SECTION HI General Editor GE O.P.BAKER r-^ Class Book. X^ :r^ Copyright )J^. COPyRIGHT DEPOSrc 0(1 '" €6e ^tllt$:^%mtt$ ^ttit^ SECTION III THE ENGLISH DRAMA FROM ITS BEGINNING TO THE PRESENT DAY GENERAL EDITOR GEORGE PIERCE BAKER PROFESSOR OF ENGLISH IN HARVARD UNIVERSITY The Blackfriars' Theatre Reproduced by permission from the collection of E, Gardner, Esq.^ London. THE MAID'S TRAGEDY AND PHILASTER By FRANCIS BEAUMONT AND JOHN FLETCHER EDITED BY ASHLEY H. THORNDIKE, Ph.D. PROFESSOR OF ENGLISH LITERATURE IN NORTHWESTERN UNIVERSITY BOSTON, U.S.A., AND LONDON D. C. HEATH & CO., PUBLISHERS 1906 UfcRARYofCONG'^ESS Two CoDies Received MAY 8 1906 >^ -Copyrifrht Entry (iLhSS/faJy^^, No. ^ COPY 6, < V COPYRIGHT, 1906, BY D. C. HEATH & OO. ALL RIGHTS RESERVED ■Biogmpi^t Francis Beaumont, third son of Sir Francis Beaumont of Grace Dieu in Leicestershire, one of the Justices of Common Pleas, was born about 1585 and died March 6, 1 61 6. He was admitted gentleman commoner at Broadgates Hall, Oxford, in 1597, and was entered at the Inner Temple, London, November 3, 1600. He was married to Ursula, daughter of Henry Isley of Sundridge, Kent, probably in 161 3, and left two daughters (one a posthumous child). He was buried in Westminster Abbey. John Fletcher, son of Richard Fletcher, Bishop of London, was baptized at Rye in Sussex, where his father was then minister, December 20, 1579, and died of the plague in August, 1625. He was entered as a pensioner at Bene't College, Cambridge, 1591. His father as Dean of Peterborough attended Mary (^ueen of Scots at Fotheringay, and was later rapidly promoted to the sees of Bristol, Worcester, and London. Handsome of person and elo- quent of speech, he was a successful courtier and a favorite of the Queen, though he suffered a loss of favor shortly before his death in 1596. The dramatist received by bequest a share in his father's books, but apparently little other property. He was buried August 29, 1625, in Saint Saviour's, Southwark. The biographical details of the friendship and collaboration of the two dramatists are involved in uncertainty. It is not known just when Fletcher came to London, when he began writing plays, or when he first became acquainted with Beaumont. D'Avenant in a prologue at a revival of the Woman Hater ^ evidently alluding to Fletcher, declares that ** full twenty years he wore the bays." This would place the beginning of his play-writing in 160*4-05, a date for which considerable other evidence has been accumulated.* In 1607, both he and Beaumont prefixed verses to Volpone (acted 1605). Beaumont praises Jonson for teaching ** our tongue the rules of time, of place," and both appear as Jonson's friends. In 1607, then, they were well acquainted with Jonson and probably with each other. Beaumont wrote commendatory verses for Epicoene (1609 ?) and both Beaumont and Fletcher for Catiline (161 1 ). Beaumont also wrote commendatory verses, together with Jonson, Chapman, and Field, for Fletcher's Faithful Shep- herdess (4to 1609 ?) The Woman Hater ^ probably by Beaumont alone, was published anonymously, 1607. Beaumont's oft-quoted epistle to Jonson is entitled in the 1679 fo^io? '* written before he and Master Fletcher came to London with two of the precedent comedies, then not finished, which deferred their merry meetings at the Mermaid." The reference in the letter to Sutcliflfe's wit seems to refer to the pamphlets produced by him in 1606. In 1 6 10, Davies' Scourge of Folly was registered, containing an epigram on Philaster. In 1 612, in the address to the reader prefixed to the White Devil, Webster praises " the no less worthy composures of the both worthily excellent Master Beaumont and Master Fletcher," ranking them on equal terms with such scholars and experienced dramatists as Chapman and Jonson, and apparently above Shaks- pere, Dekker, and Heywood. Before 1612, the reputation of Beaumont and Fletcher as dramatists must have been well estab- lished. Only three plays in which Beaumont had a share were published before his death, the Woman Hater, 1607, the Knight of the Burning Pestle, 161 3, and Cupid'' s Re-venge, 1615; and none of these appeared with his name. In addition to his plays, he wrote verses to the Countess of Rutland, and elegies on the Lady Mark- ham, who died in 1609, the Countess of Rutland, who died in 1 See The Influence of B.aumont and Fletcher on Shakspere^ A. H. Thorndike. 115iograpt)^ vii iSiZy and Lady Penelope Clifton, who died in 1 613. Salmacis and Hermaphroditusy 1 602, may possibly have been written by him ; it is so assigned in the entry of 1639 in the Stationer's Register. In 1 61 3, he wrote a masque for the Lady Elizabeth's marriage, which was performed with great splendor by the gentlemen of the Inner Temple and Gray's Inn, and published, presumably in the same year. There is no direct evidence that he wrote anything for the stage after 161 2. There is no doubt that Beaumont's reputation as a poet was very high even before his death. He was buried in Westminster Abbey close by Chaucer and Spenser j and the verses on Shakspere, usually attributed to William Basse, bid Renowned Spencer lye a thought more nye To learned Chaucer, and rare Beaumont lye A little nearer Spenser, to make roome For Shakespeare in your threefold, fowerfold Tombc, To lodge all fowre in one bed make a shift Until Doomesdaye, for hardly will a fift Betwixt this day and that by Fate be slayne For whom your curtaines may be drawn againe. Of Fletcher's life after Beaumont's withdrawal from the stage, our information is derived mainly from studies of the chronology of his plays and of his relations to collaborators. There is no trace of any discord between him and any of his fellows ; and his continued friendship with Ben Jonson is testified to by the latter in his Coti'uer- sations ivith Drutnmond and by the commendatory verses of William Brome.^ In 1 612-13, in the opinion of the present writer,^ he was engaged with Shakspere in direct collaboration on Henry VIII^ the Tivo Noble Kinsmen^ and, perhaps, the non-extant Cardenio. From this time on, he wrote three or four plays each year, collab- orating on many of these with Massinger, A communication of 1 Prefixed to Folio, 1647. 2 The Influence of Beaumont and Fletcher on Shaksfere^ pp. JS-S6. viii Biograp^^ about this date from Field, Daborne, and Massinger to Henslow alludes to a *' play of Mr. Fletcher and ours." Before 1616 he wrote for various companies, but after that date so far as can be dis- covered, exclusively for the King's Men. Only ten plays in which he or Beaumont had a share were printed before his death: five with his name, — the Faithful Shepherdess^ 1 609 (?)j Cupid's Re-venge, 1615 ; the Scornful Lady^ 16165 -^ ^'"S ^"^ ^° King, 1619 ; Phi/aster, 1620, '22 (the last three "by F. Beaumont and J. Fletcher"): four anonymously, — the Woman Hater, 1 607, the Knight of the Burning Pestle, 1613 j the Maid's Tragedy, 1619, '225 Thierry and Theodoret, 1621 5 and one in the Shakspere Folio, 1623, Henry VIII. There is abundant testimony to the great popularity of Fletcher's plays during his lifetime ; and the Beaumont-Fletcher folio of 1647, containing plays not hitherto printed, was accompanied by a formidable array of commendatory verses. The literary reputation of the two friends can be judged from the fact that either during their lives or after their deaths, their praises were heralded by Jon- son, Chapman, Webster, Waller, Denham, Lovelace, Cartwright, Herrick, Brome, and Shirley. The following list ^ includes all the plays in which either Beau- mont or Fletcher had a share, arranged in a conjecturally chrono- logical order. The year of the first performance is given, this co- inciding presumably with the time of composition. The exact date of many of the plays cannot be determined, and matters of date and authorship are in debate. Beaumont is not generally credited by critics with a share in any of the plays of the second period nor with Woman s Prize, Monsieur Thomas, or the Faithful Shep- herdess of the first period. I TT:e Influence of Beaumont and Fletcher on Shakspere, pp. 92-93. llBiograpl)^ IX First Period, PFoman^s Prize ; or, The Tamer Tamea. 1 604 ? Wit at Several Weapons. First version. 1605 ? The Woman Hater. 1606 ? Lovers Cure, or The Martial Maid. 1606 ? Thierry and Theodoret. 1607 ? Monsieur Thomas. 1607-8? The Knight of The Burning Pestle. 1607-8 ? Four Plays in One. 1608? The Faithful Shepherdess. 1608 ? Philaster ; or Love lies a-bleeding. 1608? The Coxcomb. 1609? The Maid"" s Tragedy. 1609? Cupid^ s Revenge. 1609-10 ? The Scornful Lady. 1610-11 ? A King and No King. 1611 The Captain. ' "' 161 1? Second Period. The Nice Valour ,• or the Passionate Madman. 1612?? The Night Walker-, or the Little Thief 1612?? The Beggar'' s Bush. 1612?? Cardenio. ( Non-extant. ) 1 61 2-1 3 The Mask of The Inner Temple. 1613 The Two Noble Kinsmen. 1613 ? Henry VIIL 1613 ? The Honest Mans Fortune. 1613 Wit Without Money. 1614? Lovers Pilgrimage. 1614? The Faithful Friends. 1614? The Chances. 1615? Bonduca. 1615 ? Valentinian. 1615-16 ? The feiveller of Amsterdam. 1616-17? The Bloody Brother ; or Rolloy Duke of Normandy. 1617?? The Slueen of Corinth. c 1617 The Loyal Subject. 1618 Biograpti^ The Mad Lo-ver. c 1618 The Knight of Malta. c 1618 Third Period. The Humourous, Lieutenant. c 1619? Sir John -van Olden Barna'veldt. I6I9? The Custom of the Country. c 1619 The Double Marriage. . c 1619 The Laivs of Candy. c 1619 The Little French Lawyer. c 1620 The False One. c 1620 Woman Pleased. c 1620 Tht Island Princess. c 1620 The Pilgrim. c 1621 The Wild Goose Chase. c 1621 The Prophetess. 1622 The Sea Voyage. 1622 The Spanish Curate. 1622 The Maid in The Mill. 1623 The Lo'ver^s Progress {The Wandering Lovers). 1623 The Fair Maid of The Inn. 1623-4 A Wife for a Month. 1624 Rule a Wife and Ha-ve a Wife. 1624 The Noble Gentleman. 1625 ? Coronation. 1625?? The Elder Brother. 1624-5?? The De-vil of Do%ugate and the Unfortunate Piety are non- extant and it is not certain that Fletcher had any share in them. 3InttoUuction The first plays by Beaumont and Fletcher were not written earlier than 1 604, in 1 6 1 2 Beaumont appar- ently ceased to write for the stage, and in 1616 he died. The brief period of their collaboration thus came at the climacteric of the astonishingly rapid and varied development of the Elizabethan drama. Thirty years before they began, there had been no theatre ; barely twenty years before, Shakespeare had first obtained employment with a London company of actors ; but the public that had then been satisfied with the doggerel and personified abstractions of Wilson's comedies was by 1604 able to enjoy the exquisite fun and sentiment of Twelfth Night and the clever caricatures of Every Man in His Humour. The same dramatist who had compiled Titus Andronicus was writing Othello^ and the development of Shakespeare's genius had been par- alleled by the general progress of dramatic art. The material prosperity, social status, and literary standing of the drama had also greatly improved, and play- wrights were frequently gentlemen and scholars who brought to their work courtly or critical tastes, de- manding new aims and new methods in art. It was recognized that the path for future progress was illumi- nated by the masterpieces of the past and present, but there was no suspicion that the highest point had been attained, rather a cry for advance and divergence. xii 3(lncroliuction The early drama had been nothing if not popular, but by the first decade of the seventeenth century the dramatists themselves were chafing under the whims of an illiterate audience and turning to the cultivated or courtly for support. Their appeal came to be less and less to the crowd in the pit and more to the gentles who wit- nessed the performances at court or sat on the stage in the pubHc theatres. Thus Webster excuses the defects of the White Devil as a true dramatic poem because ** the breath that comes from the incapable multitude is able to poison ... the most sententious tragedy that ever was written." So Jonson dedicates plays to * * the special fountain of manners, the Court, ' ' **to the noblest nurseries of humanity and liberty in the kingdom, the Inns of Court," and ** to the most noble and most equal sisters, the two most famous uni- versities." Instances of this sort could be multiplied from prologues and dedications ; and further evidence of the growing influence of courtly and cultivated pat- ronage may be found in the success of the private theatres with their higher prices and exclusive audiences, and also in the influence of courtly manners and courtly entertainments on the public stage. In some important respects this change in the character of patronage pointed towards decadence. In appealing to the populace, the early drama had always been patri- otic and usually moral, but the later drama turned to a court that possessed neither a national spirit nor moral decency. The vulgar crowd that delighted to see the field of Agincourt within the wooden O was a sounder moral guide than the wits who relished the double en- 3IntroDuctwn xiii tendre of Beaumont and Fletcher's courtiers, and the apprentice who approved of Old Fortunatus was per- haps as good a guide to vital worth in literature as the gentleman of fashion who accepted the dedication of one of Chapman's comedies. A corrupt and shameless court and its hangers-on was henceforth to patronize the drama and to furnish it with both subjects for satire and ideals of conduct, while the increasing Puritanism was to widen the breach between the people and the stage. The moral decadence that resulted was, how- ever, by no means foreseen ; it was rather in desire for both moral and aesthetic refinement that the dramatists began to ridicule the taste of the vulgar and portray the manners of men of the world, to refuse the plaudits of the idle apprentices and seek those of the no less idle young gentlemen of the Inns of Court. The early drama again had been anything but crit- ical. Though Plautus and Seneca were its models, knowledge of the classical drama was not sufficiently general or thorough to afford effectual criticism ; while the demands of the audiences at the public theatres forced a complete adaptation of classical models and a neglect of classical precepts. Criticism was offered by outsiders with Hterary ideals like Sidney or by moral objecters hke Gosson, but the dramatists pursued their way unheedingly, meeting the Hmitations of a bare stage, the tastes of a motley audience, and the varied artistic impulses of the Elizabethan Renaissance by means of the freest experimentation. The early years were, therefore, the time of experiment, of the multi- plication and the confusion of types, and of an increas- xvi 31ntroliuction son was vigorously ridiculing it in the prologue of Every Man in His Humour. These two critical de- clarations were its valedictory, although Shakespeare himself, working with stories from English chronicles and employing many of the methods which he had used earlier, developed the chronicle-history into Mac- beth and Lear, and later joined with Fletcher in a revival of the old type in Henry VIII. Beaumont and Fletcher in their collaboration made no use of the matter of the chronicles or of the methods or spectacles of the chronicle play. In a similar way the revenge tragedy reached its culmination at the time when the critical were ready to scoff at it. The story of blood vengeance, directed by a ghost and performed with hesitation and bewilder- ment by a philosophically inchned protagonist, had been introduced and popularized by Kyd in the Spanish Tragedy^ but the dramatists themselves did not awake to the crudities of the type until many of them had used it and Shakespeare had transformed it into Hamlet. Then Ben Jonson was ready to ridicule the raging Hieronimo,^ to whose part he had previously, in his additions to Kyd's