's credit; but thou knowest a lie  
That bears this found is welcomer to me,  
Than any Truth that says he loves me not.  
Led the way, Boy, do you attend me too:  
'Tis thy Lord's business hastes me thus, away.  [Exeunt. Enter Dion, Clerimont, Thraselin, Megra, Galatea. Dion. 
Come Ladies, shall we talk a round, As men  
Do walk a mile? Women should talk an hour.  
After supper: 'Tis their Excercise.  Gal. 
'Tis late.  Meg. 
'Tis all  
My Eyes will do to lead me to my Bed.  Gal. 
I fear they are so heavy, you'll scarce find  
The way to your own Lodging with 'em to night.  Enter Pharamont. Thra. 
The Prince!  Pha. 
Not a-Bed, Ladies, you're good Sitters up;  
What think you of a pleasant Dream to last  
Till Morning?  Meg. 
I should choose, my Lord, a pleasing Wake before it.  Enter Arethusa and Bellario. Are. 
'Tis well, my Lord, you're courting of Ladies.  
Is't not late, Gentlemen?  Cler. 
Yes, Madam.  Are. 
Wait you there.  [Exit Are. Meg. 
She's jealous, as I live: look you, my Lord,  
The Princess has a Hylas, an Adonis.  Pha. 
His form is Angellike.  Meg. 
Why this is he, must, when you are wed,  
Sat by your Pillow, like young Apollo, with  
His Hand and Voice binding your Thoughts in sleep.  
The Princess does provide him for you, and for herself.  Pha. 
I find no Music in these Boys.  Meg. 
Nor 1  
They can do little, and that small they do,  
They have not wit to hide.  Dion. 
Serves he the Princess?  Thra. 
Yes.  Dion. 
'Tis a sweet Boy, how brave she keeps him!  Pha. 
Ladies all, good rest; I mean to kill a Buck  
To Morrow Morning e'er you've done your Dreams.  [Exit. Meg. 
All happiness attend your Grace: Gentlemen, good rest.  
Come, shall we to Bed?  Gal. 
Yes. All good night.  [Ex. Gal. Meg. Dion. 
May your Dreams be true to you:  
What shall we do, Gallants? 'Tis late, the King  
Is up still, see he comes, a Guard along  
With him.  Enter King, Arethusa, and Guard. K. 
Look your Intelligence be true.  Are. 
Upon my Life it is.  K. 
Haste some of you, and cunningly discover,  
If Megra be in her Lodging.  [Exit Dion. Cler. 
Sir, she parted hence but now with other Ladies.  K. 
If she be there, we shall not need to make  
A vain Discovery of our Suspicion.  Are. 
But, Sir, I hope your Highness will not tie 〈◊〉 to a Man  
That in the heat of wooing throws me off,  
And takes another.  Cler. 
What should this mean!  King. 
If it be true  
That Lady had much better have embraced  
Cureless Diseases. Get you to your Rest,  [Exeunt Areth. Bel. etc. 
You shall be righted. Gentlemen, draw near,  
We shall employ you. Is Young Pharamont  
Come to his Lodging?  Thra. 
I saw him enter there.  King. 
Well; a few Minutes  
Shall solve this lowering Riddle. And if this  
Lascivious Siren Fiend has played the Traitress—  Enter Dion. Dion. 
Sir, I have asked, and her Women swear she is within; but they I think are Bawds; I told 'em I must speak with her; they laughed, and said their Lady lay speechless. I said, my business was important. They said, their Lady was about it: I grew hot, and cried, my business was a matter that concerned Life and Death. They answered, so was Sleeping, at which their Lady was. I urged again, she had scarce time to be so since I last saw her. They smiled again, and seemed to instruct me, that sleeping was nothing but lying down and winking. Answers more direct I could not get: In short, Sir, I think she is not there.  King. 
'Tis then no time to dally: you o'th' Guard  
Wait at the back door of the Prince's Lodging,  
And see that none pass thence upon your Lives.  
Knock, gentlemans, knock loud, louder yet:  
What, has their Pleasure taken off their Hearing?  
I'll break your Meditations: Knock again:  
Not yet: I do not think he sleeps, having this  
Alarm by him: Once more, Pharamont, Prince.  Pharamont above. Pha. 
What saucy Groom knocks at this dead of night?  
By my vexed Soul,  
He meets his Death, that meets me, for this boldness,  K. 
Prince, you wrong our thoughts, we are your Friends, Come down.  Pha. 
The King?  K. 
The same, Sir; come down,  [Enter Pharamont below. 
We have cause of present Counsel with you.  Pha. 
If your Grace please of use me, I'll attend you  
To your Chamber.  K. 
No, 'tis too late, Prince, I'll make bold with yours.  Pha. 
I have some private Reasons to myself,  
Make me unmannerly, and say you cannot:  
Nay, press not forward, Gentlemen; he must come  
Through my life, that comes here.  K. 
Sir, be resolved, I must, and will come: Enter.  Pha. 
I will not be dishonoured;  
He that enters, enters upon his Death:  
Sir, 'tis a sign you make no Stranger of me,  
To bring these Renegadoes to my Chamber,  
As these unseasoned Hours.  K. 
Why do you  
Chafe yourself so? You are nor wronged, not shall be:  
Only I'll search your Lodging, for some cause  
To ourselves known: Enter, I say.  Pha. 
I say no.  [Meg. above. Meg. 
Let 'em enter, Prince,  
Let 'em enter, I am up, and ready; I know their business,  
'Tis the poor breaking of a Lady's Honour,  
They hunt so hotly after: let 'em enjoy it:  
You have your business; Gentlemen, I lay here.  
O my Lord the King, this is not noble in you,  
To make public the Weakness of a Woman.  K. 
Come down.  Meg. 
I dare, my Lord: your Whootings and your Clamours  
Your private Whispers, and your broad Fleer,  
Can no more vex my Soul, than this base Carriage;  
But I have Vengeance yet in store for some,  
Shall in the most Contempt you can have of me,  
Be joy and nourishment.  K. 
Will you come down?  Meg. 
Yes, to laugh at your worst: but I shall wring you,  
If my Skill fail me not.  K. 
Sir, I must dearly chide you for this Looseness,  
You have wronged a worthy Lady; but no more,  
Conduct him to his Lodging, and to Bed.  Cle. 
Get him another Wench, and you bring him to Bed indeed.  Dion. 
'Tis strange a Man cannot ride a Stage  
Or two, to breathe himself, without a Warrant:  
If this Gear hold, that Lodgings be searched thus,  
Pray Heaven we may lie with our Wives in safety,  
That they be not by some trick of State mistaken.  Enter Megra. K. 
Now Lady of Honour, where's your Honour now?  
No man can fit your palate, but the Prince;  
Thou most ill shrouded rottenness.  
Had you none to pull on with your Courtesies,  
But he that must be mine, and wrong my Daughter?  
By all the Gods, all these, and all the Pages,  
And all the Court, shall hoot thee through the Court,  
Fling rotten Oranges, make ribald Rhymes,  
And fear thy Name with Candles upon Walls:  
Do ye laugh, Lady Venus?  Meg. 
Faith, Sir, you must pardon me;  
I cannot choose but laugh to see you merry.  
If you do this, O King; nay if you dare do it;  
By all those Gods you swore by, and as many  
More of my own; I will have Fellows, and such  
Fellows in it, as shall make noble Mirth:  
The Princess your dear Daughter, shall stand by me  
On Walls, and sung in Ballads, any thing:  
Urge me no more, I know her, and her haunts,  
Her lays, leaps, out-layes, and will discover all;  
Nay, will dishonour her. I know the Boy  
She keeps, a handsome Boy: About Eighteen;  
know what she does with him, where and when.  
Come, Sir, you put me to a Woman's Madness,  
The glory of a fury; and if I do not  
Do it to the height!  K. 
What Boy is this she raves at?  Meg. 
Alas, good minded Prince, you know not these things;  
I am loath to reveal 'em: Keep this Fault  
As you would keep your Health from the hot Air  
Of the corrupted People, or by Heaven,  
I will not fall alone: what I have known,  
Shall be as public as a Print; all Tongues  
Shall speak it as they do the Language they  
Are born in, as free and commonly; I'll set it  
Like a prodigious Star for all to gaze at,  
And so high and glowing, that other Kingdoms far and Foreign,  
Shall read it there: nay, travail with it, till they find  
No Tongue to make it more, nor no more People;  
And then behold the fall of your fair Princess.  K. 
Has she a Boy?  Cler. 
So please your Grace, I have seen a Boy wait  
On her, a fair Boy.  K. 
Go, get you to your Quarter:  
For this time I'll study to forget you.  Meg. 
Do you study to forget me, and I'll study  
To forget you.  [Ex. K. Meg. Guard. Cler. 
Why here's a male spirit for Hercules, if ever there be nine Worthies of Women, this Wench shall ride a stride and be their Captain.  Dion. 
Sure she has a Garrison of Devils in her Tongue, she uttered such Balls of Wildfire. She has so nettled the King, that all the Doctors in the Country will scarce cure him. That Boy was a strange found out Antidote to cure her Infections; 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, gentlemans.  Thra. 
Nay, we'll go wander with you.  [Exeunt.   