play, given a serious interpretation and magnificent poetry. Hieronimo and Hamlet, too, became the butts of good-natured fun from Beaumont and Fletcher as representatives of a class of plays that fed the taste of the vulgar. In comedy also they departed from the fashion of * See Inductions to Cynthia's Revels^ i6oi, and Bartholomein Fairy 1 63 1, acted 1614. See also the jokes on Hamlet in Eaw luard Hoe, 1605, 3|ntroDuction xvii an earlier day. The formless combination of a dozen genres into something songful, witty, and entertaining, by no means answered the views of Jonson : But deeds and language such as men do use, And persons such as comedy would choose, When she would shew an image of the times, And sport with human follies, not with crimes. The mixture of monsters, mythologies, sentimental couples, marvellous escapes, and witty dialogues, such as had been furnished by plays like Friar Bacon and Friar Bungay^ the Old Wives Tale, or the Woman in the Moony was held contrary to law and order ; the comedy of Lyly, Peele, and Greene, which had made possible and conditioned the alluring romance of Arden and Illyria, was going out of fashion and giving place to the realistic and satirical comedies of Jonson and Middleton. It was this realistic comedy that Beaumont and Fletcher took as a point of departure for their sub- sequent innovations. Some of their earliest plays were experiments that still further attest their attitude. Beaumont's Woman Hater is a comedy in Jonson' s manner, and his Knight of the Burning Pestle y ^ written under the inspiration of Don Quixote, is a burlesque on contemporary plays of adventure. Fletcher's Faithful Shepherdess is an attempt to replace the abortive pastorals of earlier play- wrights by a genuine and elaborate pastoral tragi- comedy on the model of // Pastor Fido. These plays won the praise of the critical, but the inimitable grace ^ For a discussion of these plays see the volume on Beaumont of the Belles Lettres Series. Professor R. M. Alden. xviii 3|ntroDuction and sweetness of the Faithful Shepherdess and the abounding drollery and verve of the Burning Pestle were alike impotent to avert the disapproval of a public all unused to such innovations. Perhaps the failure of these plays taught the young poets their lesson. At all events their other plays, though they are not less novel in character and likewise show an attachment to contemporary foreign literature, especially Spanish novels, are characterized by an inti- mate knowledge of stage-craft and a constant attention to theatrical effectiveness. While they afforded full scope for the authors' dramatic ingenuity and poetical imagination, they also succeeded in captivating the public. These successes resulted after further develop- ment in two distinct classes of plays, the comedies and the heroic romances, both of which proved of vast im- portance in the later history of the drama. Their comedy — of which the Scornful Lady is per- haps the best representative of their collaboration and the Wild Goose Chase of Fletcher's later development — has its resemblances and connections with preceding and contemporary plays, but it is a distinct departure from the humoristic drama, and it marks out a new line of development followed to the close of the Re- storation. It is a comedy of lively plot, dealing with love as a game and woman as the quarry, and present- ing the manners of the day, an overflowing wit, and no morals. Its full development belongs to Fletcher's later years. ^ * For a discussion of this comedy see the volume, Fletcher^ in the Belhi Lettres Series. ^Introduction xix The romances, sometimes tragic and sometimes tragic-comic, likewise drew much from the contempo- rary drama, but they also mark important innovations. The years 1 601-1608, the period of Shakespeare's tragedies, were also, as has been noted, the time of the prevalence of the realistic drama and of the absence of sentimental or romantic comedy or tragi-comedy. The return to romance, heralded probably by Phil- aster y^ resulted in six plays resembling one another and forming the most distinctive product of Beaumont and Fletcher's collaboration. Other plays of the collabora- tion and many later plays by Fletcher might be grouped with these, but the six will serve to define the type with distinctness. The six plays. Four Plays in Oney Thierry and Theodorety Philastery the Maid^s Tragedy, Cu- pid* s Revenge, and A King and No Kingy resemble one another so closely in material, construction, char- acterization, and style that a single analysis will serve for all. Their plots, largely invented, are ingenious and com- plicated. They deal with royal or noble persons, with heroic actions, and are placed in foreign localities. The conquests, usurpations, and passions that ruin kingdoms are their themes, there are no battles or pageants, and the action is usually confined to the rooms of the palace or its immediate neighborhood. Usually contrasting a story of gross sensual passion with one of idyllic love, they introduce a great variety of incidents and aim at constant but varied excitement. Some of the situations ' See The Influence of Beaumont and Fletcher on Shakspere, A. H. Thorndike, 1901. XX JInttoDuction that they use more than once, indicate their general character, — a girl, disguised as a boy, is stabbed by the man whom she loves ; a woman convicted of adul- tery brazenly defies her accusers ; the hero is saved from the tyrant by a timely insurrection of the turbu- lent populace. The tragic, idyllic, and sensational ma- terial is skilfully constructed into a number of theatrically telling situations, which lead by a series of surprises to very effective climaxes or catastrophes. All signs of the epic methods of construction found in the early drama have disappeared ; there is usually a chance until the last moment for either a happy or an unhappy ending, and in every case the denouement or catastro- phe is elaborately prepared for and complicated. The dramatis personae belong to impossible and romantic situations rather than to life, and are usually of certain types, — the sentimental or violent hero ; his faithful friend, a blunt, outspoken soldier ; the sentimental heroine, often a love-lorn maiden disguised as a page that she may serve the hero ; the evil woman defiant in her crimes ; and the poltroon, usually a comic person- age. With the addition of a king, some gentlemen and ladies of the court, and a few persons from the lower ranks, the cast is complete. The plays depend for in- terest not on their observation or revelation of human nature, or the development of character, but on the variety of situations, the clever construction that holds the interest through one suspense to another up to the unravelling at the very end, and on the naturalness, felicity, and vigor of the poetry. Such a summary is perhaps enough to suggest both ^Introduction xxi the authors' indebtedness to preceding drama and their departures and contributions. Their indebtedness may be seen in some of their situations and types of charac- ter. The quarrel between Melantius and Amintor in the Maid's Tragedy must have been suggested by that of Brutus and Cassius in Julius Casar ; and in the beginning of PhilasteVy the hero has marked resem- blances to Hamlet. The sentimental heroines, who play such important parts in the romances, offer re- semblances to Shakespeare's, and to other representa- tives of this type from the day of Greene's Dorothea. The indebtedness of the six plays to preceding drama extends, indeed, beyond details. Like all tragedies from the time of Gorboduc and Cambysesy the tragedies of Beaumont and Fletcher dealt with kings and nobles, with marked reversals of fortune, with sensational crimes, and with numerous deaths. Like all preceding tragi-comedies, Philaster presents a happy conclusion and a general reconciliation after a succession of cir- cumstances of a tragic cast, intermingled with others to supply comic relief. Even in their departures from pre- cedent, Beaumont and Fletcher owe something to their predecessors. In breaking away from the reaHstic tend- encies of Jonson, they availed themselves of some of the traits of earlier romantic comedy. On the other hand, in their abandonment of certain types of drama, and in their avoidance of extreme violations of time and place, and in their consequently more coherent struc- ture, they profited from Jonson' s counsel. Their fond- ness for fixed types of character may also possibly be taken as, a sign of Jonson' s influence. xxii 31ntroi5uction The contribution of the heroic romances to the drama can be understood by a comparison of the char- acteristics just enumerated as defining the type with those of prevailing types of tragedy and tragi-comedy. Beaumont and Fletcher, as has been stated, forsook tragical chronicle-history with its inevitable accompani- ment of armies and battles, and also the Kydian type of revenge tragedy, variously developed by Marston, Shakespeare, Chapman, and Webster. They forsook also the Marlowe type with its central protagonist and his dominant passion, a type that conditioned the su- preme efforts of Shakespeare in Lear and Othello. Their tragedies differ from these classes of tragedies in their stories, situations, and characters. They differ almost as saliently in their methods of structure. Beau- mont and Fletcher did not, like most of their predeces- sors, turn to English or Roman history for their plots, nor did they adhere closely to any given narratives. They either, as apparently in Philaster, the Maid'' s Tragedy, and J King and No King, invented their plots entirely ; or, as in Thierry and Theodoret and Cupid'' s Revenge, they used old stories merely as a basis for their favorite characters and situations. Nar- rative and expository scenes, the accompaniments of the old chronicle or epic method of structure, disap- peared in their facile development of incidents into tell- ing situations, and in their clever entanglement of varied situations leading to surprising and theatrically effective catastrophes and denouements. Antony and Cleopatra, with its numerous narrative scenes and its cumbersome structure, illustrates the survival of the epic method, as 31ntroDuction xxiii the Maid's Tragedy, with its rapidity of surprise, illus- trates the abandonment. In tragi-comedy Beaumont and Fletcher's departure from preceding plays is distinguished by the same in- novations in material and structure as in tragedy, and especially by the constant emphasis they place on the contrast between the tragic and the idyllic elements of their plots and by their use of surprising and compli- cated denouements. Measure for Measure y a tragi- comedy preceding Philaster by only a few years, illus- trates this departure. In Philaster y the idyllic element, neglected in the Mariana story of Measure for Measure, receives full treatment in constant contrast with the tragic ; and the denouement, which in Measure for Measure is only a long explanation of what every one knows, carries us rapidly from the tragic crisis to a happy ending through a series of telling situations. This achievement of theatrical effectiveness even at the cost of plausibility and consistency of character is per- haps the chief contribution of Beaumont and Fletcher to dramatic art and the most striking characteristic of both their comedies and their romances. Both classes of plays pleased their own age. By 1 612, when Beaumont was twenty-six and Fletcher thirty-three, and their work together was finished, they were established among the poets of the highest rank in both critical and popular estimation. Evidence has elsewhere been advanced to show that their heroic plays had an influence on Shakespeare's change from tragedy to romance and on the material and structure of his latest plays, and that Philaster led somewhat di- xxiv 31ntroDuction rectly to Cymbeline.'^ At all events there can be no doubt that both comedies and romances marked out pathways much frequented by dramatists of the next thirty years. The paths led possibly to the ruin of the drama through a less formal versification, an emphasis on stage situation rather than interpretation of character, a heedlessness of moral taste, and a fondness for abnor- mally sensational themes ; but v^^hat is worthy as well as what is unworthy in the plays of Massinger, Shirley, and even the Restoration writers, owes much to Beau- mont and Fletcher. In 1647, when their plays were first collected, nearly all of the poets of the day joined in commendatory verses expressing admiration without bounds. They were ranked above Jonson and Shake- speare ; and, if we make all due allowance for adula- tion, there remains an unquestionable sincerity in the preference that most of the verses accord them. An archaicism in language and taste and an unevenness of style are charged to Shakespeare, and a heaviness and laboriousness to Jonson, while the modernity and nat- uralness of the younger men receive contrasted praise. The Restoration found their plays the favorites of the theatre, though the genius of Betterton discovered its best opportunities in the great parts of Shakespeare's tragedies ; and Dryden only summed up the critical opinion of the day in his masterly analyses that ranked them with Shakespeare and Jonson. By the beginning of the eighteenth century. Pseudo-classicism brought them into disrepute with the critical, and a chastened stage * The Influence of Beaumont and Fletcher on Shakspere, A. H, Thorndike, 1901. 3|ntroJ)uction xxv saw their plays but seldom. During the two centuries since, they have never recovered their former popu- larity, yet they have never been long without favor from the reading public, as the various editions of their plays testify, and one may doubt whether their influ- ence on the stage has ever been quite lost. To-day, however, it is only by recalling their posi- tion and relations in the history of the drama in the seventeenth century that we are likely to form a gener- ous estimate of their genius and art or a just appreciation of the plays that best represent their combined endea- vors, the heroic romances. On reading them, one's first admiration is doubtless for the astonishing cleverness of the invention and construction. Since their day we have had romances and melodramas in multitudes, both in dramas and novels; and devices for exciting the reader's attention and holding him in a suspense to be ended by a surprise and a fresh suspense have been multiplied and elaborated indefinitely. Yet few works of fiction secure the reader's attention to the story with the power of the Maid'* s Tragedy. There are faults and conventions, to be sure, that would not be repeated to-day. The masque in it is an interlude, a piece of stage decoration and vocalism, peculiar to the period ; and the idyl of Aspatia, though it affords an opportunity for exquisite poetry, is again not altogether to our taste. The lady who accompanies Melantius to the masque is introduced with a good deal of flourish but to no purpose ; and the sudden conversion of Evadne from the merciless and shameless taunter of Amintor into his penitent lover and avenger, is a sheer impossibility. This last xxvi 3|ntrotiuction defect, however, illustrates both the method and the power of the authors. The difficulty is one not infre- quent in romance : a sensational plot requires an incred- ible revolution in the character of one of the actors. Evadne has to be converted, and her conversion must take place on the stage, and the agent cannot be the frantic Amintor but must be her brother, the blunt and unyielding Melantius. Given the situation — Melan- tius is to cow and convert Evadne — and how could it be managed with greater theatrical effectiveness or indeed with more vivid suggestion of reaHty than in the unrelenting tirades that Fletcher has written ? Our authors never hesitated to face impossibilities, least of all incredible changes in character ; they simply sat firm in the saddle and spurred their Pegasus for the jump. That some of the scenes act with unparalleled stage effect, we have the testimony of seventeenth century play- goers and of some few amateurs who have undertaken the play in recent years. The murder of the king would surely thrUl the spectator as few stage murders do. With what extraordinary vividness the whole scene comes before even a reader's eyes, — the smirking jests of the gentlemen-in-waiting, the half-lit room, the stealthy binding of the king, his slow awakening, his confused impotent interruptions of Evadne' s unflinch- ing recital, the upHfted knife, the groans for pity, the terrible stabs — Hell take me then ! This for my Lord Amintor ! This for my noble brother ! And this stroke For the most wronged of women ! She glides across the stage — the bloody knife uncon- cealed — and the smirking gentlemen enter again. 3(lntroDuction xxvii The particular kingdom in the world of romance to which Beaumont and Fletcher introduce us is not a happy or a healthy one, but it does not lack excite- ment. It is no place for meditation over life's purposes, or for observation of human motives, and none is per- mitted. We are given seats in an ante-room of the palace, and at once the flow of events engrosses us, — conspiracies and imprisonments, insurrections and wars, adultery, seduction and murder, the talk of courtiers, gossip of women, banquets of the monarch, tempests of passion, and the laments of the love-lorn. A few hours, and kingdoms have trembled in the balance ; the heroine has been proved guilty and innocent again ; the murdered have come to life ; and the lover has been ecstatic, jealous, frantic, implacable, forgiving, and serene at last. Yet all is plausible enough in the brilliant flow of the verse ; or if part of it is incredible, it all passes on so rapidly that there is no time for doubt. This land of romance is a land of thrills, and thrills of many sorts. It is not altogether given up to violence; it has its idyls and sentiments. Near the palace is a forest, where now and then after a tumultuous hour we may retire to cool our harried senses, and where the lovers wander to forget their misfortunes and by its fountains weave their sighs into lyrical garlands. For even in this realm love is often innocent and young. Athwart the path of the murderous Evadne comes the melancholy and tender Aspatia ; and amid the corrup- tion of the court of Iberia there has grown the pure devotion of a Bellario. Beaumont and Fletcher did nothing by halves. If a man is a coward, he endures a xxviii ^InttoUuction thousand kicks ; if a woman sins, she multiplies adultery by murder ; if a woman is pure and gentle, she finds her sweetest pleasure in dying by the hand of the man she loves. On their idyls they lavished all the graces of their art. Their maidens suffer, serve, and weep, love, forgive, and die in lines that somehow preserve the grace of simplicity though they wear all thejewels of imagery and allusion that the authors possess. The portraits of these martyrs in love are far from life-like ; they belong to the idyllic forest of the court-romance ; they seem to be made in response to a challenge, — ** Paint me tenderness, sweetness, feminine perfection.'* Yet one will not read the plays without falling now and again under the charm of the lovely verses that tell of wo- man's love — often indeed with fine dramatic insight, with consummate fitness of language, and an imaginat- ive ideahty. Recall Bellario and Ordella facing death for their beloved. Bellario. Alas, my lord, my life is not a thing Worthy your noble thoughts ! 'tis not a life, 'Tis but a piece of childhood thrown away.^ Ordella. 'Tis of all sleeps the sweetest; Children begin it to us, strong men seek it, And kings from height of all their painted glories Fall like spent exhalations to this centre : And those are fools that fear it, or imagine, A few unhandsome pleasures, or life's profits. Can recompense this place ; and mad that stay it Till age blow out their lights, or rotten humours Bring them dispersed to earth. ^ After all one rejoices that this Camelot has its Astolat and one regrets that the forests and fountains could not ' Pbilaster, v, 2. * Thierry and Theodorety iv, I. 3|ntroDuction xxix be kept sacred to true love and its lyrics. But the forest is close to the palace, and the shouting and tumult are carried from the one to the other. The various persons introduce one another in long descriptions, and after an introductory speech, the character remains fixed except as the shifting situations demand some unexpected change. There is no shading or subtlety in the char- acterization, Httle discrimination or individuality in the different representatives of their favorite types, who, however, are not at all wanting in originality. The miles gloriosusy for example, becomes in their hands a very different person frorh Falstaff or Bobadill ; he displays new resources of vanity and meets exposure with new feats of audacity ; he is perfectly distinct and ingen- iously comic, at least as a stage figure. So, too, the con- ventional type of the querulous old man becomes a source of fresh comedy in Cahanax, and the old cap- tain who leads the insurrection in Philaster is conceived with audacious humor and abundant spirit. And if our poets do not reveal the depths or complexities of human nature, they have the power of rising to a situ- ation and of expressing dramatic emotion. So their type of evil woman acquires tremendous force in the great scenes where Evadne plays her part, and their type of female saintliness becomes human and sincere in the white light of Ordella's devotion. Moreover their men and women talk like real per- sons. Dryden declared that they understood and imi- tated the conversation of gentlemen much better than Shakespeare, and in some respects this distinction is clear enough to-day. The men of the early tragedies, by XXX 31ntrotiuction Marlowe, Kyd, Marston, or Shakespeare, had spoken a language elevated and removed from ordinary dis- course. The bombastic vein finds repeated illustration in Shakespeare's early plays ; as in the opening lines of Henr;^ VI, — Hung be the heavens with black ! yield day to night ! etc. Or of Richard III, — Now is the winter of our discontent Made glorious summer by this sun of York — Nor did the effort for a declamatory and sententious tragic style fail to leave an impression on the works of his maturer genius. The very style of phrase that comes from Coriolanusy Lear, or Othello removes the speakers from the manners of the age and the habits of the audit- ors. Coriolanus begins, — Thanks. What 's the matter you disentious rogues, That, rubbing the poor itch of your opinion, Make yourselves scabs ? And Othello, — Let him do his spite : My services which I have done the signiory Shall out-tongue his complaints. 'Tis yet to know, — Which, when I know that boasting is an honour, I shall promulgate — Compare these speeches with the opening words of Melantius, and there can be no doubt that the phrases of Beaumont and Fletcher have the advantage in natur- alness. Or compare them with the opening boast of the most ranting of their kings, Arbaces — Thy sadness, brave Tigranes, takes away From my full victory : am I become Of so small fame, that any man should grieve When I o'ercome him } 31ntrot)uction xxxi The vaunt is melodramatic, but the language is keyed to ordinary speech. Such talk as this makes the thrilling events and the exaggerated types of character seem plausible. The method of Shakespeare is reversed. We accept his land of romance, but it is far from the world of the day, and we have a sense of being conveyed thither. So the opening dialogue of Theseus and Hippolyta bears us one stage from reality toward fairy-land, and the opening lines of the Duke in Twelfth Night prepare us for an Illyria of sunshine, sentiment, and song. The poetry of Beaumont and Fletcher, on the contrary, does not carry us to romance, it brings romance to us. We are introduced into a court, which despite the for- eign names much resembles the court of James I; there is some gossip or compliment among a few gentlemen, and there is no elevation of language, the phrases are not heavy with premonitions of disaster ; in compar- ison with preceding Elizabethan tragedies, the diction is natural, clear, and modern. The spectators at Black- friars must have felt that they were viewing men and women like themselves, and thereby have been inclined to accept the marvels and horrors that followed. The trick has since become common in romance ; a clever young American invades a marvellous toy kingdom in central Europe, foils conspiracies, marries the princess, and accomplishes all sorts of upsets and escapes, — and we accept everything as we read because the persons appear and talk like acquaintances. Similarly a lack of archaicism or remoteness in speech goes far to make Beaumont and Fletcher* s romances plausible. xxxii 31ntroUuction Perhaps the happiest result of their introduction of a gentleman of 1610 into a romantic orgy is found in the character of Melantius. Theatre-goers had been long used to a central figure in tragedy, vehement, ranting, eloquent, and passionate, with a part full of violent action and sounding declamation ; as, Tambur- laine, Hieronimo, Richard III, Othello, or Lear. Melantius is of a different sort ; he does not tear a passion to tatters in sounding polysyllables ; or go in- sane ; or invoke earth and heaven and their mysteries in his midnight meditations. He talks w^ithout infla- tus, periphrasis, or aphorism, Hke a gentleman of the day ; yet how he talks ! His gift of blunt, soldierly conversation wins the keys of the castle from his bitter- est enemy, wrings the secret of his sister's dishonor from the wronged Amintor, and converts that sister from a brazen sinner into a penitent martyr. The pro- tagonist must still excel in talk, but his talk is different, and his character as well. The protagonist is no longer the creature of a mysterious fate, a self-revealing villain, or a victim of his own overpowering passion, but he is the beau ideal of the seventeenth century gentleman, clever, daring, indomitable, never at a loss, fastidious of honor, and above all a loyal and efficient friend. His loyalty appeals to our sympathies less deeply than Kent's and his avowals of friendship have the taint of exaggeration, but perhaps the well-worn stage type of the faithfiil friend has never been drawn with greater distinctness and enthusiasm. In the main, however, what existence the characters have outside of the situations in which they are placed. i. 3lntrotiuction xxxiii what reality they retain in our memories, is due to the power of the verse to reflect clearly the emotions of the moment. There is, as has been said, an absence of that tragic inflatus made so effective in Marlowe, striven after by many imitators, and not wanting even in Shakespeare's masterpieces. There is a notable ab- sence of the merely sonorous, the turgid declamation, the mouthing of strange words ; that sort of style is ridiculed in Pharamond and Bessus. The style of the romances is marked, too, by an absence of overcrowd- ing thought, such as seems sometimes striven after in Marston or Chapman, and such as sometimes makes Shakespeare's lines a puzzle. Beaumont and Fletcher have no emotions too fleeting or too profound for utter- ance, no perplexing tangle of thought that defies ex- pression in decasyllabics ; and they had no desire to make their style sententious, weighty, philosophical. They had no doubt about what they wanted to say, and they said it clearly and rapidly. They had room for ornament and rhetorical device but none for eccen- tricity or obscurity. Dryden's remark that they per- fected the English language deserves consideration as the view of a century later, and can be appreciated to-day. After the tragedies of Jonson, Marston, Marlowe, Chapman, Webster, or Tourneur, one escapes with an elation of temper to the unpuzzling verse of the Maid'' s Tragedy and Philaster. One misses with a sense of joy the entanglement and doubt felt in the others, and often enough, too, in Shakespeare. Such traits of style as have been noticed are common to both men, and seem due — so far as they are con- xxxiv introduction scious at all — to an effort to make dramatic style cor- respond as nearly as possible to natural speech. This seems particularly true of Fletcher, who is the more revolutionary of the two in his innovations and the more persistent in his mannerisms. His structure is loose and conversational ; parentheses and colloquial- isms abound ; and his blank verse breaks down the barriers of the rigid pentameter and approaches the irregular rhythm of prose. Added syllables are numer- ous, and feminine endings usurp a large majority of the lines. Beaumont differs from Fletcher in his use of feminine endings and end-stopt lines, using far fewer of either than Fletcher, but he too imitates the broken and unpremeditated effect of ordinary speech and, Hke Fletcher, avoids unusual words and obscure construc- tions. In long speeches or in descriptive or lyrical passages, the structure naturally becomes more periodic, the rhythm more sustained, and the imagery more elab- orate ; and it is in such passages that Beaumont is often at his best. He is free, too, from the annoying faults of Fletcher, who is careless and monotonous in rhythm and structure. But both writers rise now and then to an intensely imaginative phrase or a beautifully wrought description, and the chief merit of their style is its constant power to suit itself to the ever-shifting action and emotion. The style of neither is suggestive of the intricacies of human feeling or the splendor of hu- man intellect, but the style of both, of Fletcher preemi- nently, reveals a fertility of imagination and an astonish- ing mobility of words. For what it attempts, it is sur- prisingly competent. In its lyric moments, it sings ; in 3|ntroDuction xxxv the conversation of gentlemen, it is deft and rapid ; in the crises of passion, thrilHng ; in its idyls, melodious and sweet ; and it is always copious and lucid. It is these extraordinary merits of style that gave Beaumont and Fletcher their seventeenth century reputa- tion and have attracted readers in the generations since. Ethical objections to their plays drove them finally from the stage and continue to disturb readers to-day. One ethical charge, fathered by Coleridge and often repeated, calls for defence. Coleridge denounced them as servile, divino jure, royalists, and Professor Ward, though he instances the climax of the Maid'' s Tragedy to the contrary, declares that their sentiment of loyalty ** means the abandonment of the aspiration for freedom as part of the sense of manhood ; — it is slavery drap- ing itself with chivalrous dignity in the cloak of * the Emperor's loyal general.' " A belief in divine right may naturally have been acquired and possibly retained by Beaumont and Fletcher as well as by most drama- tists of the day. They certainly make use of the sanct- ity of the king's person as a motive intelligible to their audiences and of importance to the persons in the drama ; but the ** servility " and ** slavery " are hardly apparent. Both Phi/aster and the Maid^s Tragedy y having plots of the authors' invention, deal vdth suc- cessful insurrections against royal power, and in the Maid^s Tragedy the leader of the insurrection induces his sister to murder the king. When we recall that in 1 60 1 actors were punished for performing Richard II with the deposition of the king, and that the scene was omitted from the first two editions of the play, and xxxvi ^Introduction when we recall that an alteration of the Maid^ s Tragedy y omitting the murder of the king, was deemed necessary in the reign of Charles II, the