ACT. III.  

SCENE I.  Enter Cler. Dion, Thra. Cler. 
NAY, doubtless 'tis true.  Dion. 
ay, and 'tis the God's  
That raised this Punishment to scourge the King  
With his own Issue: Is it not a shame  
For us, that should write Noble in the Land?  
For us, that should be Freemen, to behold  
A Man, that is the bravery of his Age,  
Philaster, pressed down by a thousand Injuries  
By this ungrateful King? And only look,  
And see the Sceptre ready to be cast  
Into the Hands of that lascivious Lady,  
That lives in Lust with a smooth Boy, now to be  
Married to yond strange Prince; who, but that People  
Please to let him be a Prince, is born a Slave  
In that which should be his most noble Part,  
His Mind.  Thra. 
That Man that would not stir with you  
To aid Philaster, let the Gods forget,  
That such a Creature walks upon the Earth.  Cler. 
The Gentry do all wait it; and the People  
All like a field of standing Corn, that's moved  
With a stiff Gale; their Heads bow all before him.  Dion. 
But that which we have too much Ground to fear,  
Will hold Philaster back from joining us  
In this Attempt, is the fair Princess Love,  
Which he admires, and we can now confute.  Thra. 
Perhaps he'll not believe it.  Dion. 
Why, Gentlemen, 'tis without question so.  Cler. 
ay, 'tis past speech, she lives dishonestly:  
But how shall we, if he be curious, work  
Upon his Faith?  Thra. 
We are all 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.  Cler. 
It will be best.  Thra. 
'Twill move him.  Enter Philaster. Dion. 
Here he comes. Good morrow to your Honour;  
We have spent some time in seeking you.  Phi. 
My worthy Friends, you that can keep your Memories  
To know your Friend in Miseries; a good Day  
Attend you all.  Dion. 
My ever honoured Lord,  
We come to urge that Virtue which we know  
Lives in your Breast: ' Forth, rise, and make a Head,  
The Nobles and the Peope are all dulled  
With this ungrateful King: And not a Man  
That ever heard the Word, or knew such a Thing  
As Virtue, but will second your Attempts.  Phi. 
What do I live to hear? Oh! Gentlemen,  
As you would have your Names, your deathless Names,  
Fill the fair Annals of recorded Glory,  
Blot not your Memories with a Stain so impious.  Dion. 
No, thou too matchless Honour, can we live  
Those Galless-doves, thus to behold such Virtue  
Loaded and crushed beneath thy Weight of Injuries.  Phi. 
My Injuries! No, my too generous Friends,  
I have no Wrongs; you do not hear me murmur.  Dion. 
No Wrongs! And such prodigious Services  
Thus barbarously paid! thy Toils, thy Victories,  
A conquered Kingdom! and so lean a Harvest  
From such a Field of Laurels.  Phi. 
Conquered! Name it not.  
The Chance of War, mere Providence. Consider,  
It was my stars that battled, and not I.  
But say, that I have conquered, grant me all  
Your utmost love can give: Say, I've won Empires,  
Worn Crowns upon my Sword in your King's Cause;  
And he, perhaps, forgets me!  
Alas, Gentlemen, I want not his Remembrance.  
If I've done well, the Glory of well-doing  
Repays itself; Virtue's its own Reward,  
In its rich self a fair and ample Patrimony;  
And stands above the poor and sordid thought  
Of mercenary Hope.  Dion. 
Oh thou bright Miracle  
Of unexampled Worth! Suppose that we  
Can bear thy Wrongs, can we support our own?  
Those poor Hen-hearted Slaves, that abject Patience,  
To see the fair Succession of a Crown,  
Power's Sovereign Regalia made th' Inheritance  
Of Lust and Shame: Perhaps a base-got Brood,  
Raised up to tread upon the Necks of Honour.  
The Princess, Sir, that once loved Beauty, now  
The universal Hate—  Phi. 
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.  
And thou shalt feel it. I had thought thy Mind  
Had been of Honour. Thus to rob a Lady  
Of her good Name, is an infectious Sin,  
Not to be pardoned; be it false as Hell,  
'Twill never be redeemed, if it be sown  
Amongst the People, fruitful to increase  
All evil they shall hear. Let me alone,  
That I may cut off falsehood, whilst it springs:  
Set Hills on Hills betwixt me and the Man  
That utters this, and I will scale them all,  
And from the utmost Top fall on his Neck,  
Like Thunder from a Cloud.  Dion. 
This is most strange:  
Sure he does love her.  Phi. 
I do love fair Truth:  
She is my Mistress, and who injures her,  
Draws Vengeance from me. Sirs, let go my Arms.  Thra. 
Nay, good my Lord. be patient.  Cler. 
Sir, remember this is your honoured Friend;  
That comes to do his Service, and will show you  
Why he uttered this.  Phi. 
I ask you Pardon, Sir,  
My Zeal to Truth made me unmannerly:  
Should I have heard dishonour spoke of you,  
Behind your back untruly, I had been  
As much distempered, and enraged as now.  Dion. 
But this, my Lord, is Truth.  Phi. 
O say not so, good Sir, forbear to say so.  
Is it then truth, that Womankind is false?  
Urge me no more, it is impossible.  
Why should you think the Princess light?  Dion. 
Why, she was taken at it.  Phi. 
'Tis false, by Heaven 'tis false: It cannot be,  
Can it? Speak Gentlemen, for Heaven's Love speak;  
Is't possible? can Women all be damned?  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. 
Hell and Sin, know him! Sir, you are deceived:  
I'll reason it a little coldy with you;  
If she were lustful, would she take a Boy,  
That knows not yet desire? She would have one  
Should meet her Thoughts, and know the Sin he acts,  
Which is the great delight of Wickedness:  
You are abused, and so is she, and I.  Dion. 
How you, my Lord?  Phi. 
Why, all the World's abused  
In an unjust Report.  Dion. 
Oh, noble Sir, your Virtues  
Can't look into the subtle Thoughts of Woman.  
In short, my Lord, I took them: I myself.  Phi. 
Now all the Devils thou didst, fly from my Rage,  
Would thou hadst ta'en Furies engendering Plagues,  
When thou didst take them; hide thee from my Eyes;  
Would thou hadst taken Thunder on thy Breast,  
When thou didst take them; or been strucken Dumb  
For ever: that this foul Deed might have slept  
In silence.  Thra. 
Have you known him so ill tempered?  Cler: 
Never before.  Phi. 
The Winds that are let loose  
From the Four several Corners of the Earth,  
And spread themselves all over Sea and Land,  
Kiss not a chaste one. What Friend bears a Sword  
To run me through?  Dion. 
Why, my Lord, are you so moved at this?  Phi. 
When any fall from Virtue; I am distracted,  
I have an Interest in't.  Dion. 
But good, my Lord, recall yourself,  
And think what's best to be done.  Phi. 
I thank you, I will do it:  
Please you to leave me, I'll consider of it;  
Tomorrow I will find your Lodging forth,  
And give you answer.  Dion. 
All the Gods direct you▪  
The readiest way.  Thra. 
He was extreme impatient.  Cler. 
It was his Virtue and his noble, Mind,  [Ex. Dion, Cler. Thra. Phi. 
I had forgot to ask him where he took them:  
I'll follow him. O that I had a Sea  
Within my Breast, to quench the Flames I feel;  
More Circumstances will but fan this Fire;  
It more afflicts me now, to know by whom  
This Deed is done, than simply that ' 'tis done:  
And he that tells me this, is honourable,  
As far from lies, as she is far from truth.  
O, that like Beasts, we could not grieve ourselves,  
With that we see not; Bulls and Rams will fight,  
To keep their Females, standing in their sight:  
But take 'em from them, and you take at once,  
Their Spleens away; and they will fall again  
To their fair Pastures, growing fresh and fat,  
And taste the Waters of the Springs as sweet  
As 'twas before. They find no start in sleep.  Enter Bellario. 
But miserable Man! See, see— you Gods,  
He walks still, and the Face you let him wear  
When he was Innocent, is still the same,  
Not blasted; Is this Justice? Do you mean  
To entrap Mortality, that you allow  
Treason so smooth a Brow? I cannot now  
Think he is guilty.  Bel. 
Health to you, my Lord:  
The Princess does commend her Love, her Life,  
And this to your dear Hand.  Phi. 
Oh Bellario:  
Now I perceive she loves me, she does show it  
In loving thee, my Boy, she has made thee brave.  Bel. 
My Lord, she has attired me past my Wish,  
Past my Desert, most fit for her Attendant,  
Tho' far unfit for me, who do attend.  Phi. 
Thou art grown courtly, Boy. O let all Women  
That love black Deeds, learn to dissemble here:  
Here, in this Paper. She does write to me,  
As if her Heart were Mines of Adamant  
To all the World besides, but to me only,  
A Maiden-snow that melted with my looks.  
Tell me, my Boy, how does the Princess use thee?  
For I shall guests her Love to me by that.  Bel. 
Scarce like her Servant, but as if I were  
Something allied to her; Or had preserved  
Her Life three times by my Fidelity;  
As Mother's fond do use their only Sons:  
As I'd use one left to my careful Trust,  
For whom my Life should pay, if he met harm:  
So she does use me.  Phi. 