attitude of Beaumont and Fletcher seems daring rather than ser- vile. Still farther, they are no great respecters of royal worth. Their monarchs are weak, corrupt, lust- ful ; and the most vigorous of them all, Arbaces, is not of royal birth and has no divine right. It has been argued that Shakespeare was a democrat because in opposition to current laudation of royalty he repre- sented kings with the weaknesses and crimes of ordi- nary men ; and if this argument be allowed weight, Beaumont and Fletcher were democrats and revolution- ists. Perhaps it is fairer to judge them as literary ardsts and not as political theorists. Their tragedies, as all Elizabethan tragedies, dealt with kings ; dealing with kings, they naturally made divine right play an important part ; they emphasized the sentiment of royal sanctity in order to make royal weakness more effective dramat- ically, — in order to make the assassination of a king more theatrically sensational. They wrote as drama- tists, described kings as both good and bad, but gener- ally bad, and if necessary they murdered them without pity. Other ethical objections to their plays, however, are less easily refuted. Beaumont and Fletcher depict love of many kinds and they present its abnormal or sensa- tional aspects with an outspokenness that is offensive to modern refinement and reveals an absence of moral taste on the part of the authors. In view of the char- acter of the court of James I and the contemporary ex- Jlntroliuction xxxvii posure of the career of Frances Howard, it must be admitted that the dramatists represented faithfully the loose manners and flagrant immorality of their age ; but the representation is without apology or satire and apparently without consciousness of its grossness. The atmosphere is never quite pure. A model of feminine purity may kiss and be kissed by the suitors she resists, and an ideal of innocence join unabashed in jests that to-day would be unpardonable. The themes of their plays are hardly more sensational than those of many recent novels, and their outspokenness might possibly be defended in comparison with modern reticence and suggestion, but it must be confessed that the whole tone of their work is less pure and healthy than of any dramatist preceding them, and that it opens the way to the lewdness of the Restoration. No one indeed will care to claim much credit for Beaumont and Fletcher as moral teachers. Unlike some of their contemporaries, they did not seek to discover and chastise the follies and excesses of their time ; and their conception of drama did not involve the study of human motives in the light of moral law. They dealt with themes that would please their audience and pat- rons and would offer a sufficient range of emotions for the exhibition of the authors' poetic powers. Of many modern romanticists and sentimentalists little more can be said ; Hke them, Beaumont and Fletcher were fond of love and lovers and sought to present many varieties, but their imaginations kept too frequent company with the gross and unhealthy. With no distinct moral pur- pose, without imaginations that touched spiritual heights xxxviii 3|ntroDuction or penetrated to the real significance of moral conflict, they entered unhesitatingly on the task of holding up a mirror to a society loose in manners and unprincipled in morals. They are not so much guilty of intentional immorality as impotent to produce moral effect. But something must be added on the other side. If their imaginations run loose in a corrupt society, they also seek at times the sweeter and the nobler aspects of life. What won for their ethics high laudation from con- temporary critics and may carry to us at least a partial justification for their lapses, were their rhetorical and dramatic adulation of innocence and purity, and, as it seems to us, their more sincere and not less enthusiastic exaltation of generosity, friendship, and devotion. The critic of their ethics should not forget Melantius and Ordella. If little enlightenment for the moral perceptions comes from reading their plays, there will surely be astonishment and admiration for the triumphant flow of verse, scene, and plot ; and by the historical student, a recognition of the freshness and importance of their art in its own day. In all the marvellous story of the Elizabethan drama few chapters captivate the fancy more delightfully than the one that tells of their pre- cocious success. At the time when Jonson and Shake- speare were at their best, these two striplings began. The critical, humorous, and imaginative Beaumont and the witty, irresponsible, and extraordinarily clever Fletcher somehow harmonized their difi^erences and united their powers. They wrote plays as plays, poems as poems, mindful of the courtly public, mindful of the 3|ntroUuction xxxix critics, heedless of the moralists. They were neither psychologists nor preachers ; they did not harness philo- sophy to the drama ; they had none of that high serious- ness, which Matthew Arnold says is necessary to great poetry and which has certainly spoiled a great deal of poetry. Their view of life was that of the wits, gal- lants, and poets of the Mermaid tavern. To be generous, courtly, loyal in friendship, was enough of a creed ; their aspiration was artistic rather than ethical, — *< to put their whole wit in a jest,'* their whole genius in a play. Their genius to be sure has sometimes the appearance of sowing its wild oats ; but with the faults of youth, it has some of the virtues. If it has no power to widen the reader's horizon, to stimulate a finer and kindlier interest in life, or to purify the passions through a re- velation of their torments, it has certainly the power to excite, fascinate, thrill, and delight us. If their presen- tation of life lacks a sustained suggestiveness of reality, that is a fault of immaturity ; if their poetry responds to every challenge of their subject, that is the triumph of prodigal genius. Let us not emphasize unduly their spontaneity and cleverness at the expense of their artistic endeavor. They were artists coming late in a great creative period, aware of the greatness of what had preceded and also of its irregularities and excesses. They used the dra- matic form with copious invention and an unrivalled perception of dramatic possibilities in story or scene. They added new types of plays and they developed these with the zest and freedom of genius and the care of constructive artists. They subdued their ingenuity xl 3|ntroDuction to the requirements of the stage and they made their blank verse a pellucid mirror of the situations and emo- tions that they conceived. After all, the plays of their collaboration are the ex- periments of men in their tw^enties. Perhaps, if Beau- mont had lived, their brotherly cooperation w^ould have resulted in maturer and nobler achievement. As it is, their plays, with their excitement and surprises, their heroisms and their wit, disclose an imagination that can often pierce to the heart of a passion or reveal anew the beauty of language ; and they bring before us an age with manners and morals far removed from our own, an age brutal, passionate, unreserved, quick and indiscriminate in its emotions, but an age still cherishing its ideals of magnanimity and its dreams of idylhc love and courageous friendship. THE AUTHORSHIP OF THE MAID'S TRAGEDY AND PHILASTER The division of the plays of Beaumont and Fletcher between the two authors has been much discussed, and substantial agreement in regard to their respective shares has been reached through the application of verse-tests by Mr. Fleay, Mr. Boyle, and Mr. Oliphant. ^ The verse of * F. G. Fleay: Transactions N. S. S.^ 1874 j Chronicle of the English Drama, 1891. R. Boyle : Englische Studien, v, vii, viii, ix, x ; Trans. N. S. 5., 1886. E. F. Oliphant : Englische Studien, xiv, xv, xvi. See also Francis Beaumont, a critical study, G. C. Macaulay, JflntroUuction xli Fletcher has certain marked traits that render it easily recognizable, for instance, a large proportion of feminine endings, often 60 to 70%, and a small proportion of run-over lines, i o to 20 % j Beaumont's verse has a small proportion of feminine endings, 10 to 15 %, and a larger proportion (about 25 ^) of run-over lines than Fletcher's. The verse of Fletcher, in plays of which he was the sole author, exhibits these percentages with constancy j for Beaumont's verse we have a less certain criterion since we have no external evidence that any play was the re- sult of his unaided effort. The metrical tests, however, furnish in a large number of scenes a certain means for distinguishing the work of the two authors. When, for example, every 20 lines of a scene have a majority of double endings, the scene is Fletcher's ; when every 20 lines have but two or three feminine endings, the scene is certainly not Fletcher's but Beaumont's. Some difficulties, however, counsel caution. The verse-tests are applicable when the collaboration is after the usual Elizabethan manner, each author taking certain scenes or divisions of the play and writing these with little or no intervention from his collaborator ; but if two writers worked in more intimate cooperation on a scene, verse-tests might fail to indicate their shares. Again, many passages evidently written as verse are printed as prose in the early editions, and the division into verse is the work of modern editors ; and other pass- ages that are still printed as prose seem likely to have been written as verse. Prose passages and songs offer no 1883, London, and the article on Fletcher by A. H. Bullen in the Diet. Nat. Biog. For detailed treatment of the verse-tests for Beaumont and Fletcher, see the volumes of the Belles Lettres Series dealing with each dramatist. xlii 31ntroliuction opportunity for verse-tests ; and although prose is usually assigned to Beaumont, such assignment rests mainly on the fact that there is almost no prose in plays by Fletcher alone. In the case of the two plays in this book, there are some further considerations. There are few places where the percentage of double endings runs as high as in Fletcher's later or even in his other early plays, as, for example, the last two of the Four Plays in One. On the other hand, in the scenes usually assigned to Beaumont the percentage of feminine endings occasionally exceeds his average. There is always the possibility that Fletcher discarded for a time his mannerisms, as he did in the Faithful Shepherdess^ which differs entirely in versification from the rest of his plays j and one may suspect him of attuning himself more closely to Beaumont in these two plays than elsewhere. But in view of all these considera- tions, the fact that the verse-tests reveal decisive and con- sistent differences goes far to establish their reliability. In the case of the Maid's Tragedy^ critics are practically agreed, and a careful application of verse-tests by the present editor suggests little amendment. To Fletcher may be assigned : ii, 2 ; iv, i ; v, i, 2 (/. e. i, 2, 3, as printed in other editions). The close of v, i, after the exit of Evadne, is given by Fleay and Oliphant to Beau- mont, and the metrical characteristics are certainly not Fletcher's. Act i, scene 2, contains some prose and the masque, and cannot be assigned by verse-tests. The re- mainder of the play — i, i; ii, 1; iii, i, 2; iv, 2; v, 3 (4, in other editions) — is given by all critics to Beau- mont, and contains no trace of Fletcher, except possibly in i, I. Philaster offers a more difficult problem. About one fourth of the play is in prose, the assignment of which is precarious y and several of the verse-scenes exhibit some 31ntrot>uction xliii of the qualities of both poets and a percentage of double endings too small for Fletcher and too large for Beau- mont. Their contributions cannot always be distinctly separated. Evidence of Fletcher's hand seems apparent to the present editor in — i, ib (after entry of king) ; ii, 2 (mostly prose) ; ii, 4b (from reentry of Dion) ; iii, 2 (traces, passim) ; v, 3, 4. This assignment agrees with that made by Oliphant ; Fleay gives Fletcher all of act i, scene i, andv, 3, 45 Boyle, only v, 3, 4. The following scenes are wholly or largely prose, and their assignment to Beaumont by the critics rests on no very conclusive evidence — i, la (to entry of king) 5 iv, i; v, i. The remainder of the play is assigned to Beaumont by all critics — i, 2; ii, i, 3, 4a (to reentry of Dion) ; iii, i, 2 (in part) 5 iv, 2, 3> 4 5 v, 2, 5. The separation of the verse of the two authors by no means determines the exact share of each in the total cre- ative work. Who invented ? who suggested ? and who corrected ? are questions that even they themselves might have found it difficult to answer. In Philaster, one of the earliest of the joint plays, there are indications that the two poets worked on the same scenes in a way that baffles exact analysis to-day j but here Fletcher's share seems subsidiary and supplementary. He wrote at least a part of the first scene, contributed parts of the Megra-Pharamond story, and the lively account of the insurrection, but had little to do with the development of the main action or with the most important situations ; none of the scenes indeed seem absolutely free from Beaumont's hand. In the Maid ""s Tragedy, the collabor- ation was more distinct ; and there, though Beaumont's share is much the larger, Fletcher's scenes are among the most important in the play and present Aspatia, Evadne, and Philaster in some of their most characteristic mo- xliv 31ntroliuction ments. In these two plays and in the other heroic ro- mances Beaumont's share seems predominant, and from these plays, together with the Knight of the Burning Pestle, we draw most of our inferences in respect to the qualities of his genius. The two friends, however, har- monized their sentiments, modes of thought, and inter- pretations of character better than their methods of versi- fication J and any attempts to restrict a particular mental attitude to the one is likely to be frustrated by its appear- ance in verse unmistakably by the other. Each doubtless deserves, what each has long received, a share in the credit for the plot, situations, characters, style, and senti- ments oi Philaster and the Maid's Tragedy. TEXT The first quarto, 1 619, presents an abbreviated, mangled, and evi- dently unauthorized text. The second quarto, 1622, "Newly pe- rused, augmented and inlarged," is much less corrupt, but contains some verbal alterations that are not improvements on Qi. The third quarto, 1630, presents for the first time the names of the au- thors and the " Censure " of the stationer, Richard Hawkins. A few of its corrections have been approved by modern editors. Four other quartos, in the main agreeing with ^3, were published before 1679, when the play was included in the Second Folio, reprinted apparently from Q6. No edition, it will be noted, was printed during Beaumont's lifetime : none for some ten years after the play was written, circa 1 609 5 and apparently none received any direct re- vision from either author, though Qz undoubtedly is the best au- thority. Under these circumstances an edition of the play must be eclectic, based on the first three quartos, and availing itself of correc- tions in the later quartos and folio and in the editions of modern ed- itors, Theobald (Th), Weber (W), Dyce (D), and Daniel in the recent variorum edition under the general supervision of Mr. A. H. Bullen (B). The present edition follows Q2, but frequently readings from Qi have been adopted, and all variants that have any claim to recog- nition have been given in the notes, especially those of Qi and Q3. The variants of Leonhardt and of Daniel have been compared with the original editions, and a number of minor corrections have been made in their records of the quartos. The variants of the later quartos, the folio, and the modern editors are recorded only when of importance to the text ; in the case of accepted emendations, usually only the name of the editor responsible has been given, but the variants of Dyce and Daniel from the present text are specific- ally noted. .The arrangement of the verse lines is based on Dyce. The quartos are here very uncertain guides, but important devia- tions from (^2, D, or B, are recorded in the notes. In accord with the practice of the Belles-Lettres Series^ the spelling of (^2 has been xlvi WtXt kept, all additions to its text or stage-directions are enclosed in brackets, and all variations from the letter of that edition except obvious misprints are noted. The punctuation and capitalization have been modernized, but the old punctuation has been retained when possible, and the old abbreviations, involving apostrophes, have been preserved. The past participles in -ed, -'d, -t, have also been retained as in Q2, even when a different pronunciation of the final syllable is rendered necessary by the versification. Any stage-direc- tions which seem in the early editions to have been placed merely where the length of the lines permit, have been placed where the indicated actions should occur, with a note among the variants on the original position. Aside^ often printed at the end of a line or speech, is uniformly placed before its line or speech. Explanation of the abbreviations used in referring to the various editions will be found in the Bibliography. The Maids Tragedie. AS IT HATH B BENE diuers times Aded at the 'Black-Friers by the Rings Maleftles Seruants. Newly perufed, augmentecl, and inlarged, This fecond ImprefTion. AMINTORT^ LONDON, Printed for Francis Conjlahle^ and are tobcfoldat the white Lion in FauIs Church-yard. i6zi. SOURCES There is nothing to add to Dyce's statement in his collective edition that ** the source from which the incidents of this drama were derived, has not been discovered." He noted a resemblance between Aspatia's duel with Amintor and the combat between Parthenia and Amphialus in the third book of Sidney's Arcadia. The quarrel of Melantius and Amintor in Act in owes something to that of Brutus and Cassius in yulius Casar.