Why this is wondrous well:  
But what kind Language does she feed thee with?  Bel. 
Why, she does tell me, she will trust my Youth  
With all her loving Secrets; and does call me  
Her pretty Servant, bids me weep no more  
For leaving you; she'll see my Services  
Rewarded; and such words of that soft strain;  
That I am nearer weeping when she ends,  
Than e'er she spoke.  Phi. 
This is much better still.  Bel. 
Are you not ill, my Lord?  Phi. 
Ill? No Bellario.  Bel. 
Methinks your words  
Fall not from off your tongue so evenly;  
Nor is there in your looks that quietness  
That I was wont to see.  Phi. 
Thou art deceived, Boy:  
And she stroke 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 charged her by all charms  
Of love between us, by the hope of peace  
We should enjoy, to yield thee all delights  
Naked, as to her Bed: I took her oath  
Thou shouldst enjoy her: Tell me, gentle Boy,  
Is she not paralless? is not her breath  
Sweet as Arabian winds? Are not her Breasts,  
Two Sunny Banks of Paradise, Pillows  
For Revelling Love to melt a Soul in Ecstasies:  
Is she not all a lasting Mine of Joy?  Bel. 
ay, now I see, why my disturbed thoughts  
Where so perplexed. When first I went to her  
My heart held augury; you are abused,  
Some Villain has abused you: now I fee  
To what you tend: fall Rocks upon his head,  
That put this to you: 'tis some subtle train,  
To bring that noble Frame of yours to naught.  Phi. 
Thou think'st I will be angry with thee: Come  
Thou shalt know all my drift; I hate her more,  
Than I love happiness; and placed thee there,  
To pry with narrow eyes into her deeds:  
Hast thou discovered; is she 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 aid  
Her base desires: but what I came to know,  
As Servant to her, I would not reveal,  
To make my life last ages.  Phi. 
Oh! my heart?  
This is a salve worse than the main disease.  
Tell me thy thoughts; for I will know the least  
That dwells within thee, or will rip thy heart  
To know it; I will see thy thoughts as plain,  
As I do now thy face.  Bel. 
Why so you do.  
She is (for 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 'tis no time to dally with thee;  
I will take thy life, for I do hate thee:  
I could curse thee now.  Bel. 
If you do hate, you could not curse me worse:  
The Gods have not a punishment in store,  
Greater for me, than is your hate.  Phi. 
Fie, fie, so young and so dissembling:  
Tell me when, and where, thou didst enjoy her,  
Or let plagues fall on me, if I destroy thee not.  Bel. 
By Heaven I never did: and when I lie  
To save my life, may I live long and loathed;  
Hue me asunder, and whilst I can think,  
I'll love those pieces you have cut away,  
Better than those that grow: and kiss those limbs,  
Because you made 'em so.  Phi. 
Fearest thou not death?  
Can Boys contemn that?  Bel. 
Oh, what Boy is he  
Can be content to live to be a man,  
That sees the best of men thus passionate,  
Thus without Reason?  Phi. 
Oh, but thou dost not know what 'tis to die.  Bel. 
Yes, I do know, my Lord:  
'Tis less than to be born; a lasting sleep,  
A quiet resting from all jealousy:  
A thing we all pursue: I know besides,  
It is but giving over of a game,  
That must be lost.  Phi. 
But there are pains, false Boy,  
For perjured Souls: think but on those, and then  
Thy Heart will melt, and thou wilt utter all.  Bel. 
May they fall all upon me whilst I live,  
If I be perjured, or have ever thought  
Of that you charge me with; if I be false,  
Send me to suffer in those Punishments  
You speak of: kill me.  Phi. 
Why, who can but believe him? He does swear  
So earnestly, that if it were not true,  
The Gods would not endure him. Rise, Bellario,  
Thy Protestations are so deep, and thou  
Dost look so truly, when thou utterest them,  
That though I know 'em false, as were my hopes,  
I cannot urge thee farther; but thou wert  
Too blame to injure me: It troubles me  
That I have called the Blood out of thy Cheeks,  
That did so well become thee: But, good Boy,  
Let me not see thee more; something is done  
That will distract me, that will make me mad,  
If I behold thee: If thou tenderest me,  
Let me not see thee.  Bel. 
I will fly as far  
As there is Morning, ere I give distaste  
To that most honoured Mind. But through these Tears  
Shed at my hopeless parting, I can see  
A world of Treason practised upon you,  
And her, and me. Farewell for evermore:  
If you shall hear that Sorrow struck me dead,  
And after find me 〈…〉 there be  
A Tear shed from 〈…〉 memory,  
And I shall rest at peace.  Exit Bel. Phi. 
Blessings be with thee,  
What ever thou deservest. Oh, where shall I  
Go bathe this Body? Nature too unkind,  
That made no Medicine for a troubled Mind.  Enter Arethusa. Are. 
I marvel my Boy comes not back again;  
But that I know my Love will question him,  
Over and over; how I slept, waked, talked;  
How I remembered him, when his dear Name  
Was last spoke, and how, when I sighed, wept, sung,  
And ten thousand such: I should be angry  
At his stay.  Enter King. K. 
What, at your Meditations? Who attends you?  Are. 
None but my single self, I need no Guard:  
I do no wrong, nor fear none.  K. 
Tell me, have you not a Boy?  Are. 
Yes, Sir.  K. 
What kind of Boy?  Are. 
A Page, a waiting Boy.  K. 
A handsome Boy?  Are. 
I think he is not ugly:  
Well qualified, and dutiful, I know him,  
I took him not for Beauty.  K. 
He speaks and sings, and plays?  Are. 
Yes, Sir.  K. 
About eighteen?  Are. 
I never asked his age.  K. 
Is he full of service?  Are. 
By your pardon, why do you ask?  K. 
Put him away.  Are. 
Sir.  K. 
Put him away, h'as done you that good service  
Shames me to speak of.  Are. 
Good Sir, let me understand you.  K. 
If you fear me,  
Show it me in duty; put away that Boy.  Are. 
Let me have reason for it, Sir, and then  
Your will is my command.  K. 
Do not you blush to ask it: Cast him off,  
Or I shall do the same to you.  Are. 
What have I done, my Lord?  K. 
'Tis a new Language, that all love to learn:  
The common People speak it well already,  
They need no Grammar; understand me well,  
There be soul whispers stirring: cast him off,  
And suddenly; do it: Farewell.  [Exit King. Are. 
Where may a Maiden live securely free,  
Keeping her Honour fair? Not with the living,  
They feed upon Opinions, Errors, Dreams,  
And make 'em Truth's: they draw a Nourishment  
Out of defame, grow upon disgraces,  
And when they see a Virtue fortified  
Strongly above the battery of their tongues:  
Oh, how they cast to sink it: and defeated  
(Soul-sick with poison) strike the Monuments  
Where noble Names lie sleeping: till they sweat,  
And the cold Marble melt.  Enter Philaster. Phi. 
Peace to your fairest thoughts, my dearest Mistress.  Are. 
Oh, my dear Servant, I have a war within me.  Phi. 
He must be more than man, that makes those Crystals  
Run into Rivers: sweetest fair, the cause?  
And as I am your slave, tied to your goodness,  
I'll right your Honour.  Are. 
Oh, my best Love, that Boy!  Phi. 
What Boy?  Are. 
The pretty Boy you gave me:  Phi. 
What of him?  Are. 
Must be no more mine.  Phi. 
Why?  Are. 
They are jealous of him.  Phi. 
Jealous, who?  Are. 
The King.  Phi. 
Oh my Fortune,  
Then 'tis no idle jealousy. Let him go.  Are. 
Oh cruel Fate! Are you hardhearted too?  
Who shall now tell you, how I love you? Who  
Shall Swear it to you, and weep the Tears I send?  
Who shall now bring you Letters, Rings and Bracelets?  
Lose his sweet Health in his dear Master's Service;  
Wake tedious Nights in Stories of your Praise?  
Who shall take up his Lute, and touch it, till  
He crown a silent Sleep upon my Eyelids,  
Making me dream, and cry, Oh my dear,  
Dear Philaster.  Phi. 
Oh my Heart!  
Would he had broken thee, that made thee know  
This Lady was not Loyal. Mistress, forget  
The Boy, I'll get thee a far better.  Are. 
Oh never, never such a Boy again,  
As my Bellario.  Bel. 
'Tis but your fond Affection.  Are. 
With thee, my Boy, farewell for ever,  
All Secrecy in Servants: farewel Faith,  
And all desire to do well for itself▪  
Let all that shall succeed thee, for thy Wrongs,  
Sell and betray chaste Love.  Phi. 
And all this Passion for a Boy?  Are. 
He was your Boy, and, Sir, you put him to me,  
And the loss of such a one, must have a mourning for.  Phi. 
O thou forgetful Woman!  Are. 
How, my Lord?  Phi. 
False Arethusa!  
Hast thou a Medicine to restore my Wits,  
When I have lost 'em? If not, leave to talk,  
And do thus—  Are. 
Do what, Sir?  Phi. 
Oh, you Gods!  
Give me a worthy Patience: Have I stood  
Naked, alone, the Shock of many Fortunes?  
Have I seen Mischiefs numberless, and mighty,  
Grow like a Sea upon me? Have I taken  
Danger as stern as Death into my Bosom,  
And laughed upon it, made it but a Mirth,  
And flung it by? And must I sink at length  
Under a Woman's falsehood? Oh that Boy,  
That cursed Boy! none but a Villain Boy,  
To meet your shame.  Are. 
Nay, than I am betrayed,  
I feel the Plot cast for my overthrow:  
Oh I am wretched.  Phi. 
Now you may take your Sicily and Calabria,  
And give 'em to your Joy, your darling Joy;  
For I have no Joy left. Some distant Place,  
Where never Womankind durst set her Foot,  
For bursting with her Poisons, must I seek,  
And live to curse you:  
There dig a Cave, and preach to Birds and Beasts,  
What Woman is, and help to save them from you.  
How Heaven is in your Eyes, but in your Hearts  
More Hell than Hell has: How your Tongues like Scorpions,  
Both heal and poison: How that foolish Man,  
That reads the Story of a Woman's Face,  
And dies believing it, is lost for ever.  
How all the Good you have, is but a Shadow,  
I'th' Morning with you, and at Night behind you,  
Past and forgotten.  
How you are, being taken all together,  
A 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.  Exit Phi Are. 
Be merciful, ye Gods, and strike me dead:  
What way have I deserved this? make my Breast  
Transparent as pure Crystal, that the World,  
Jealous of me, may see the foulest Thought  
My Heart holds. Where shall a Woman turn her Eyes,  Enter Bellario. 
To find out constancy? Save me! how black  
And guiltily (methinks) that Boy looks now?  
Oh thou Dissembler, that, before thou spak'st,  
Wert in thy Cradle false! sent to make Lies,  
And betray Innocents': Thy Lord and thou  
May Glory in the Ashes of a Maid,  
Fooled by her Passion: But the Conquest is  
Nothing so great as wicked. Fly, away,  
Let my Command force thee to that, which Shame  
Would do without it. If thou understoodst  
The most 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, has sent this strange Disease  
Into the noblest Minds? Madam, this Grief  
You add to me, 's no more than Drops to Seas,  
For which, alas! they are not seen to swell:  
My Lord has struck his Anger through my Heart,  
And let out all the hope of future Joys.  
You need not bid me fly, I came to part,  
To take my latest leave. Farewell for ever:  
I durst not run away, in honesty,  
From such a Lady, like a Boy that stole,  
Or made some grievous Fault. The Power of Gods  
Assist you in your Sufferings: hasty time  
Reveal the Truth to your abused dear Lord,  
And mine: That he may know your worth; whilst I  
Go seek out some forgotten Place to die.  [Ex. Bel. Are. 
Peace guide thee: Thou hast overthrown me once,  
Yet, if I had another Troy to lose,  
Thou, or another Traitor with thy looks,  
Might talk me out of it, and send me naked,  
My Hair dishevelled, through the fiery Streets.  Enter a Lady. La. 
Madam, the King would hunt, and calls for you.  Are. 
I am in tune to hunt:  
Diana, if thou canst rage with a Maid,  
As with a Man, let me discover thee  
Bathing, and turn me to some fearful Hind,  
That I may die pursued by cruel Hounds,  
And have my Story written in my Wounds.  [Exeunt.   

ACT IU.  

SCENE I.  Enter King, Pharamont, Arethusa, Galatea, Megra, Dion, Clerimont, Trasilin and Attendants. King. 
What, are the Hounds before, and all the Woodmen!  Dion. 
All, Sir.  King. 
You're cloudy, Sir; Come, we have forgotten your venial Trespass; let not that sit heavy [to Phar.] upon your Spirit: None dare utter it.  Dion. 
He looks like an old surfeited Stallion after his leaping: Dull as a Dormouse: See how he sinks, the Wench has shot him betwixt wind and water; and, I hope, sprung a Leak.  Tras. 
Oh, he's a precious Lime-hound: Turn him lose upon the pursuit of a Lady, and if he lose her, hang him up i'th' Slip. When my Fox-bitch, Beauty, grows proud, I'll borrow him.  King. 
Is your Boy turned away?  Areth. 
You did command, Sir, and I obeyed you.  King. 
'Tis well done; hark you farther.  Cler. 
Is't possible that fellow should repent! Methinks that were not noble in him; and yet he looks like a mortified Member. If a worse Man had done his Fault now, some Physical Justice or other would presently, without the help of an Almanac, have opened the Obstructions of his Liver, and let him blood with a Dog-whip.  Dion. 
See, see, how modestly yond Lady looks; as if she came from Churching with her Neighbour; why, what a Devil can a Man see in her face, but that she's honest?  Tras. 
Troth, no great matter to speak of, but a foolish twinkling of the Eye that spoils her Coat; but he must be a cunning 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.  King. 
To Horse, to Horse, we lose the Morning, Gentlemen.  [Exeunt. Enter Two Woodmen. 1 Wood 
What, have you lodged the Deer!  2 Wood 
Yes, they are ready for the Bow.  1 Wood 
Who shoots!  2 Wood 
The Princess.  1 Wood 
No, she'll hunt.  2 Wood 
She'll take a stand, I say.  1 Wood 
Who else!  2 Wood 
Why, the young Stranger Prince.  1 Wood 
He, out on him! I never loved his beyon'd-Sea-ship, since he forsook the Stag once to strike a Rascal milking in a Meadow; and her he killed i'th'Eye. Who shoots else?  2 Wood 
The Lady Galatea.  1 Wood 
That's a good Wench, and she would not chide us for tumbling of her Women in the Brakes; she's Liberal, and by my Bow, they say she's honest; and whether that be a fault I have nothing to do. There's all.  2. Wood 
No, one more, Megra.  1. Wood 
That's a firker I'faith Boy, There's a Wench will ride her Haunches as hard after a Kennel of Hounds as a Hunting Saddle; and when she comes home get 'em Clapped, and all's well again. I have known her lose herself three times in one Afternoon (if the Woods have been answerable), and it has been work enough for a Man to find her, and he has sweat for't. She rides well, and she pays well. Hark, let's go.  [Exeunt. Scene changes, Enter Philaster. Phila. 
Oh that I had been nourished in these Woods  
With Milk of Goats, and Acorns, and not known  
The Right of Crowns, nor the dissembling Trains  
Of women's looks; but digged 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 hardened Rocks  
Whereon she dwells; that might have strowed my Bed  
With Leaves and Reeds, and with the Skins of Beasts,  
Our Neighbours; and have born at her big Breasts,  
Issue. My large course Issue. This had been a Life  
Free from Vexation.  [sits down.] Enter Bellario. Bell. 
Oh wicked Men!  
An Innocent may walk safe among Beasts.  
Nothing assaults me here— See my grieved Lord  
Sits as his Soul were searching out a way  
To leave his Body. Pardon me that must  
Break thy last commandment: For I must speak.  
You that are grieved can pity. Hear my Lord—  Phila. 
Is there a Creature yet so miserable  
That I can pity!  Bell. 
Oh my Noble Lord!  
View my strange Fortune, and bestow on me  
According to your bounty, and (if my Service  
Can merit nothing) so much as may serve  
To keep that little piece I hold of Life  
From Cold and Hunger.  Phila. 
Is it Thou! Begun.  
Go sell those misbecoming clothes thou wear'st  
And feed thyself with them.  Bell. 
Alas! my Lord, I can get nothing for 'em;  
The silly Country People think it Treason  
To touch such gay Things.  Phil. 
Now, by my Life, this is unkindly done,  
To vex me with thy sight, Thou'rt fallen again  
To thy dissembling Trade; even so thou spok'st and look'st  
When first I took thee up: Curse on the Day!  
If thy commanded Tears can work belief  
On any other Credulous heart like mine,  
Make use of thy false Arts, I'll not betray thee:  
Now, which way wilt thou take, that I may shun thee,  
For thou art Poison to my Eyes, and I  
Am loath to grow in Rage: This way or that way.  Bell. 
Any will serve; but I will choose to have  
That Path in chase that leads me to my Grave.  [Exeunt several ways. Scene changes, Enter Dion, and the Woodmen. Dion. 
This is the strangest sudden Chance! You Woodmen.  1. Wood 
My Lord Dion!  Dion 
Saw you a Lady come this way, on a Sable Horse studded with Stars of white?  2. Wood 
Was she not Young and Tall?  Dion. 
Yes, Rid she to the Wood, or to the Plain?  1 Wood 
Faith my Lord, we saw none.  [Exeunt Woodmen. Enter Cleremond. Dion. 
Pox o' your Question then: What is she found?  Clere. 
Nor will be I think.  Dion. 
Let him seek her himself; she cannot stray about some necessary business, but the whole Court must be in Arms: When she has done we shall have Peace.  Clere. 
There's already a Thousand Fatherless Tales amongst us. Some say her Horse run away with her, some, a Wolf pursued her; others, It was a Plot to Kill her, and that Arm'd-men were seen in the Wood: But questionless she road away willingly.  Enter King, and Trasilin. King. 
Where is she?  Clere. 
Sir, I cannot tell.  King. 
How's that! Answer me that again.  Clere. 