- The character and story of Aspatia are to some extent pairalieled by those of Bellario in P /li /aster znd Urania in Cupid'' s-Revenge ;^ a.nd other parallelisms in . characters and situations can be traced with the other romances of Beaumont and Fletcher. SPEAKERS. King. Lisippus, brother to the King. Amintor, [a noble Gentleman.] EvADNE, wife to Amintor. mp^rsf !■>">"""' •■>^— ASPATIA, troth-plight wife to Amintor. Callianax, an old humorous Lord, and father to ASFATIA. Cleon, ) „ ,, Strato,}^^"^^^'"^"- DiAGORAS, a servant. OLiMpfAs ^' } Waiting Gentlewomen to AsPATiA. DuLA, a Lady. Night, 1 CiNTHiA, I Maskers Neptune, f "^^sicers. EOLUS, J [Sea Gods, Winds, Lords, Gentlemen, Servants, &c. SCENE, Rhodes.] [THE STATIONERS CENSURE. Good wine requires no bush, they say. And 7, no prologue such a play : The makers therefore did forebeare To have that grace prefixed here. But cease here. Censure, least the buyer Hold thee in this a vaine supplyer. My office is to set it forth. Where fame applauds its reale worth.] a noble Gentleman. Added in Q.%, Sea Gods . . . Rhodes. Supplied by modern editors. Censure. The lines, not in Qi and Q2, are in Q3-Q6 printed after the Dramatis Personae. Ci^e ^a^r&esi Cragear Actus I. Scaen I. \_J?i Apartment in the Palace, "] Enter Cleon^ Strata y Lisippusy Diphilus. Clean. The rest are making ready, sir. Lysippus. So let them ; theres time enough. Diphilus. You are the brother to the King, my lord ; Weele take your word. Lys. Strato, thou hast some skill in poetrie; What think'st [thou] of the mask ? will it be well ? Strato, As well as masks can be. Lys. As masks can be ! Stra. Yes ; they must commend their king, & speake in praise Of the assembly, blesse the bride and bride- groome In person of some god : they'r tied to rules Of flatterie. Cle. See, good my lord, who is returned ! 2 Lysippus, Ql. Q2-F, Stra. 6 tbouy gi. tbe mask. Qq, F, a mask, corrected by Seward. 4 W\)t £pa^De0 tETrageD^ [act i. Enter Melantius. Lys. Noble Melantius, the land by me Welcomes thy vertues home to Rhodes; Thou that with blood abroad buyest our peace ! The breath of kings is like the breath of gods ; My brother wisht thee here, and thou art here ; He will be too kind, and wearie thee With often welcomes ; but the time doth give thee A welcome above his or all the worlds. Melantius. My lord, my thankes ; but these scratcht limbes of mine Have spoke my love and truth unto my friends More then my tongue ere could. My mind's the same It ever was to you ; where I finde worth, I love the keeper till he let it goe. And then I follow it. Diph. Haile, worthy brother; He that rejoyces not at your returne In safety is mine enemie forever. Mel. I thanke thee, Diphilus. But thou art faultie ; I sent for thee to exercise thine armes 13/0 Rhodes. Qi and B omit. i-j be too kind. Ql, be kind. B, be too-too kind. 23 It. The scene from the beginning through this word is printed as prose in gq and F. It continues as prose through 1. 24 in 0^6 and F. Scene I.] ^^t ^U^htS ^Xn^tD^ 5 With me at Patria ; thou cam'st not, Diphilus j 30 Twas ill. Diph. My noble brother, my excuse Is my king's strict command, which you, my lord. Can witnesse with me. Lys. Tis [most] true, Melantius ; He might not come till the solemnities Of this great match were past. Diph. Have you heard of it ? 35 Afel. Yes, and have given cause to those that here Envy my deeds abroad to call me gamesome. I have no other businesse heere at Rhodes. Lys. We have a maske to-night, and you must tread A souldiers measure. 4° Mel. These soft and silken wars are not for me ; The musicke must be shrill and all confus'd That stirres my bloud ; and then I dance with armes. But is Amintor wed ? Diph. This day. 32 strict. Qi, straight. 33 most, Qi. Omitted in Qz et al. 34 solemnities, Ql. Solemnitie in other Qq and F. 36 Yes , . . here. So in Qi. ^2, Yes I have given cause to those that. 6 tET^ie £pa^ije0 tETrageD^ [act i. Mel. All joyes upon him ! for he is my friend. 45 Wonder not that I call a man so young my friend : His worth is great ; valiant he is and temperate ; And one that never thinkes his life his owne, If his friend neede it. When he was a boy, As oft as I return'd (as, without boast, 50 I brought home conquest), he would gaze upon me And view me round, to finde in what one limbe The vertue lay to doe these things he heard ; Then would he wish to see my sword, and feele The quicknesse of the edge, and in his hand 55 Weigh it : he oft would make me smile at this. His youth did promise much, and his ripe yeares Will see it all performd. Enter Aspatia, passing by. Haile, maid and wife ! Thou faire Aspatia, may the holy knot. That thou hast tied to-day, last till the hand 60 Of age undoe't ! mayst thou bring a race Unto Amintor, that may fill the world Successively with souldiers ! Aspatia. My hard fortunes Deserve not scorne, for I was never proud When they were good. Exit Aspatia. Enter . . . by. Qi, Enter Aspatia passing with attendance. Scene I] ^1)0 ^3^1500 tETrageu^ 7 il/^/. Howes this ? Lys. You are mistaken, sir ; 65 She is not married. Mel. You said Amintor was. Diph. Tis true ; but — Mel. Pardon me ; I did receive Letters at Patria from my Amintor, That he should marrie her. Diph. And so it stood In all opinion long ; but your arrivall 70 Made me imagine you had heard the change. Mel. Who hath he taken then ? Lys. A ladie, sir, That beares the light above her, and strikes dead With flashes of her eye ; the faire Evadne, Your vertuous sister. Mel. Peace of heart betwixt them ! 75 But this is strange. Lys. The King, my brother, did it To honor you, and these solemnities Are at his charge. Mel. Tis royall like himselfe. But I am sad. My speech beares so unfortunate a sound 80 To beautifull Aspatia. There is rage Hid in her fathers breast, Calianax, Bent long against me ; and he should not thinke, 65 «>, Ql- S^, for. 73 above. Qi,aboue} Q2, about. See note. 8 ^\)t £pa^l>e0 tCrageO^ [act i. If I could call it backe, that I would take So base revenges as to scorne the state 85 Of his neglected daughter. Holds he still His greatnesse with the King? Lys. Yes. But this lady Walkes discontented, with her watrie eies Bent on the earth. The unfrequented woods Are her delight ; where, when she sees a bancke 90 Stucke full of flowers, shee with a sigh will tell Her servants what a prittie place it were To burie lovers in ; and make her maids Pluck 'em and strow her over like a corse. She carries with her an infectious griefe 95 That strikes all her beholders. She will sing The mournfulst things that ever eare hath heard, And sigh, and sing againe ; and when the rest Of our young ladyes, in their wanton bloud, Tell mirthfull tales in course, that fill the roomeioo With laughter, she will with so sad a looke Bring forth the story of the silent death Of some forsaken virgin, which her griefe Will put in such a phrase that, ere she end, Shee'le send them weeping one by one away. 105 Afel. She has a brother under my command, Like her, a face as womanish as hers. But with a spirit that hath much outgrowne The number of his yeares. 84 i/" / could. Qi, B, Could I but. 90 ivAere, Qi. Q2-F, and. Scene I] tE^f^t ^dL^titfS ^U%tl>^ 9 Enfer Amintor. Cle. My lord the bridegroome 1 Mel. I might runne fiercely, not more hastily, "o Upon my foe. I love thee well, Amintor ; My mouth is much too narrow for my heart ; I joy to looke upon those eies of thine ; Thou art my friend, but my disordered speech Cuts off my love. Amintor. Thou art Melantius } "5 All love is spoke in that. A sacrifice. To thanke the gods Melantius is returned In safety ! Victory sits on his sword As she was wont. May she build there and dwell ; And may thy armour be, as it hath beene, 120 Only thy valor and thine innocence ! What endlesse treasures would our enemies give That I might hold thee still thus ! Mel. I am poore In words ; but credit me, young man, thy mother Could [do] no more but weep for joy to see thee 125 After long absence. All the wounds I have, Fetcht not so much away, nor all the cries Of widowed mothers. But this is peace. And that was warre. 109 My lord the. Th, D, comma after lord, no fiercely. Coleridge, more fiercely. 123-125 That . . . thee. So arranged by Th. Qq and F end lines with thus . . . man . . . thee. 125 do. Only in Qi. 126 have. B, gave. lo ®l)e ^a^Df0 tETragrD^ [act i. Amin, Pardon, thou holy god Of mariage-bed, and frowne not; I am forced, 13° In answer of such noble teares as those, To weepe upon my wedding-day ! Mel. I feare thou art growne too fickle, for I heare A lady mournes for thee, men say, to death. Forsaken of thee, on what termes I know not. 135 Amin. She had my promise ; but the King forbade it. And made me make this worthy change, thy sister. Accompanied with graces [far] above her. With whom I long to lose my lusty youth And grow old in her armes. Mel. Be prosperous ! 140 Enter Messenger. Messenger. My lord, the maskers rage for you. Lys. We are gone. — Cleon, Strato, Diphilus ! Amin. Weele all attend you. — \Exeunt Lysippus, Cleony Strato, Diphilus, and Messenger. '\ We shall trouble you With our solemnities. 131 tho%e. g I, these, \ 11 fickle. Qi, cruell ; Q3-F, sicke. 138 far abo-ve, Th. Qi, Q2, about ; Q3, above. 141 Messenger. Qi, Amint. ^2 to F, Serv. Exeunt . . . Messenger. This stage-direction is found only in Ql, which omits and Messenger. Scene II. ] ^})t £^3^11^0 ^VdiQtl>^ 1 1 Me/. Not so, Amintor ; But if you laugh at my rude cariage 145 In peace, Til do as much for you in warre. When you come thither. But I have a mistresse To bring to your delights ; rough though I am, I have a mistresse, and she has a heart. She saies; but, trust me, it is stone, no better; 150 There is no place that I can challenge in't. But you stand still, and here my way lies. Exeunt. [Scene II. J Hall in the Palace, with a Gallery full of Spectators. ] Enter Calianax with Diagoras. Calianax. Diagoras, looke to the doores bet- ter, for shame ! you let in all the world, and anone the King will raile at me. Why, very well said. By Jove, the King will have the show i' th' court. 5 Diagoras. Why doe you sweare so, my lord ? you know heele have it heere. Cal. By this light, if he be wise, he will not. Diag. And if he will not be wise, you are forsworne. 10 Cal. One may weare his heart out with 151 /«'/, Q3 to F. Qi, challenge gentlemen. Q2 omits. Exeunt. ^2, Exit. 5 f th\ Q2 misprints i' th the. 1 1 may iveare his heart out, so F ; Q2, may sweare out his heart j Qi, must sweat out his heart. 12 tET^e ^a^Defi! tETrageU^ [act i. swearing, and get thankes on no side. He be gone, look too't who will. Diag. My lord, I shall never keepe them out. Pray stay ; your lookes will terrifie them. i^ Cal. My looks terrifie them, you coxcombly asse, you ! He be judge [d] by all the company whether thou hast not a worse face then I. Diag. I meane because they know you and your office. ^o Cal. Office ! I would I could put it off! I am sure I sweat quite through my office. I might have made roome at my daughters wedding ; — they ha nere kild her amongst them, and now I must doe service for him that hath forsaken 25 her. Serve that will ! Exit Calianax. Diag. Hee's so humorous since his daughter was forsaken! (^Knocke within.') Harke, harke ! there, there ! so, so ! codes, codes ! What now. Melantius (within). Open the doore. 30 Diag. Who's there ? Mel. [within]. Melantius. Diag. I hope your lordship brings no troope with you ; for, if you doe, I must returne them. \_Opens the door.] Enter Melantius and a Lady. Mel. None but this lady, sir. 35 Diag. The ladies are all plac'd above, save 17 judged^ Q4 et al. (^2, Q3, judge. Ql, iudgde. 28 Knocke ivithin^ 30 ivithin. gq, F, print after 1. 29, ivithin Knocke ivithin. scKNE II.] ar^e ^a^tiefif ®ragel>^ 13 those that come in the Kings troope ; the best of Rhodes sit there, and theres roome. Mel. I thanke you, sir. — When I have scene you placed, madam, I must attend the King; 40 but the maske done. He waite on you againe. Diag, [opening another door]. Stand backe there ! Roome for mylordMelantius ! [Exit Me- lantius^ Lady^ other doore.~\ — Pray beare backe — this is no place for such youth and their truls — let 45 the dores shut agen . — No ! — do your heads itch ? He scratch them for you. [Shuts the door.~\ — So, now thrust and hang. [Knocking withinA — Againe ! Who is't now ? — I cannot blame my Lord Calianax for going away. Would he were 50 here ! he would run raging amongst them and breake a dozen wiser heads than his own in the twinckling of an eie. — Whats the newes now ? [Foice'] within. I pray you, can you helpe mee to the speech of the master-cooke ? 55 Diag. If I open the dore. He cooke some of your calves-heads. Peace rogues! [Knocking with- in.'] — Againe! who is't ? Mel. {within). Melantius. Enter Calianax^ to Melantius. Cal. Let him not in. 60 43 Exit . . . doore. Only in Qi, which places the exit after 1. 41. 46 No,(^i. Qz et al., I. 52 iviser. Qi oniits. 59 loitbin. After Melantius in J^q. 14 ®^e £pa^ije0 aTrageu^ [act i. Diag. O, my lord, a must. [^Opening the door.~^ — Make roome there for my lord. — Is your lady placet ? \_Enter Melantius,'\ Mel. Yes, sir. I thanke you. — My Lord Calianax, well met. 65 Your causelesse hate to me I hope is buried. Cal. Yes, I doe service for your sister here. That brings mine owne poore child to timelesse death ; She loves your friend Amintor ; such another False-hearted lord as you. Mel. You doe me wrong, 70 A most unmanly one, and I am slow In taking vengeance ; but be well advis'd. Cal. It may be so. Who plac'd the lady there So neere the presence of the King ? Mel. I did. Cal. My lord, she must not sit there. Mel. Why? 75 Cal. The place is kept for women of more worth. Mel. More worth than she ! It misbecomes your age And place to be thus womanish : forbeare ! What you have spoke, I am content to thinke The palsey shooke your tongue to. Enter Melantius. Only in Ql. Scene II. ] ^j^t ^3^1)00 tE^U^tH^ 1$ Cal. Why, tis well, 80 If I stand here to place mens wenches. Mel. I Shall [quite] forget this place, thy age, my safety, And, through all, cut that poor sickly weeke Thou hast to live away from thee. Cal. Nay, I know you can fight for your whore. 