Sir, shall I Lie?  King. 
Yes, Lie and Damn rather than tell me that.  
I say again, Where is she? Mutter not:  
Sir, speak you where she is?  Dion. 
Sir, I do not know.  King. 
Speak that again so boldly, and by Heaven  
It is thy last. 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, then,  
Thou Traitor, that dar'st confine thy King to  
Things possible and honest, show her me,  
Or let me perish, if I cover not  
All Sicily in Blood.  Dion. 
Indeed I cannot, unless you tell me where.  King. 
You have betrayed me, you have let me lose  
The Jewel of my Life. Go, bring her me,  
And set her here before me. 'Tis the King  
Will have it so, whose breath can still the Winds,  
Uncloud the Sun, charm down the swelling Sea,  
And stop the Floods of Heaven; speak, Can it not?  Dion. 
No.  King. 
No, can't the breath of Kings do this!  Dion. 
No, nor smell sweet itself, if once the Lungs  
Be but Corrupted.  King. 
Is it so! take heed.  Dion. 
Sir, take you heed how 'tis you dare the Powers  
That must be just.  King, 
Alas, what are we Kings?  
Why do, you Gods, place us above the rest  
To be served, flattered, and adored, till we  
Believe we hold within our Hands your Thunder;  
And when we come to try the Power we have,  
There's not a Leaf shakes at our threatenings;  
I have fined, it's true, yet would not thus be punished.  Dion. 
He Articles with the Gods, would some body would draw  
Bonds for the performance of Covenants between them.  Enter Pharamont, Galatea, and Megra. King. 
What, is she found!  Phar. 
No, we have ta'en her Horse:  
He Galloped empty by: You Galatea  
Rod with her into the Wood, Why left you her?  Gal. 
She did Command me.  King. 
Command you!—  Gal. 
'Twou'd ill become my Fortunes and my Birth,  
To disobey the Daughter of my King.  King. 
You are all cunning to obey us for our hurt,  
But I will have her.  Phar. 
If I have her not,  
By this Hand there shall be no more Sicily.  Dion. 
What, will he carry it to Spain in his Pocket?  King. 
I see the Injuries I have done must be revenged.  Dion. 
Sir, This is not the way to find her out.  King. 
Run all, disperse yourselves. The Man that finds her or (if she's killed) the Traitor, I'll make him Great.  Phar. 
Come let us seek.  King. 
Each Man a several way,  
Here I myself.  Dion. 
Come, gentlemans, we here.  [Exeunt severally. SCENE Changes. Enter Arethusa. Areth. 
Where am I now! Feet, find me out a way  
Without the Counsel of my troubled Head;  
I'll follow you around these wandered Woods  
O'er Mountains, thoro' Brambles, Pits, and Floods.  
A heavyness near Death sits on my Brow,  
And I must sleep. Kind Heaven, I hope my Hour  [Lies down. 
Of peace draws on, a dulness shuts my Eyes,  
And I am giddy: Oh that I could take  
So sound a sleep that I might never wake.  Enter Bellario. Bell. 
Yonder's my Lady. Heaven knows I want nothing,  
Because I do not wish to live. Yet I  
Will try her Charity— oh hear,  
You that have plenty, from that tlowing store—  
But see— the lively Red is gone to guard her Heart,  
I fear she saints— Madam, look up— She breathes not.  
Open once more those Rosy twins, and send  
My Lord your last farewell— But see, she stirs:  
How is it, Madam— speak comfort  [Kneeling to help her. Areth. 
'Tis not gently done,  
To put me in a miserable Life,  
And hold me there. I prithee let me go;  
I shall do best without thee.  Enter Philaster. Phil. 
I was to blame to be so much in rage,  
I'll tell her coolly when and where I heard  
This kill Truth. I will be temperate  
In speaking, and as just in hearing. Ha!  
Scorpions, and Basilisks!  Bell. 
My Lord, help, help, the Princess.  Areth. 
I am well.  
Forbear, and leave me.  Phil. 
Some good God look down  
And shrink my Veins up— what before my Face!  
Poison of Asps between your Lips; Diseases  
Be your best Issues. Nature make a Curse  
And throw it on you.  Areth. 
Dear Philaster, leave  
To be enraged, and hear me.  Phil. 
I have done.  
Not the calmed Sea, when Aeolus locks up  
His windy Brood, is less disturbed than I.  
Nay, Arethusa, I'll be calmer still.  
Yes, when my wrongs have laid me in my Grave.  
Say, am I raging now?  
If I were Mad I should desire to live;  
No, feel my Pulse, and try if you have known  
A Man in a more equal Tune to die.  Bell. 
Alas, my Lord. Your Pulse beats Mad-man's time,  
So does your Tongue.  Phil. 
I blame not thee, Bellario,  
Thou'hast done but that,  
Which Gods would have transformed themselves to do—  
But haste, thou young perdition, take thy Face  
For ever from my sight. Fly from my Rage  
Far as the wandered World can bear thy shame,  
Or yond fair Lamp of blushing Heaven can light thee,  
For we are two Earth cannot hold at once.  Bell. 
For ever from your sight; For ever? That  
Dire Voice of Fate!— But if I must be gone,  
Permit, my too dear Lord, these bending knees  
To leave one parting dying Prayer behind me.  
Kind heavens, if in your everlasting Treasury  
You have a Hoard of some uncommon Blessings,  
Shower 'em on that dear Brow, and (Oh) uncloud  
His shaded Peace, and his benighted Reason,  
Till the fair Truth of that all beauteous Innocence  
Shine round his Soul with thousand thousand Charms.  
Yes, thou too happy Prince, didst thou but know  
The Price of that fair Gem, the Wealth thou'rt Lord of,  
How would thy twining Arms grasp her dear knees,  
And thy fond Lips kiss the blessed Earth she treads on!  
For by my wrongs below, and hopes above,  
Earth does not hold a Chaster. So, farewell.  [Exit. Areth. 
Thou faithful Herald of my Fame, farewell.  
But, dear Philaster, if thy listening Patience  
Has lent a gentle Ear to the poor Boy:  
Am I forbid to speak. No, my dear Lord,  
With these wet Eyes, and these uplifted Hands;  
With the same Vows, and the same Heaven my witness,  
Permit me to repeat the same true Oracle;  
Earth does not hold a Chaster.  Phil. 
Feeble Flatterer,  
Why these poor Arts? How vainly dost thou labour  
To wash thy Ethiop shame. Run from a Court,  
A Father, and a Crown (thou vile dishonour)  
To Woods and shades to meet your darling Boy!  
Yet Earth not holds a Chaster!  Areth. 
Meet the Boy!  
An Accident, mere chance.  Phil. 
Chance!  Areth. 
Chance, blind Chance;  
By what directing Curse he found me here  
My persecuting Stars canonly tell.  
'Tis true, I left a Court, a Crown, and Kingdom,  
All worthless Trifles when I lost thy Heart;  
My sighs and tears for thee led me, this Wanderer;  
And am I thus rewarded!  Phil. 
Fie, no more.  
They who dare act a Sin so black as thine,  
Can talk as fair as thou: The Soul of Treason  
Ne'er wants the Face of Innocence.  Areth. 
Treason?  
Good Gods, is truth so hard to be believed!  Phil. 
Truth!  Areth. 
By yond Azure Roof, and all the blessed  
Inhabitants above,  
My Soul's all spotless truth.  Phil. 
Oh Arethusa,  
'Tis easy to call Heaven; they talk it loudest,  
Who think it least— Yes, thou too fair Delusion,  
The Siren Sings not Death, though she acts Death;  
And even the blackest Cloven-footed Fiend  
Retains his Voice of Angels. No, smooth falsehood,  
Can airy breath, and empty sounds restore  
The Peace that I have lost!  Areth. 
Then, my poor Heart,  
Thou hast nothing now to do but break and die.  Phil. 
No, Madam, That's my part; the shaft of Death  
Is only levelled here. And if to all  
My Mass of wrongs thou hast one Grain of pity,  
Here, Arethusa, take this glittering Mercy,  [Presenting his Sword to her 
And guide it to my Heart.  Areth. 
Kill thee!  Phil. 
Yes, Kill me.  
It will be wondrous kind; and when I set  
My resting Foot beneath yond Roof of Glory,  
For that dear generous Blow, an act so kind,  
I'll Tune thee my first Song in Choires of Angels.  Areth. 
But, oh Philaster! Dost thou know what Death is!  Phil. 
A Minute's pain to cure an Age of woe.  Areth. 
Is Death the only cure! No healing Balm  
For thy sick mind, but the cold sleep of Death!  Phil. 
Oh Never, never! No, thou fair destroyer,  
Beyond the Grave there's Peace; on this side none.  Areth. 
But will there be no Slanders;  
No Jealousies in th'other World; no ill there?  Phil. 
None!  Areth. 
Then thus to that blessed World I'll lead the way.  [Falls on his Sword. Phil. 
Horror and Furies.  
What has thy rash Hand done!  Areth. 
Sought Peace and found it.  
The unkind World, and thy unkinder Jealousy  
Had barred all Joys on Earth, and therefore what  
Life has not, I have wooed kind Death to give me.  
But Oh, my unkind, unbelieving Lord,  
Shall I be Innocent now!  Phil. 
Innocent,  
Thou fairest whiteness, dearest Angel Martyr,  
More Heaven than all Heaven holds.  Areth. 
Then I am happy—  
But does my kind Lord weep! Now you're too good.  
Oh my Philaster, one rich Pearl from those  
Dear Eyes overpays the worthless Life that buys it!  
My Veins are all too poor for such a Purchase.  Phil. 
But Oh this crimson Stream! Dear all Divine,  
Could nothing but thy Death convert an Infidel!  Areth. 
Call it not Death when it brings back thy Heart.  
For Oh what vaster Charms 'tis to die loved  
Then to live hated!— But I care no more.  
Cherish my Memory when I am Dust  
And I shall sleep all Blessed.  [Faints away as if she died. Phil. 
And I wake damned.  
She's gone, She's gone. Yes, thou Barbarian Brute,  
The fairest Truth that monster Man e'er wronged,  
Has mounted Heaven to leave eternal Hells,  
The just Reward of an ungrateful Infidel.—  
Thou dear Remains  
Of the most faithful Love, if from these cold  
Cold Lips, such Gild as mine dare steal a kiss,  
'Tis my last Crime, and I shall Sin no more.  [Knelt to kiss her. Enter Bellario. Bell. 
'Twas too unkind, thou pitiless Bellario,  
To leave thy poor Lords Heart thus wracked thus, tortured;  
And all for a rash Vow.  
No, I'll return, and fall at his dear Feet,  
Own my true Sex, and cure his wounded Peace.  Phil. 
Sweets, Divine Sweets: But if in Death so fragrant,  
Oh what eternal Roses had those dear  
Lips bloomed, had the fair Tree but lived to bear 'em—  
But does her Murderer live! This fatal point,  
All reeking with the Blood of Sacred Innocence,  
Dares Gild and Treason live! No, thou crowned Saint,  
Look down and see this just pursuing Vengeance.  [Goes to fall on his Sword, Bellario beats it away. Bell. 
Heaven guard my Noble Lord— Good Gods, my Royal Mistress Murdered!  Phil. 
Murdered Bellario, by this cursed hand Murdered.  Bell. 
Oh what has your transported frenzy done!  
The fairest Virtue and the tenderest Love  
That e'er blessed Man, how has thy Rage rewarded!  Phil. 
Yes how indeed, Bellario!  Bell. 
Cruel Prince,  
When shall I sound in thy alarmed Ears  
The story of her Wrongs, which this cursed Tongue  
Now comes to speak too late.—  Phil. 
No more; no more,  
Call not my torturing Shame to my remembrance.  
For I have been false to a pair of the most trusty ones  
That ever the Earth bore. For which my Soul  
Must sink as low in Hell, as that fair Saint  
Sits high in Heaven—  
But give me back that Instrument of Death,  
That I may rip this bloody Tiger's heart out,  
A sacrifice to that dear Martyred Innocence.  Enter Thraselin, Clerimont, and Woodmen. Trasil. 
What do we see!  Phil. 
A sight would blast a Cannibal. Oh Gentlemen,  
If you have hearts that can weep Blood, now look down  
And melt 'em there.  Cleremon. 
Good Gods, the Princess Murdered!  Phil. 
My Arm prevented! Yes the Gods are just.  
By my own hand like an old Roman Fall  
Had been a Fate to Glorious— No Arethusa, now  
I'll do thee nobler Justice: jails and Dungeons;  
A Headsman and an Axe, Scaffolds and Pinnacles,  
Recorded shame, and ever branding Infamy.—  
Come, Sirs, make short your weeping Ceremonies,  
For you have more important Work to do:  
Take up that load of Honour, and perform  
This cruel Duty to your King. Bear that  
Too killing Object to a mourning Father  
And with her this vile Brand of black Damnation.  
Then for her last just Rites, the opening Veins  
Of her cursed Murderer, erect a Scaffold  
High as the Clouds, and sound a Trump so loud,  
If possible, the Summoned World may call:  
Invite 'em to a Feast, and Gorge 'em all.  [Exeunt Philaster and Amendants carrying off the Princess. Bell. (Sola) 
Why was I born for the accursed Cause  
Of all this heap of Ruins. Poor Philaster,  
Thine's but the Hand, and Sword, 'tis I am the Murderer:  
For, Oh, with one kind word, one gentle Breath,  
How had I stopped this hideous Scene of Death;  
But 'tis too late, the golden Minute's fled.  
Undone Philaster, thy too dear loved Head,  
How have I wrapped in everlasting Woe!  
But is the bitter Draught all thine! Oh, no!  
The Drugs, the Gall, and Poison, filled by me,  
I mixed it, and must drink more deep than thee.  [Exit] 
The End of the Fourth ACT.    

ACT V.  Enter Dion, Trasilin, Clerimont. Thra. 
THe Princess dead! And by Philaster's hand!  
Nay, and what's worse, to yield himself a Prisoner!  
To run into the Jaws of yawning Death,  
His offered Throat so tame a Sacrifice!  Cler. 
Ay Gentlemen, given up into the Hands  
Of the enraged King, whose threatening Arm of Vengeance  
Hangs o'er his Head like a prodigious Meteor.  
And now too late; what Power, what help can save him!  
Alas, what hopes!  Thra. 
Hopes! Truly none at all.  
Nay, were there hopes, has not himself destroyed 'em?  
Is there that Sword would strike for his deliverance  
That himself has not chained the hand should draw it?  
Has not his own accusing Tongue so blackened him,  
Painted her Murder with a face so monstrous,  
As lulls his sleeping Friends into a Lethargy;  
Till scarce their Pity wakes to mourn him lost?  
A Woman's Death! A Deed of that dishonour!  Dion. 
Dishonour!— Hold my Masters, you're a little  
Too hot, and run too fast— He has killed a Woman;  
True; and the story sounds at the first hearing  
A Deed below a Man, much more a Prince.  
Well, but what Woman has he killed! How killed her!  
Ay, there's the Point, my Friends; No doubt, he took her,  
Seized the fair Brute with all her bestial shame,  
In the foul Deed with her lascivious Boy;  
And with the falling weight of Sacred Justice,  
Rolled like a Bolt of Royal Thunder down,  
And crushed th' engendering Basilisk.  Thra. 
Fie, my Lord,  
How can you load her Name with so much Infamy,  
When his own free Confession has proclaimed her  
All Innocence, all Saint?  Dion. 
All Rage, all Frenzy.  
The common Lunacy of doting Fools;  
Honour and Vengeance struck the noble blow,  
And whining Love denies it. To be short,  
He wrongs himself and Us, and all Mankind,  
And 'tis high time to undeceive the World.  
Now, Gentlemen, if I've spoke Reason.—  Cler. 
Reason!  
By this fair Light you breathe the voice of Oracles,  
Which every honest heart must hear and reverence.  Dion. 
Say, are we Men then!  Thra. 
All that Hands and Hearts  
Resolved, can be, we are. Philaster's safety  
Is that great Cause will Arm the Gods to join us.  Dion. 
Enough my Friends, come to my Arms.  [Embracing. 
No, King—  
The Head you aim at cost more setting on,  
Than to be lost so slightly. If it must off,  
Like a wild overflow that shakes down Bridges,  
Cracks the strong Hearts of Pines, whose Cable Roots,  
Held out a thousand Storms, a thousand Thunders;  
And so made mightier, takes whole Towers, Towns, Palaces,  
And lays 'em desolate; so shall thy Head  
Thy noble Head, bury the Lives of Thousands  
That shall bleed with thee in thy purple Ruins.  Thra. 
Led on, thou Champion Genius of our Swords.  Dion. 
But we lose time, the lucky Minute calls▪  
You, Thraselin, haste instantly to th' Forum,  
Where you will find a Band of honest Citizens,  
That only wait the kind inviting Trumpet  
To call 'em forth to Glory: Souls so brave  
Will make Day smile, to see 'em shine in Arms.  
You Clerimont, haste to the Royal Citadel.  
You'll find the Bolts of Steel, and Gates of Brass  
Will all fly open at Philaster's Name.  
For me, my Post shall be t'attend his Person,  
And watch the Motions of his hungry Hunters.  
Now all retire; a Royal Head to save,  
Push your fair Cause, and Fortune Crown the Brave.  [Exeunt Thraselin, and Clerimont. Enter King, and Attendants. King. 
Hold, hold, my bursting Heart, and drowning Eyes.  
Oh Arethusa, Arethusa! Lend me,  
Some pitying God, a Tongue to vent my Groans.  
This more than execrable Deed! Philaster,  
Couldst thou do this. Could the rich Veins of Kings,  
Thou born of Royal Race— A Prince— A Butcher  
A Ruffian, and a Hangman. Crime like this  
A Cannibal would blush at. Wolves and Bloodhounds  
Would turn their aching Nostrils from this sight,  
And howl o'er wounds so barbarous. Tell me, Friend's,  
For you have seen the kill Object; seen  
That once dear Garden of fair blooming Sweets  
All rooted by the Tusks of this wild Boar;  
And say, my honest loyal Hearts, in all  
The blackest Legends of recorded Murder  
Is there that Chronicle can match this Monster?  Dion. 