85 Mel. Bate [me] the King, and, be hee flesh and blood, A lies that says it ! Thy mother at fifteene Was blacke and sinfull to her. Diag. Good my lord — Mel. Some god pluck threescore yeeres from that fond man. That I may kill him, and not staine mine honor ! 90 It is the curse of souldiers, that in peace They shall be braved by such ignoble men. As, if the land were troubled, would with teares And knees beg succor from 'em. Would that blood. That sea of blood, that I have lost in fight, 95 Were running in thy veines, that it might make thee Apt to say lesse, or able to maintaine, 82 quite. Only in Qi. 83 through. Theobald, thorough. 86 me. Only in (^i. 94 that, (^i, D, B, the. 1 6 tE^t ^a^Drs; tETrageu^ [act i. Should'st thou say more ! This Rhodes, I see, is nought But a place priviledg'd to do men wrong. Cal. I, you may say your pleasure. loo Efiter Amt?itor. Amintor. What vilde injurie Has sturd my worthy friend, who is as slow To fight with words as he is quick of hand ? Mel. That heape of age, which I should rev- erence If it were temperate, but testie yeeres 105 Are most contemptible. Amin, Good sir, forbeare. Cal. There is just such another as yourselfe. Amin. He will wrong you, or me, or any man, And talke as if he had no life to lose. Since this our match. The King is comming in ; no I would not for more wealth than I enjoy He should perceive you raging ; he did heare You were at difference now, which hastned him. Hoboyes play within. Cal. Make roome there ! Enter King, Evadne, Aspatiay Lords and Ladies. King. Melantius, thou art welcome, and my love • 115 Is with thee still ; but this is not a place To brabble in. — Calianax, joyne hands. 103 hand. Qi, B, hands. Scene ii] ^\)t ^a^Uts ®rageu^ 17 Cal. Hee shall not have mine hand. King. This is no time To force you too't. I do love you both : — Calianax, you looke well to your office ; — 120 And you, Melantius, are welcome home. — Begin the maske. AleL Sister, I joy to see you and your choyse. You lookt with my eies when you tooke that man ; Be happy in him ! Recorders. Evadne. O, my deerest brother, 125 Your presence is more joyful then this day Can be unto me. THE MASKE Night rises in mists. Night. Our reigne is come j for in the raging sea The sun is drownd, and with him fell the Day. Bright Cinthia, heare my voice! I am the Night, 130 For whom thou bearst about thy borrowed light. Appeare ! no longer thy pale visage shrowde, But strike thy silver homes quite through a cloud. And send a beame upon my swarthie face, By which I may discover all the place 1 3 5 And persons, and how many longing eies Are come to waite on our solemnities. Enter Cynthia. How dull and blacke am I ! I could not finde This beautie without thee, I am so blinde. 128 raging. Q^i^ quenching. 1 8 (ETl^e ^a^De0 tD^tageDi? [act i. Methinkes they shew like to those easteme streakes, 140 That wame us hence before the morning breakes. Back, my pale servant! for these eies know how To shoote farre more and quicker rayes then thou. Cynthia. Great queen, they be a troope for whom alone One of my clearest moones I have put on ; 145 A troope that lookes as if thyselfe and I Had pluckt our reines in and our whips laid by. To gaze upon these mortals, that appeare Brighter than we. Night. Then let us keepe 'em here, And never more our chariots drive away, 150 But hold our places and outshine the Day. Cynth. Great queene of shaddowes, you are pleasde to speake Of more then may be done ; we may not breake The gods decrees 5 but, when our time is come. Must drive away, and give the Day our roome. 155 Yet, whilst our raigne lasts, let us stretch our power To give our servants one contented houre. With such unwonted solemne grace and state. As may for ever after force them hate Our brothers glorious beames, and wish the Night, 160 Crown' d with a thousand starres and our cold light j For almost all the world their service bend To Phoebus, and in vaine my light I lend, Gaz'd on unto my setting from my rise Almost of none but of unquiet eyes. 165 Night. Then shine at full, faire queene, & by thy power Produce a birth, to crowne this happy houre, 151 hold. So F and Qq, except Q2, which misprints, keepe. 156 ivhiht. Q2, whir St. Qi omits lines 156-165. 160 iv'iih^ SlZ-^- S^> with. Scene II] Xl^^t ^3^1)00 tE^tageD^ 1 9 Of nymphes and shephcards ; let their songs discover, Easie and sweete, who is a happy lover ; Or, if thou woo't, then call thine owne Endimion 170 From the sweete flowrie bed he lies upon. On Latmus"" top, thy pale beames drawne away. And of his long night let him make a day. Cynth. Thou dreamst, darke queene ; that faire boy was not mine, Nor went I downe to kisse him. Ease and wine i75 Have bred these bold tales ; poets, when they rage, Tume gods to men, and make an houre an age. But I will give a greater state and glory. And raise to time a noble [r] memory Of what these lovers are. — Rise, rise, I say, 1 80 Thou power of deepes, thy surges laid away, Neptune, great king of waters, and by me Be proud to be commanded ! Neptune rises. Neptune. Cinthia, see. Thy word hath fetcht me hither ; let me know Why I ascend. Cynth. Doth this majesticke show 185 Give thee no knowledge yet ? Nep. Yes, now I see Something entended, Cinthia, worthy thee. Go on 5 He be a helper. Cynth. Hie thee, then. And charge the Winde flie from his rockie den, 170 ivoo^t. Q2, w'oo't. then call, gi, B, omit. 171 bed. Qi, banck. 172 top. Qi, B, brow. 173 And of his ... a day, so D. ^2, this long night . . this day ; Qi, his . , . thy ; 23 j ^is ... a. 179 nobler, so Ql. i89>>, S3-F. Qi,22, goe. 20 tlT^e ^a^Desf tCrageu^ [act l Let loose Ms subjects ; onely Boreas, 190 Too foule for our intentions as he was, Still keep him fast chaind : we must have none here But vemall blasts and gentle winds appeare, Such as blow flowers and through the glad bowes sing Many soft welcomes to the lusty spring ; 195 These are our musicke. Next, thy watrie race Bring on in couples (we are pleasd to grace This noble night), each in their richest things Your owne deepes or the broken vessell brings. Be prodigall, and I shall be as kind 200 And shine at full upon you. Nep. Oh, the Wind ! Commanding Eolus ! Enter Eolus out of a Rocke. JEolus. Great Neptune ! Nept. He. uEol. What is thy will ? Nep. We doe command thee, free Favonius and thy milder winds to waite Upon our Cinthia ; but tie Boreas straight, 205 Hee's too rebellious. ^ol. I shall doe it. Nep. Doe. \_Exit jEoIus.'\ [JEoluSy 'within.~\ Great master of the floud and all below, 190 his, 2i. Q2, thy. \ 196-97 These . . . couples. Qi reads : Bid them draw neere to have thy watrie race Led on in couples, we are pleas'd to grace See Notes for proposed emendations. 201 Oh. Qi, See; Q3, Hoe. PTind ! So Dyce. Theo, W, and B insert a hyphen after ivind^ no punctuation in Qq, F. 204 Favonius. Qz, Fanonius. 207-08 Great . . . Oythe. This arrangement of the text is due to Theobald. In Qi, Q2, .bolus's speech begins with, 0, the Maine .' Scene II.] ^}^t ^3^500 ©rageU^ 21 Thy full command has taken. — O, the Maine! Neptune ! Nep. Heere. [Re-enter Molus^ follonved by Fwvonius and other Winds. 1^ jEoI. Boreas has broke his chaine And, strugiing with the rest, has got away. 210 Nep. Let him alone j He take him up at sea j He will not long be thence. Goe once againe, And call out of the bottomes of the maine Blew Proteus and the rest ; charge them put on Their greatest pearles, and the most sparkling stone 215 The beaten rocke breeds ; tell this night is done By me a solemne honor to the Moone. Flie, like a full saile. ^ol. I am gone. \Exit.~\ Cynth. Darke Night, Strike a full silence, doe a thorow right To this great chorus, that our musicke may 220 Touch high as Heaven, and make the east breake day At midnight. Musicke. [FIRST] SONG. [During nvhicb Proteus and other Sea-deities enter. Ij^ Cinthia, to thy power and thee We obey. Joy to this great company! 225 And no day Come to steale this night away. Till the rites of love are ended, And the lusty bridegroome say. Welcome, light, of all befriended ! 230 212 He. Qi, D, B, I. ai6 telly Mason, D. gq, F, till. 22 ®t)r ^a^Ue0 tirragrli^ [act i. Pace out, you watery powers below j Let your feete, Like the gallies when they row. Even beate. Let your unknowne measures, set 235 To the still windes, tell to all, That gods are come, immortall, great, To honor this great nuptiall. The Measure. SECOND SONG. Hold backe thy houres, darke Night, till we have done : The day will come too soone : ^^40 Young maydes will curse thee, if thou steal' st away And leav'st their losses open to the day : Stay, stay and hide The blushes of the bride. Stay, gentle Night, and with thy darknesse cover 245 The kisses of her lover ; Stay, and confound her teares and her shrill cryings j Her weake denials, vows, and often-dyings j Stay, and hide all j But helpe not, though she call. 250 Nep. Great queene of us and heaven, hear what I bring To make this houre a full one, if not her measure. Cynth. Speak, seas king. 242 losses, Qi. S2-F, blushes. 252 If not her measure. Fleay suggests, " Another measure." Qi has a stage-direction after the second song, " Maskers daunce, Neptune leads it," — followed by i^olus's speech (1. 266). It omits the third song and the three speeches preceding. See Notes. Scene II. ] ^\)t ^a^De0 ^UQtH^ 23 Nep. The tunes my Amphitrite joyes to have When she will dance upon the rising wave, 255 And court me as she sayles. My Tritons, play Musicke to lay a storme. He lead the way. Measure. [THIRD] SONG. To bed, to bed ! Come, Hymen, lead the bride And lay her by her husbands side } Bring in the virgins every one a6o That greeve to lie alone. That they may kiss while they may say a maid ; To-morrow 'twill be other kist and said. Hesperus, be long a-shining Whilst these lovers are a-twining. 265 ^ol. [^'within']. Ho, Neptune! Nep. Eolus ! [^Re-enter ^olus.'] ^ol. The sea goes hie j Boreas hath rais'd a storme ; goe and apply Thy trident ; else, I prophesie, ere day Many a tall ship will be cast away. Descend with all the gods and all their power, 270 To strike a calme. \Exit^ Cynth. [We thanke you for this houre j My favour to you all.] To gratulate So great a service, done at my desire. Ye shall have many floods, fuller and higher Than you have wisht for, [and] no ebb shall dare 275 254 The. Q2, Thy. Amphitrite^ Q3. Q2, Amphitrites. 255 ske^ Seward. Q2, they. 259 lay. Heath, D. ^2, lead. 271-72 fFe thanke you . . . you all, so Ql. Qz, A thanks to every one, and. 275 and. Only in Ql. 24 ®lie ^a^Df sf ®rageti^ [act i. To let the day see where your dwellmg[s] are. Now back unto your government in hast, Lest your proud charge should swell above the wast And win upon the iland. Nep. We obay. Neptune descends and the Sea Gods. [Exeunt Fa^onius and other Winds. ~\ Cynth. Hold up thy head, dead Night ; seest thou not Day ? 280 The east begins to lighten ; I must downe And give my brother place. Night. Oh, I could frowne To see the Day, the Day that flings his light Upon my kingdomes and contemnes old Night ! Let him goe on and flame ! I hope to see 285 Another wild-fire in his axel-tree. And all fall drencht. But I forget : speake queene. The Day growes on ; I must no more be scene. Cynth. Heave up thy drowsie head agen and see A greater light, a greater majestic *9® Between our set and us ! Whip up thy team : The Day breakes here, and yon same flashing streame Shot from the south. Say, which way wilt thou goe ? Night. He vanish into mists. Cynth. I into Day. Exeunt [Night and Cynthia'] . Finis Maske. 276 dive/lings. Only ^2 reads, dwelling. 277 government. Qi, governments. Neptune . . . Sea Gods. After this line Ql has stage-direction, Exeunt Maskers Descend. 291 set. Seward's correction for Qq, F, sect. Whip. Qi,Lash. 292 same fi ashing. Qi, D, B, sun-flaring. 293 Say . . . goe. D, making a rhyming couplet, Which way wilt thou goe, say. 294 I into Day. Qi adds, Adew. Scene II.] ^\)t ^3^1)06^ WU^tti^ 2$ King. Take lights there! — Ladies, get the bride to bed. — ^95 We will not see you laid ; good night, Amintor ; Weele ease you of that tedious ceremonie. Were it my case, I should thinke time runne slow. If thou beest noble, youth, get me a boy That may defend my kingdomes from my foes. 3oo Jmin. All happinesse to you ! King. Good night, Melantius. Exeunt. Actus Secundus. [Scene I. A?ite-room to Evadne^s Bed-chamber.'^ Enter Evadne, Aspatia^ Dula, and other Ladyes. Dula. Madam, shall we undresse you for this fight ? The wars are nak't that you must make to-night. Evadne. You are very merry, Dula. Dul. I should be Far merrier, madam, if it were with me As it is with you. \Evad* Howes that ? Dul That I might goe 5 To bed with him wi'th' credit that you doe.] Evad. Why, how now, wench ? Dul. Come, ladies, will you helpe } Evad. I am soone undone. Dul. And as soone done ; Good store of clothes will trouble you at both. Evad. Art thou drunke, Dula ? Dul. Why, heeres none but we. lo Evad. Thou thinkst belike there is no mod- esty When we are alone. 5-6 Hoives that . . . doe. Evadne's speech and Dula's reply are only in ^l. Scene I] ®^e ^a^Desi tD^rageD^ 27 Dul. I, by my troth, you hit my thoughts aright. Evad, You pricke me, lady. 1st Lady, Tis against my will. Dul. Anon you must indure more and lie still ; 15 You're best to practise. Evad. Sure, this wench is mad. Dul. No faith, this is a tricke that I have had Since I was foureteene. Evad. Tis high time to leave it. Dul. Nay, now He keepe it till the trick leave me. A dozen wanton words put in your head 20 Will make you livelier in your husbands bed. Evad. Nay, faith, then take it. Dul. Take it, madam ; where ? We all, I hope, will take it that are here. Evad. Nay, then, He give you ore. Dul. So will I make The ablest man in Rhodes, or his heart ake. 25 Evad. Wilt take my place to-night ? Dul. He hold your cards Against any two I know. Evad. What wilt thou doe ? Dul. Madam, weele doo 't, and make *m leave play too. 14 1st Lady. Q^, Dul, 26 take. Ql, He m. \ 27 Against. Th, D, 'Gainst. Evad. Aspatia, take her part. DuL I will refuse it ; She will plucke downe a side ; she does not use it. 30 Evad. Why, doe, [I prethee.] DuU You will find the play Quickly, because your head lies well that way. Evad. I thanke thee, Dula. Would thou couldst instill Some of thy mirth into Aspatia ! Nothing but sad thoughts in her brest doe dwell ; 35 Methinkes a meane betwixt you would doe well. DuL She is in love : hang me, if I were so. But I could run my countrey. I love too To doe those things that people in love doe. Aspatia. It were a timelesse smile should prove my cheeke. 40 It were a fitter houre for me to laugh. When at the altar the religious priest Were pacifying the offended powers With sacrifice, then now. This should have beene My rite ; and all your hands have bin imploy'd 45 In giving me a spotlesse offering To young Amintors bed, as we are now For you. Pardon, Evadne : would my worth Were great as yours, or that the King, or he, 31 I prethee. Only in Ql. 38 could. B queries, would. 40 cheeke. Q2, cheeke. 45 ritCy so D. Ql, right } ^2 and other (^q and F, night. Scene I] tETJe ^Pa^Uttf tBt^^tH^ 29 Or both, thought so. Perhaps he found me worthlesse ; 50 But till he did so, in these eares of mine. These credulous eares, he powred the sweetest words That art or love could frame. If he were false, Pardon it. Heaven ! and, if I did want Vertue, you safely may forgive that too ; 55 For I have lost none that I had from you. Evad. Nay, leave this sad talke, madame. Asp. Would I could ! Then I should leave the cause. Evad. See, if you have not spoild all Dulas mirth ! Asp. Thou thinkst thy heart hard ; but if thou beest caught, 60 Remember me ; thou shalt perceive a fire Shot suddenly into thee. Dul. Thats not so good ; Let 'em shoot anything but fire, I feare 'em not. Asp. Well, wench, thou maist be taken. Evad. Ladies, good-night ; He doe the rest myselfe. 