Yes, there are Chronicles can match this Monster,  
If he be one.—  King. 
Ha! If he be one,—  Dion. 
Yes, Sir,  
If he be one.—  King. 
That if.— But, Sir, go on.  Dion. 
Then, Sir, to give plain dealing Truth fair play,  
You've lost a Daughter, a King's Daughter: True,  
And by a blow perhaps not altogether  
So Manly, as befits the weight of that  
Great Arm when lifted up to fall with Fate.  
Yet let me tell you! Sir—  King, 
Hold Profane Insolent;  
Gods, can there be that Impudence so Steeled!  
Pleaders and Advocates for Gild so horrid!  
But that my Arm's reserved for Nobler Vengeance,  
Thy Head, thou reverend Rebel— But to Answer thee  
I'll call the judging World. Nay, let thy own  
Accusing Conscience speak: Is there that Monument  
(Though big and high as Pelion) can be able▪  
To cover this base Murder! Make it rich  
With Brass, with purest Gold, and shining Jasper:  
Like the Pyramids, lay on Epitaphs,  
Such as make Great Men Gods; 'tis all too weak,  
Too shallow Rhetoric— But I am too tame:  
Led forth that Monster to his speedy doom.  Dion. 
So speedy! no, too hasty King you'll find it not that over easy Work.  Enter Philaster Guarded. Phil. 
Sir, you are pleased  
To call me forth to Justice. And behold  
Your Summons are obeyed.  King, 
Oh my weak Eyeballs.  
How can I look upon that Face of Horror!  Phil. 
Yes, how indeed!  King. 
Thou Merciless, Inhuman—  
But why do I seek words for guilt beyond  
A Name, too deep for shallow sounds to reach?  
Say then, thou all unutterable Cruelty,  
What hast thou done!  Phil. 
Say first, Thou bold Examiner,  
How dar'st thou ask that Question!  King. 
Dare!  Phil. 
Dare ask it!  
For know, thou bold Demander, thou requirest me  
To make thee the Relation of a Deed  
Which art thou sure thou'rt Man enough to hear me?  King. 
Thou Counsel'st well. Indeed, I ought to muster  
All the most fortified Resolves about me,  
The summoned strength of my whole guarded Heart  
To hear this dismal Tale.  Phil. 
Then hear and Tremble.  
Oh King, thou hadst a Beauteous Daughter! Beauteous!  
Each common Flower, and every Garden Rose  
May boast that name— Beauty!— she was so fair,  
A piece so lovely, that the whole Groating  
Divinity that formed it, when it mingled  
Her dazzling Compounds, dropped itself into  
The Mould, and mixed the God to finish it.  Dion. 
All Raptures!  Phil. 
Then for her Virtue, King, her Beauteous Mind,  
Her rich fair Soul: Ay, that all in land Paradisc.  
O Virtue, Virtue, thy Celestial Charms!  
She was that all Original Perfection,  
A Wonder sure set up by Priding Heaven  
For Homaging Worlds to kneel to— yet that wonder,  
That radiant Temple of Angelic Truth,  
Has this Rebellious infidel destroyed.  
But, haste, dull King, thy drown Thunder sleeps:  
The loud Tongued Cries of those affrighting wounds,  
Demand that swiftest executing Arm—  
Her punished Murderer, King—  Enter Bellario. Bell. 
Yes, Royal Sir,  
Her punished Murderer.  Phil. 
Ay Boy, if he can punish him; if all  
The Impotent weak Rods of feeble Vengeance,  
Earth has it to invent, or Hell to give it him.  Bell. 
Yes, Sir, if all the weight of angry Kings,  
Axes or Gibbets, all the swift Revenge  
For your dear Daughter's Blood can expiate  
Those ever gaping wounds: Arm, Arm, your Bolts,  
For this detested Head, the vile Bellario.  Phil. Bellario! 
Sayst thou?  Bell. 
Most wronged Prince. Bellario,  
Thy lovely Princess Murderer; this young Bloodhound,  
With all his Mass of Gild stands here before you.  King. 
Good Gods! Bellario.  Phil. 
What means this all amazing Wonder? Gods!  
Is there a Goodness in the World so Prodigal—  
Oh King! I've lived too long: This generous Boy  
Would take Death from me—  Bell. 
Ha! What says my Lord?  Phil. 
That dear all prodigy brings its sweet Innocence,  
A bleating Lamb to save a bloated Tiger.  Bell. 
How, my dear Lord?  Phil. 
Oh do not talk, Bellario,  
Quick, send me to my Death: Remember, King,  
Your Daughter's Murderer.  Bell. 
My noble Lord,  
Oh whither does your headlong transport run?  
Thou, thou her Murderer!  Phil. 
No more! no more!  
I shall be shot from Heaven, as now from Earth;  
If thou continuest this stupendious kindness▪  Bell. 
Did you ere hear the like? Oh my amazement!  
Gods how he talks! What Dreams, what Shapes and Phantoms?  
My King, my Lords, speak all— Let Justice, Reason,  
Nay common Sense be the fair judge between us.  
The great Philaster so much Royal Honour  
For him to Murder Women. That unprincely,  
Nay that unmanly blow! Yes, and to kill  
The only Darling Idol of his Soul!  
Could he do this?  Dion. 
Now Truth begins to speak?  Bell. 
But for a wicked Boy, a Low-born-slave,  
The vilest rubbish outcast of the World,  
His Soul as poor as the base Veins that hold it,  
Cashiered and banished, and turned out to starve—  
For me to swell with Gall, and burst with Poison,  
And in the rage of my resenting Fury,  
To strike a Dagger to my Mrs. Heart;  
Me to act all this!—  Phil. 
Hold, hold, malicious Boy,  
Dear lovely Thief; thou sweetest, barbarous Innocence.  
Gods! wilt thou rob me of the power to die?  
This is too much Bellario.  Bell. 
Ay, now hear him,  
Now he speaks plain, he wants the power to die:  
The gaping wounds of his dear Murdered Princess,  
Have struck those bolts of horror through his Soul;  
Till wild Despair, and his distracted Love,  
Leads forth with his wand'ring Sense to Tombs and Charnels;  
And Courts grim Death, and yawning Graves to follow her.  Phil. 
Yet hold, thou kind delusion: Stop, Oh stop,  
This swelling Torrent of confounding Goodness,  
Or, I shall sink and drown. And King, Oh King,  
If Earth was ever honoured with that Mass  
Of shining Virtues, that astonished Mortals  
Might dazzle but to View, behold 'em there;  
In that dear Boy; to save his Master's Life,  
He owns this hideous Murder.  Bell. 
Love, blind Love,  
Despairing, raging Love.  Phil. 
No King,  
All Truth, all Oracle.  Bell. 
All Love, Love, Love.  Phil. 
Oh thou too kind dissembler: Yet Sir, hear me,  
I tell thee King—  Bell. 
Yes, he does tell thee King,  
A Tale so monstrous, that all wild distraction—  
But oh, Sir, let these bending knees conjure you;  
If Heaven be just, (and Kings are heavens Vicegerents)  
Do Justice, Sir— for by yond Starry Roof,  
The Gild that Murdered your dear Arethusa,  
Was all Bellario's.  Dion. 
Now Sir, I hope  
Your Ears and Eyes are opened.  King. 
Yes, my Friends,  
These Ears have heard too much— seize that Young Russian.  Dion. 
Ay, now the righteous Voice of Justice speaks.  King. 
And quick, to Death, to Death with the black slave.  Phil. 
Gods, I can hold no longer! Oh Bellario,  
If thou must Die, such Truth, such Honour die;  
Let these Embraces be thy Executioners!  
These twining Arms, and stifling Kisses kill thee.  
Oh thou dear! all Divine. Now Gentlemen,  
If there be Cruelty enough amongst you  
To point a Jaulin at this sacred Breast,  
Strike through both Hearts; for by yond fair Eternity  
I'll not out live the hour such Virtue bleeds.  Enter Messinger. Mess. 
Hold, Royal Sir; instead of Tragic Scaffolds,  
And Mourning Scenes of Death, prepare for Jubilees.  
Your Beauteous Daughter Lives.  Phil. 
My Princess Lives!  Bell. 
Nay then, just Heaven!  King. 
Oh thou sweet Voice of Triumph,  
Repeat that joyful sound.  Mess. 
The Princess Lives.  King. 
Lives!  Mess. 
Though her loss of Blood, her Wound and Griefs,  
O'th' two the deeper blow, all joined together,  
Too rude shock for a weak Female Heart,  
Had chained up Life; by the Industrious care  
Of her Assisting Slave's recovered, and restored,  
She safely breathes and Lives.  Enter Second Messinger. 2 Mess. 
Yes Sir, she lives,  
And to preserve that Life she holds, by all  
The ties of King and Father, She conjures you  
To check all angry thoughts against the Innocence  
Of her Dear Loved Philaster; for 'twas only  
By her own Hand she Bled.  King. 
By her own Hand!  Phil. 
Since that fair Oracle Lives, and blushing Truth  
At last will speak, by her own Hand she fell.  2 Mess. 
And Sir, so strong her Love, so great's her fears  
For her too dear Philaster's threatening danger,  
That on her bended Knees she does beseech you  
To bring that guarded Life safe to her Arms.  King. 
Oh Love, What is thy Power! But quick, Philaster,  
Oh let us fly with all the Wings of Love,  
To Embrace that Darling Fair!  The Scene opens, and discovers Arethusa seated on a Couch, who enters forward, led by her Women. Areth. 
My Lord, my Life.  Phil. 
Dear Angel guest, thou beauteous Resurrection,  
Let my bend Knees, and grasping Arms receive thee.  King. 
Oh Arethusa, does thy happy Father  
Once more Embrace thee! what a Scene of wonders  
Has mighty Love this day performed! But oh  
Too Faithful, and too Generous Philaster,  
Here take thy Honour, and thy Truth's reward,  
And with her the Succession to my Crown.  Areth. 
This charming voice of Life—  Phil. 
Oh my kind King,  
How shall I ever pay thee for this blessing!  
Not bending Knees, Altars, nor Hecatombs—  King. 
Oh Prince no more, I cannot hear this language:  
For I have heaped that world of grief upon thee;  
Wronged both your Virtuous loves, that, oh my Children,  
Learn to forgive me first, and then to thank me.  Enter Rabble, and Pharamont Prisoner. All. 
Long live Philaster, the brave Prince Philaster.  Phil. 
I thank you Gentlemen: But why are these  
Rude weapons brought abroad to teach your Hands▪  
Uncivil Trades?  Capt. 
My Royal Rosiclear,  
We are thy Myrmydons, thy Guard, thy Roarers,  
And when thy Noble Person is in danger;  
Thus do we clap our rusty Morions on,  
And trace the streets in Terror: Is it Peace,  
Thou Mars of Men? Is the King sociable  
And bids thee live! if not, we are thy Castle.  Phil. 
Oh hold, forbear this impious profanation!  
The King's all Godlike good; and for me, gentlemans,  
I am, what I desire to be, your Friend;  
I am what I am proud to be, your Prince.  Phar. 
Sir, there is some Humanity in you,  
You have a noble Soul; forget my name,  
And know my misery; set me safe aboard  
From these wild Cannibals, and as I live,  
I'll leave the Land for ever.  Phil. 
Deliver me the Prince, I'll warrant you  
I shall be old enough to find my safety.  
Now my good friends return home to your Houses,  
And know there shall be nothing in my Power  
You may deserve, but you shall have your wishes:  
Continue still your Love, and for an Earnest  
Drink this.  All. 
Long mayst thou live brave Prince.  [Exeunt Shouting. Phil. 
And for you Prince of Spain, you have still leave  
To make an honourable Voyage home:  
And if you will go furnished to your Realm  
With fair Provision, I do see a Lady  
Methinks would gladly bear you company.  
How do you like this piece?  Megr. 
He likes it well:  
For he has tried it, Sir, and found it worth  
His Princely liking: But, thou unkind Prince,  
Can shame remain perpetually in me,  
And not in others; or have Prince's salves  
To cure ill names, that meaner People want?  Phil. 
What mean you!  Megr. 
You must get another Ship  
To bear the Princess and the Boy together;  
Others took me, and I took her and him,  
At what all Women may be ta'en sometimes.  
Ship us all four, my Lord, we can endure  
Wether and Wind alike.  Phil. 
Oh thou black Envy!  
Is thy Infernal Firebrand never quenched?  Bell. 
Sir, let that work be mine. Thou vilest Creature!  
Permit this Lord to talk with me alone,  
And I will utter truths, shall with a breath  
Confound the shame of this malicious Woman.  
My Lord.  Dion. 
Why speakest thou not?  Bell. 
Know you this face my Lord?  Dion. 
No!  Bell. 
Have you not seen it, nor the like?  Dion. 
Yes, I have seen the like, but readily  
I know not where.  Bell. 
I have been often told  
In Court of one Euphrasia, a Lady  
And Daughter to you, betwixt whom and me,  
They that would flatter my bad Face, would swear  
There was such near resemblance, that we two  
Could not be known asunder, dressed alike.  Dion. 
By Heaven and so there is; nay, and thou speak'st  
As like her as thou look'st: Is't possible!  
Oh let me gaze upon thee! art thou she?  
Where wert thou born?  Bell. 
In Syracuse.  Dion. 
What's thy Name?  Bell. 
Euphrasia.  Dion. 
Oh my shame! Now all's discovered.  King. 
What is discovered Sir?  Dion. 
Her Virtue and my Shame!  
It is a Woman,  Phil. 
How! Say that again.  Dion. 
It is a Woman.  King. 
Lay hold upon that Lady.  [To Megra▪] Phil. 
It is a Woman!— Oh my Arethusa,  
Thy fair and virtuous Name shall live to Ages,  
In spite of all Hell's malice.  King. 
But speak You,  
Where lies his Shame!  Bel. 
I am his Daughter,  Areth. 
The Gods are just.  Dion. 
I dare accuse none, but before you two  
The virtue of our Age, I bend my knee  
For Mercy.  Phil. 
Take it freely, for I know,  
Though what thou didst was indiscreetly done,  
'Twas meant well.  Areth. 
And for me I have the Power  
To Pardon Sins as oft as any Man  
Has Power to wrong me.  Phil. 
But Bellario,  
(for I must call thee still so,) tell me why  
Thou didst conceal thy Sex, it was a fault,  
A Fault Bellario, though thy other Deeds  
Of Truth outweighed it. All these Jealousies  
Had flown to nothing, if thou hadst discovered  
What now we know.  Bell. 
My Father would oft speak  
Your Worth and Virtue, and as I did grow  
More and more apprahensive, I did thirst  
To see the Man so praised. But yet all this  
Was but a Maiden longing to be lost,  
As soon as found, till sitting in my Window  
Printing my thoughts in Lawn, I saw a God  
I thought, but it was you entered our Gates,  
Then was I called away to entertain you.  
Never was Pleasure sure that equalled mine.  
You left a kiss upon these Lips which I  
Will keep from you for ever. When you were gone  
I grew acquainted with my Heart and searched  
What stirred it so; Alas, I found it Love.  
Yet far from an impure desire, for could I but have lived  
In presence of you, I had had my end.  
For this I did delude my noble Father  
With a fiend Pilgrimage, and dressed myself  
In habit of a Boy. And for I knew  
My Birth no match for you, I was past hope  
Of that high Bliss. And understanding well  
That when I made discovery of my Sex  
I could not stay with you, I made a Vow  
By all the most Religious things a Maid  
Could call together, never to be known  
Whilst there was hopes to hide me from men's Eyes;  
Then sat I by the Fount, where first you took me up.  King. 
Search out a Match through my whole Kingdoms,  
And I will pay thy Dowry; and thyself  
Will't well deserve him.  Bell. 
Never, Sir will I  
Marry; it is a thing within my Vow.  
But if I may have leave to serve the Princess,  
And see the Virtues of her Lord, and her,  
I shall have hope to live.  Areth. 
Yes live with me,  
Live free as I do, she that loves my Lord  
With thy chaste flame,  
Cursed be that Wife that hates her.  Phil. 
I grieve such Virtue should be laid in Earth  
Without an Heir. Hear me my Royal Father,  
Think not to take Revenge on that base Woman;  
Her Malice cannot hurt us: Set her free  
From all but Shame and Sin.  King. 
Set her at Liberty.  
But leave the Court for ever. You Prince Pharamont  
Shall have safe Conduct home.  Phil. 
Yes, Pharamont return,  
Back to thy Spain; till than I am thy friend.  
But when we meet again: For we shall meet—  Phar. 
Yes, let me meet thee Prince, meet thee to bid  
Thy native Arragon once more call thee Lord,  
For Oh! Thou hast vanquished me:  
Such conquering Virtue  
Has won thee back thy Crown.  King. 
And now blessed Pair,  
Join, Join your Hands in one.  
Enjoy, Philaster,  
This Kingdom which is yours.  
And after me  
Whatever I call mine.  
— Let Princes learn  
By this to Rule the Passions of their Blood,  
For what Heaven will, can never be withstood.  
FINIS.    

THE EPILOGUE,  Spoken by a Girl. 
LAdies, to supplicate our Plays success,  
Hither I am sent, a small Embassadress.  
Once our Philaster was a Lady's Play;  
And if in the last Age so warm a Ray  
From that high Sphere the glittering Boxes shined,  
Shall Beauty's bright Succession be less kind!  
If he pleased then, he must your Favour share:  
For Goodness is entailed upon the Fair.  
I would implore the men's sweet kindness too:  
But I'm too Young for their dear smiles to sue.  
Beside, what hopes has my weak Eloquence,  
My slender Oratory, feeble Sense!  
Perhaps I may speak Reason— three Years hence.  
Then a soft Story whispered in your Ear,  
Would be a Tale you would be glad to hear.  
However though I am too young a Face,  
Kind Gallants, in your Eyes to hope for Grace:  
Yet for once let me my request obtain;  
I beg this Play may live, nor let me beg in vain.  
Nay Sirs, if nothing else your smiles can buy,  
Be but so kind, out of mere Policy,  
To grant me my first suit; On these Conditions,  
That I may one Day grant you your Petitions.