65 Dul. Nay, let your lord doe some. Asp. [singing]. Lay a garland on my hearse Of the dismall yew — 56 lost. 25-F", left. 58 I should. Q3-F, should I. 63 I feare. (^i, B, and I fear. 67-90 Lay . . . Madame. Q^i omits. Evad. Thats one of your sad songs, madame. Asp. Beleeve me, tis a very prety one. 70 Evad, How is it, madame ? Asp, SONG. Lay a garland on my hearse Of the dismall yew j Maidens, willow-branches beare, Say I died true. 75 My love was false, but I was firme From my houre of birth j Upon my buried body lie Lightly, gentle earth ! Evad. Fie ont, madame, the words are so strange, they 80 Are able to make one dreame of hobgoblines. — " I could never have the power " — sing that, Dula. Dul. \singing\ . I could never have the power To love one above an houre. But my heart would prompt mine eie 85 On some other man to flie. Venus, fix mine eies fast. Or, if not, give me all that I shall see at last ! 78 lie, Th. gq, F, lay. 79 g^^^K Q4-F- Q^, Q3, gently. 80-82 Fie . . . Dula. Qq, F, B print as prose. Scene I] tj^^t ^di^t>t$ ^U^tt^^ 3 1 Evad. So, leave me now. Dul. Nay, we must see you laid. Jsp. Madame, good night. May all the mar- iage joyes 90 That longing maids imagine in their beds Prove so unto you ! May no discontent Grow twixt your love and you ! but, if there doe, Enquire of me, and I will guide your mone ; Teach you an artificiall way to grieve, 95 To keepe your sorrow waking. Love your lord No worse than I ; but, if you love so well, Alas, you may displease him ; so did I. This is the last time you shall looke on me. — Ladies, farewell. As soone as I am dead, 100 Come all and watch one night about my hearse ; Bring each a mournefull story and a teare. To offer at it when I goe to earth ; With flattering ivy claspe my coffin round ; Write on my brow my fortune; let my beere 105 Be borne by virgins, that shall sing by course The truth of maides and perjuries of men. Evad. Alas, I pittie thee. Exit Evadne. Omnes. Madame, good night. 1st Lady. Come, weele let in the bridegroome. Dul. Where's my lord ? 1st Lady. Heere, take this light. 95 Teach, 23. Q^j Q*> ^nd teach. 34 ®fte ^a^De0 tECrageti^ [act ii. Enter Amintor. DuL You'le finde her in the darke. iio 1st Lady. Your ladye's scarce a-bed yet ; you must helpe her. Asp. Goe, and be happy in your ladies love. May all the wrongs that you have done to me Be utterly forgotten in my death ! He trouble you no more, yet I will take 115 A parting kisse, and will not be denied. \_Kisses Amintor. "^ You'le come, my lord, and see the virgins weepe When I am laid in earth, though you yourselfe Can know no pitty. Thus I winde myselfe Into this willow-garland, and am prouder 120 That I was once your love, though now refus'd, Then to have had another true to me. So with [my] praiers I leave you, and must trie Some yet unpractised way to grieve and die. Exit Aspatia. Dul. Come, ladies, will you go ? Omnes. Good night, my lord. 1*5 Amintor, Much happinesse unto you all ! Exeunt \Dula and~\ Ladies. I did that lady wrong. Methinkes I feele A griefe shoot suddenly through all my veines ; Mine eyes raine ; this is strange at such a time. It was the King first mov*d me too't ; but he 130 no Toule. gi, D, B, Heele. 123 »y, Q3. iz8 Ay <^i. ga, Her. 129 raincy Qi. Q2, runne. Scene I.] tl^\)t ^3^000 tEtrHgeU^ 33 Has not my will in keeping. — Why doe I Perplex myselfe thus ? Something whispers me, Goe not to bed. My guilt is not so great As mine owne conscience (too sensible) Would make me thinke ; I onely brake a pro- mise, 13s And twas the King that forst me. Timorous flesh, Why shak'st thou so ? Away, my idle feares ! Enter Evadne. Yonder she is, the luster of whose eie Can blot away the sad remembrance Of all these things. — Oh, my Evadne, spare 140 That tender body ; let it not take cold ! The vapors of the night will not fall here. To bed, my love ; Hymen will punish us For being slacke performers of his rites. Camst thou to call me ? Evad. No. Amin. Come, come, my love, 145 And let us lose ourselves to one another. Why art thou up so long ? Evad. I am not well. Amin. To bed then ; let me winde thee in these armes Till I have banisht sicknesse. 136 that font. Qi, inforst ; D, enforc'd. 142 'Will. <;)i, D, B, shaU. 34 ^^t ^a^ue0 ®rageti^ [act n. Evad. Good my lord, I cannot sleepe. Amin. Evadne, weele watch ; 150 I meane no sleeping. Evad. He not goe to bed. Amin. I prethee, do. Evad. I will not for the world. Amin. Why, my deere love ? Evad. Why ? I have sworne I will not. Amin. Sworne ! Evad. I. Amin. How ? sworne, Evadne ! Evad. Yes, sworne, Amintor; and will sweare again, 155 If you will wish to heare me. Amin. To whom have you sworne this ? Evad. If I should name him, the matter were not great. Amin. Come, this is but the coynesse of a bride. Evad. The coynesse of a bride ! Amin. How pretilyi6o That frowne becomes thee ! Evad. Doe you like it so ? Amin. Thou canst not dresse thy face in such a looke But I shall like it. Evad. What looke likes you best ? 164 likes. Qi, B, will like. Scene I] ®^e ^3^13^0 ©ragcu^ 35 Amin. Why doe you aske? Evad. That I may shew you one lesse pleas- ing to you. 165 Amin. Howes that ? Evad. That I may show you one lesse pleas- ing to you. Amin. I prethee, put thy jests in milder lookes ; It shewes as thou wert angry. Evad. So perhaps I am indeede. Amin. Why, who has done thee wrong ? 170 Name me the man, and by thyselfe I sweare. Thy yet unconquered self, I will revenge thee ! Evad. Now I shall trie thy truth. If thou doest love me, Thou weighest not anything compared with me : Life, honour, joyes eternall, all delights 175 This world can yeeld, or hopefull people faine, Or in the life to come, are light as aire To a true lover when his lady frownes. And bids him, " Doe this." Wilt thou kill this man ? Sweare, my Amintor, and Fie kisse the sin 180 Off from thy lips. Amin. I wonnot sweare, sweet love. Till I do know the cause. Evad. I wood thou wouldst. 36 W^t ^a^Ues? tETrageUi? [act h. Why, it is thou that wrongst me ; I hate thee ; Thou should'st have kild thyselfe. Jmin. If I should know that, I should quickly kill 185 The man you hated. Evad. Know it, then, and doo't. Jmin. Oh, no ! what look so ere thou shalt put on To trie my faith, I shall not think thee false ; I cannot finde one blemish in thy face Where falsehood should abide. Leave, and to bed. 190 If you have sworne to any of the virgins That were your old companions, to preserve Your maidenhead a night, it may be done Without this meanes. Evad. A maidenhead, Amintor, At my yeares ! Jmin. Sure she raves; this cannot be 195 Thy natural temper. — Shall I call thy maides ? Either thy healthfull sleepe hath left thee long. Or else some feaver rages in thy blood. Evad. Neither, Amintor : thinke you I am mad Because I speake the truth ? Jmin. [Is this the truth ?] 200 Will you not lie with me to-night ? 196 Thy. Qi, B, Her. 200 h this the truth f Only in Qi. Scene L] tB\)t ^W^Ut^ tCragtD^ 37 Evad, To-night ! You talke as if [you thought] I would hereafter. Jmin, Hereafter ! yes, I doe. Evad. You are deceived. Put off amazement & with patience marke What I shall utter, for the oracle 205 Knowes nothing truer. Tis not for a night Or two that I forbeare thy bed, but ever. Amin, I dreame. Awake, Amintor ! Evad. You heare right : I sooner will find out the beds of snakes. And with my youthful bloud warme their cold flesh, aio Letting them curie themselves about my limbes. Then sleepe one night with thee. This is not faind. Nor sounds it like the coynesse of a bride, Amin. Is flesh so earthly to endure all this ? Are these the joys of manage ? Hymen, keepe 215 This story (that will make succeeding youth Neglect thy ceremonies) from all eares; Let it not rise up, for thy shame and mine, To after ages. We will ^corne thy laws. If thou no better blesse them. Touch the heart 220 Of her that thou hast sent me, or the world Shall know ; there's not an altar that will smoke 202 you thought. Only in Ql. 207 e-ver, Q4-F, forever. 222 Shall knoiv ; there i not an altar. Qi, Shall know this, not an altar then will smoake — adopted by B. Q2 has no punc- tuation after knoiv. 38 aplje ^a^Des; tErageu^ [act ii. In praise of thee ; we will adopt us sons ; Then vertue shall inherit, and not blood. If we doe lust, wee'le take the next we meet, 225 Serving ourselves as other creatures doe j And never take note of the female more. Nor of her issue. — I doe rage in vaine ; She can but jest. — Oh, pardon me, my love ! So deare the thoughts are that I hold of thee, ^30 That I must breake forth. Satisfie my feare ; It is a paine, beyond the hand of death. To be in doubt : confirme it with an oath, If this be true. Evad. Doe you invent the forme; Let there be in it all the binding words *35 Divels and conjurers can put together. And I will take it. I have sworne before, And here by all things holy doe againe. Never to be acquainted with thy bed. Is your doubt over now ? 140 Amin. I know too much : would I had doubted still ! Was ever such a mariage-night as this ! You powers above, if you did ever meane Man should be us'd thus, you have thought a way How he may beare himselfe and save his honour : 245 Instruct me in it ; for to my dull eyes There is no meane, no moderate course to runne j Scene I.] ®t)e ^3^1500 ®rage0^ 39 I must live scorn'd, or be a murderer : Is there a third ? Why is this night so calme ? Why does not Heaven speake in thunder to us 250 And drow^ne her voice ? Evad, This rage will doe no good. Jmin. Evadne, heare me. Thou has tane an oath, But such a rash one, that to keepe it were Worse then to sweare it : call it backe to thee ; Such vowes as those never ascend the Heaven; 255 A teare or two will wash it quite away. Have mercy on my youth, my hopefull youth. If thou be pittifull ! for, without boast. This land was proud of me : what lady was there. That men cald faire and vertuous in this isle, 260 That would have shund my love ? It is in thee To make me hold this worth. Oh, we vaine men, That trust [out] all our reputation To rest upon the weake and yeelding hand Of feeble woman ! But thou art not stone ; 265 Thy flesh is soft, and in thine eyes doth dwell The spirit of love ; thy heart cannot be hard. Come, lead me from the bottome of despaire To all the joyes thou hast ; I know thou wilt ; And make me carefull lest the sudden change 270 Orecome my spirits. 255 those, gi, Th, D, B, that. 263 out^ Q3. 266 doth^ 23. (^2, doe. 40 JE^\)t ^a^Desf ^rageu^ [act ii. Evad. When I call backe this oath, The paines of hell inviron me ! Jmin. I sleepe, and am too temperate. Come to bed ! Or,by those haires, which, if thou ha[d] st a soule Like to thy locks, were threads for kings to weare a75 About their armes — Evad, Why, so perhaps they are. Amin. He dragge thee to my bed and make thy tongue Undoe this wicked oath, or on thy flesh He print a thousand wounds to let out life ! Evad, I feare thee not ; do what thou dar'st to me ! aSo Every ill-sounding word or threatning look Thou shewest to me will be reveng'd at full. Amin. It will not sure, Evadne ? Evad, Do not you hazard that. Amin, Ha ye your champions ? Evad, Alas, Amintor, thinkst thou I for- beare 285 To sleepe with thee, because I have put on A maidens strictnesse ? Looke upon these cheekes. And thou shalt finde the hot and rising blood Unapt for such a vow. No ; in this heart 274 badit^ Th. Scene I.] tE^f)t ^a^UfS ©tageD^ 4I There dwels as much desire and as much will 290 To put that wisht act in practice as ever yet Was knowne to woman j and they have been showne Both. But it was the folly of thy youth To think this beauty, to what land soere It shall be cald, shall stoope to any second. »95 I doe enjoy the best, and in that height Have sworne to stand or die : you guesse the man. Jmin, No ; let me know the man that wrongs me so, That I may cut his body into motes. And scatter it before the northren winde. 300 Evad. You dare not strike him. Jmin. Doe not wrong me so : Yes, if his body were a poysonous plant That it were death to touch, I have a soule Will throw me on him. Evad. Why tis the King. Jmin. The King! Evad. What will you doe now ? Jmin. Tis not the King ! 305 Evad. What did he make this match for, dull Amintor ? 291 ivisht. Qi, B, wished, ever. D, e'er. 294 land. B conjectures hand, observing that Evadne is em- ploying the language of falconry. 42 W^t ^a^Desi ®raget)^ [act ii. Jmin, Oh, thou hast nam'd a word that wipes away All thoughts revengefull ! In that sacred name, " The King," there lies a terror. What fraile man Dares lift his hand against it ? Let the gods 310 Speake to him when they please : till when, let us Suffer and waite. Evad. Why should you fill yourselfe so full of heate And haste so to my bed ? I am no virgin. Jmin. What divell put it in thy fancy, then, 315 To mary me ? Evad. Alas, I must have one To father children and to beare the name Of husband to me, that my sinne may be More honorable ! Jmin. What a strange thing am I ! Evad. A miserable one, one that myselfe 320 Am sory for. Jmin. Why, shew it then in this : If thou hast pittie, though thy love be none, Kill me ; and all true lovers, that shall live In after ages crost in their desires, Shall blesse thy memory and call thee good, 325 Because such mercy in thy heart was found. To rid a lingring wretch. 308 name. Qi, Th, D, B, word. 1^9 o. gi, B, omit. Scene I] ®t|e ^^^l}t!S tBU^tH^ 43 Evad. I must have one To fill thy roome again, if thou wert dead ; Else, by this night, I would ! I pitty thee. Amin. These strange and sudden injuries have falne 330 So thicke upon me, that I lose all sense Of what they are. Methinkes I am not wrong'd ; Nor is it ought, if from the censuring world I can but hide it. — Reputation, Thou art a word, no more ! — But thou hast showne 335 An impudence so high that to the world I feare thou wilt betray or shame thyselfe. Evad. To cover shame, I tooke thee ; never feare That I would blaze myselfe. Amin. Nor let the King Know I conceive he wrongs me ; then mine honor 340 Will thrust me into action ; that my flesh Could beare with patience. And it is some ease To me in these extremes, that I know this Before I toucht thee ; else, had all the sinnes Of mankinde stood betwixt me and the King, 345 I had gone through 'em to his heart and thine. I have lost one desire : tis not his crowne 341 that. Edd. 1778, W, tho'. 343 knoiu. Q4, knew. 347 loit. Qi, left. 44 Wi^t ^apDf tETrageD^ [act ii. Shall buy me to thy bed, now I resolve He has dishonour'd thee. Give me thy hand; Be carefull of thy credit, and sin close ; 350 Tis all I wish. Upon thy chamber-floure He rest to-night that morning visiters May thinke we did as married people use : And prethee, smile upon me when they come. And seeme to toy as if thou hadst beene pleased 355 With what we did. Evad. Feare not ; I will doe this. Jmin, Come, let us practise ; and, as wan- tonly As ever loving bride and bridegroome met, Lets laugh and enter here. Evad. I am content. Am'tn, Downe all the swellings of my troubled heart ! 360 When we walke thus intwin'd, let all eies see If ever lovers better did agree. Exeunt. [Scene II. An Apartment in the House of Calianax.'] Enter Aspatia, Antiphila, and Olimpias. Aspatia. Away, you are not sad ; force it no further. Good gods, how well you looke ! Such a full colour 358 loving, gi, B, longmg. Exeunt. Q2, Exit. scKNE II.] ^i^t ^a^De0 tETrageJj^ 45 Yo [u] ng bashfull brides put on ; sure, you are new maried ! Jntiphila. Yes, madame, to your griefe. Asp. Alas, poor wenches ! Goe learn to love first ; learne to lose your- selves ; 5 Learne to be flattered, and beleeve and blesse The double tongue that did it ; make a faith Out of the miracles of ancient lovers. Such as speake truth and died in't ; and, like me, Beleeve all faithful, and be miserable. lo Did you nere love yet, wenches ? Speake, Olim- pias : Thou hast an easie temper, fit for stamp. Olimpias. Never. Asp. Nor you, Antiphila ? Jnt, Nor I. Jsp. Then, my good girls, be more than women, wise ; At least bee more than I was; and be sure 15 You credit anything the light gives life to, Before a man. Rather beleeve the sea 9 speake. Th, D, spake. died. Q2, di'd. II Did . . . Olimpias. In all early editions except Qi, this line follows 1. 8 ; the transposition was made by Theobald. Ql, The double tongue that did it, Did you ere love yet wenches, speake Olimpas, Thou hast a metled temper, fit for stamp. 15-27 and be sure . . . beast man. Qi omits. Q2-F, as prose. 16 life, Q2. Q3-F, light. 46 ®t)e ^a^iie0 ®ragei>^ [act n. Weepes for the ruin'd marchant, when he rores ; Rather, the wind courts but the pregnant sailes, When the strong cordage crackes ; rather, the sunne ao Comes but to kisse the fruit in wealthy autumne. When all falles blasted. If you needs must love, (Forc'd by ill fate) take to your maiden bosomes Two dead-cold aspicks, and of them make lovers : They cannot flatter nor forsweare ; one kisse 25 Makes a long peace for all. But man — Oh, that beast man ! Come, lets be sad, my girles : That downe-cast of thine eie, Olimpias, Shewes a fine sorrow. — Marke, Antiphila ; Just such another was the nymph iEnones, 30 When Paris brought home Hellen. — Now, a teare ; And then thou art a piece expressing fully The Carthage queene, when from a cold sea- rocke. Full with her sorrow, she tied fast her eyes To the faire Trojan ships; and having lost them, 35 Just as thine does, downe stole a teare. — An- tiphila, 24 dead-cold. ^2, dead cold j corrected by Th. 30 j^nones. F, CEnone. 36 thine does. {^3, thine eyes doesj Q4-F, D, thine eyes do. Scene II. ] tl^\)t ^3^000 WtB^tt^ 47 What would this wench doe, if she were Aspa- tia ? Here she would stand till some more pittying god Turnd her to marble ! — Tis enough, my wench ! — Shew me the peece of needleworke you wrought. 40 j^nt. Of Ariadne, madam ? Jsp. Yes, that peece. — This should be Theseus ; h'as a cousening face. — You meant him for a man ? Jnt. He was so, madame. Jsp. Why, then, tis well enough. — Never looke backe ; You have a full winde and a false heart, Theseus. — 45 Does not the story say, his keele was split. Or his masts spent, or some kinde rocke or other Met with his vessell ? Jnt» Not as I remember. Jsp, It should ha beene so. Could the gods know this. And not, of all their number, raise a storme ? 50 But they are all as evil. This false smile Was well exprest ; just such another caught me. — 51-54 But they . . . quicksand. The division of lines follows D. In Qz lines end with exprest^ jintipAila, quicksand. 51 e-vii, D. Qq, F, ill. 48 tE^^e ^a^Ufs; STragelJ^ [act n. You shall not goe so. — Antiphila, in this place worke a quicksand, And over it a shallow smiling water, 55 And his ship ploughing it ; and then a Feare : Doe that Feare to the life, wench. Jnt. Twill wrong the storie Jsp. Twill make the story, wrongM by wanton poets. Live long and be beleev'd. But wheres the lady .? Ant, There, madame. 60 Asp. Fie, you have mist it here, Antiphila ; You are much mistaken, wench : These colours are not dull and pale enough To shew a soule so full of misery As this sad ladies was. Doe it by me, 65 Doe it againe by me, the lost Aspatia ; And you shall finde all true but the wilde iland. I stand upon the sea-breach now ; and thinke Mine armes thus, and mine haire blowne with the wind, Wilde as that desart ; and let all about me 70 Tell that I am forsaken. Doe my face (If thou hadst ever feeling of a sorrow) Thus, thus, Antiphila : strive to make me looke 57 to the life. Qi, bravely. 68 and thinkey Qi and D omit. Q^i, D, B, Suppose I stand upon the sea-breach now. 71 Tell that I am forsaken. ^\ substitutes, Be teares of my story } Theobald, Be teachers, etc. Scene II.] ^^t ^3^500 tE'tU^tt^ 49 Like Sorrowes monument ; and the trees about me, Let them be dry and leaveless ; let the rocks 75 Groane with continuall surges ; and behind me, Make all a desolation. Looke, looke, wenches, A miserable life of this poore picture ! Oiim. Deere madam ! ^sp. I have done. Sit downe, and let us Upon that point fixe all our eyes, that point there. 8o Make a dull silence, till you feel a sudden sad- nesse Give us new soules. En^er Calianax. Calianax, The King may doe this, and he may not doe it : My child is wrongd, disgraced. — Well, how now, huswives ? What, at your ease ! is this a time to sit still ? 85 Up, you young lazie whores, up, or He swenge you ! OUm, Nay, good my lord — Cal. You'l lie downe shortly. Get you in, and worke ! What, are you growne so reasty you want heates ? 77 Looke^ looke. Qi, D, B, See, see. 81 dull^ Q3 et al. ; Qi, Q2, dumbe. 89 reasty. Qi, rusty. QS* resty. 50 tET^r £pa^De0 tETragen^ [act ii. We shall have some of the court-boyes doe that office. 90 Ant. My lord, we doe no more than we are charg'd : It is the ladies pleasure we be thus In griefe, shee is forsaken. CaL Theres a rogue too, A young dissembling slave ! — Well, get you in. — He have a bout with that boy. Tis hie time 95 Now to be valiant : I confesse my youth Was never prone that way. What, made an asse ! A court-stale ! Well, I will be valiant. And beate some dozen of these whelps ; I will ! And theres another of 'em, a trim cheating soul- dier ; 100 He maule that rascall ; has out-brav'd me twice; But now, I thanke the gods, I am valiant. — Goe, get you in. — He take a course with all. Exeunt Om[nes], 90 doe that office. Qi, D, B, heat you shortly. 93 In griefe y shee is forsaken. Dyce omits comma ; Mason, B, omit comma and put semi-colon after thus. Qi— QS print in griefe in the preceding line. Actus Tertius. [Scene I. Ante-room to Evadne^ s Bed-chamber, "X Enter Cleon, StratOy and Diphilus. Cleon. Your sister is not up yet. Diphilus. Oh, brides must take their morn- ings rest; the night is troublesome. Strata. But not tedious. Diph. What ods, hee has not my sisters maid- 5 enhead to-night ? Stra. None; its ods against any bridegrome living, he nere gets it while he lives. Diph. Y'are merry with my sister; you'le please to allow me the same freedome with your lo mother. Stra. Shees at your service. Diph, Then shees merry enough of herselfe ; shee needs no tickling. Knocke at the dore. Stra. We shall interrupt them. 15 Diph, No matter; they have the yeare before them. ^Strato knocks.l Good morrow, sister. Spare yourselfe to-day ; The night will come againe. Enter Amintor Amintor. Whose there ? my brother ! Pm no readier yet. 20 Your sister is but now up. iNone^i^i. Qa, No. 52 ®^e ^a^ue^ tETrageUi^ [act m. Diph. You looke as you had lost your eyes to-night : I thinke you ha not slept. Jmin, I faith I have not. Diph. You have done better, then. Amin. We ventured for a boy j when he is twelve, as A shall command against the foes of Rhodes. Shall we be merry ? Stra, You cannot ; you want sleepe. Amin, Tis true. — (^Aside.) But she, As if she had drunke Lethe, or had made Even with Heaven, did fetch so still a sleepe, 30 So sweet and sound — Diph. Whats that ? Amin. Your sister frets This morning, and does turn her eyes upon me, As people on their headsman. She does chafe And kisse, and chafe againe, and clap my cheekes ; Shees in another world. 35 Diph. Then I had lost : I was about to lay You had not got her maidenhead to-night. Amin. [aside] . Ha ! he does not mocke me ? — Y'ad lost indeed ; I doe not use to bungle. Cleon. You doe deserve her. 38 be does not mocke. Qi, D, B, does he not mocke. Scene I] t!^\)t ^H^Urfi Wm%tl>^ 53 Jmin. (aside). I laid my lips to hers, and that wild breath, 40 That was so rude and rough to me last night, Was sweet as Aprill. He be guilty too. If these be the effects. Effter Melantius. Melantius. Good day, Amintor ; for to me the name Of brother is too distant ; we are friends, 45 And that is nearer. Amin. Deare Melantius ! Let me behold thee. — Is it possible ? Mel. What sudden gaze is this ? Amin. Tis wondrous strange ! Mel. Why does thine eye desire so strict a view Of that it knowes so well ? Theres nothing heere 50 That is not thine. Amin. I wonder much, Melantius, To see those noble lookes, that made me thinke How vertuous thou artj and, on the sudden, Tis strange to me thou shouldst have worth and honour; Or not be base, and false, and trecherous, 55 And every ill. But — Mel. Stay, stay, my friend ; I feare this sound will not become our loves : No more ; embrace me ! 58 No more ; embrace me. Qq and D read, No more embrace me. F has comma after more. 54 ^^t ^ai^Desf tlTrageti^ [act m. Amin. Oh, mistake me not ! I know thee to be full of all those deeds That we fraile men call good ; but by the course 60 Of nature thou shouldst be as quickly chang'd As are the windes, dissembling as the sea, That now weares browes as smooth as virgins be. Tempting the merchant to invade his face, And in an houre cals his billows up, 65 And shoots em at the sun, destroying all A carries on him. — (^Jside.^ Oh, how nere am I To utter my sicke thoughts ! Mel. But why, my friend, should I be so by nature ? Amin. I have wed thy sister, who hath vertu- ous thoughts 70 Enow for one whole family ; and it is strange That you should feele no want. Mel, Beleeve me, this is complement too cunning for me. Diph. What should I be then by the course of nature. They having both robd me of so much vertue ? 75 Stra, Oh, call the bride, my lord Amintor, That wee may see her blush, and turne her eies downe : It is the pritiest sport. Amin. Evadne ! 73 this h complement. D, this compliment's. Scene I] tET^Jt ^n^tt& tCragftJ^ 55 Evadne (within). My lord ? Amin. Come forth, my love : Your brothers do attend to wish you joy. 80 Evad, [within^ . I am not ready yet. Amin. Enough, enough. Evad. ^iuithin~\ . They'le mock me. Amin. Faith, thou shalt come in. Enter Evad?ie. Mel. Good morrow, sister. He that under- stands Whom you have wed, neede not to wish you joy ; You have enough ; take heede you be not proud. 85 Diph. Oh, sister, what have you done ? Evad. I done ! Why, what have I done ? Stra. My lord Amintor sweares you are no maid now. Evad. Push! Stra. I faith, he does. Evad. I knew I should be mockt. 90 Diph. With a truth. Evad. If twere to doe againe, In faith I would not mary. Amin. (aside). Nor I, by Heaven ! Diph. Sister, Dula sweares Shee heard you cry two roomes ofF. Evad. Fie, how you talke ! 86-102 Ok, sister . . . the other ivay. The arrangement of lines is based on that of Dyce. B prints as prose. 56 W\)t ^a^ue0 tETrageD^ [act m. Diph. Lets see you walke. 95 Evad. By my troth y'are spoild. Mel. Amintor. — Jmin, Ha! Mel, Thou art sad. Jmin. Who, I ? I thanke you for that. Shall Diphilus, thou, and I sing a catch ? Mel. How ? loo Amin. Prethee, lets. Mel. Nay, that's too much the other way. Amin. I am so lightned with my happi- nesse ! — How dost thou, love ? Kisse me. Evad. I cannot love you, you tell tales of me. 105 Amin. Nothing but what becomes us. — Gentlemen, Would you had all such wives, — and all the world. That I might be no wonder ! — Y'are all sad : What, doe you envie me ? I walke, methinks, On water, and nere sinke, I am so light. no Mel. Tis well you are so. Amin. Well, how can I be other, When shee lookes thus ? — Is there no musicke there ? Lets dance. 95-96 Diph. Lets . . . spoilJ. Edd. 1778, W, and B, read : DipA. Let's see you walk, Evadne. By my troth, y'are spoil'd. Scene I] tE^t ^a^Ur0 ^tUQttl^ 57 Mei. Why this is strange, Amintor ! Jmin. I doe not know myselfe ; yet I could wish My joy were lesse. 115 Dtph. He mary too, if it will make one thus. Evad, (aside). Amintor, harke. Amin, What saies my love ? — I must obey. Evad, You doe it scurvily ; twill be perceivM. Cleon. My lord, the King is here. 120 Enter King and Lisip\_pus\, Amin, Where ? Stra. And his brother. King. Good morrow, all ! — Amintor, joy on joy fall thicke upon thee ! — And, madame you are alterd since I saw you ; 125 I must salute you ; you are now anothers. How lik't you your nights rest ? Evad. Ill, sir. Amin. Indeed, She tooke but little. Lysippus. You'le let her take more, And thanke her too, shortly. King. Amintor, wert thou truely honest till 130 Thou wert maried ? Amin. Yes, sir. King. Tell me, then, how shews The sport unto thee ? Amin. Why, well. 58 arije ^a^Des; tETrageu^ [act m. King. What did you doe ? Amin. No more, nor lesse then other couples use ; You know what tis ; it has but a coarse name. King. But, prethee, I should thinke by her blacke eie 135 And her red cheeke, shee should be quicke and stirring In this same businesse, ha ? Amin. I cannot tell ; I nere tried other, sir ; but I perceive She is as quicke as you delivered. King, Well, youle trust me then, Amintor, to choose 140 A wife for you agen ? Amin. No, never, sir. King. Why, like you this so ill ? Amin. So well I like her. For this I bow my knee in thanks to you. And unto Heaven will pay my gratefull tribute Hourely ; and doe hope we shall draw out 145 A long contented life together here, And die, both full of gray haires, in one day : For which the thanks is yours. But if the powers That rule us please to call her first away. Without pride spoke, this world holds not a wife 150 Worthy to take her roome. Scene I.] tE^t ^3^000 WU^tt^^ 59 King. I doe not like this. — All forbeare the roome, But you, Amintor, and your lady. \_Exeu;it all but the Kingy Amintor y and Evadne.'\ I have some speech with you that may concerne Your after living well. 155 Amin. \astde\ . A will not tell me that he lies with her ! If he doe, something heavenly stay my heart, For I shall be apt to thrust this arme of mine To acts unlawfull ! King. You will suffer me To talke with her, Amintor, and not have 160 A jealous pang ? Amin. Sir, I dare trust my wife With whom she dares to talke, and not be jeal- ous. \Retires.'\ King. How doe you like Amintor ? Evad. As I did, sir. King. Howes that ? Evad. As one that, to fulfil your will and pleasure, 165 I have given leave to call me wife and love. King. I see there is no lasting faith in sin ; They that breake word with Heaven will breake agen With all the world, and so doest thou with me ? 165 your will. Qi omits. 6o Wi^t ^a^Desf tETrageu^ [act m. Evad. How, sir? King. This subtle womans ignorance 170 Will not excuse you : thou hast taken oathes, So great, methought, they did misbecome A womans mouth, that thou wouldst nere injoy A man but me. Evad. I never did sweare so ; You doe me wrong. King. Day and night have heard it. 175 Evad. I swore indeed that I would never love / man of lower place ; but, if your fortune Should throw you from this height, I bade you trust I would forsake you, and would bend to him That won your throne : I love with my ambition, 180 Not with my eies. But, if I ever yet Toucht any other, leprosie light here Upon my face ! which for your royalty I would not staine. King. Why, thou dissemblest, and It is in me to punish thee. Evad. Why, it is in me, 185 Then, not to love you, which will more afflict Your body then your punishment can mine. King. But thou hast let Amintor lie with thee. Evad. I hannot. 172 methought, Q3-F. Ql, Q2, that methought. misbecome. 23-F. D> B, not well become. Scene I] ©^e ^di^titS tBm^tt^^ 6 1 King. Impudence ! he saies himselfe so. Evad. A lies. King. A does not. Evad. By this light, he does, 190 Strangely and basely ! and lie prove it so. I did not only shun him for a night, But told him I would never close with him. King. Speake lower; tis false. Evad. I am no man To answere with a blow; or if I were, i95 You are the King. But urge [me] not ; tis most true. King. Doe not I know the uncontrouled thoughts That youth brings with him when his blood is high With expectation and desire of that He long hath waited for ? Is not his spirit, aoo Though he be temperate, of a valiant straine As this our age hath knowne ? What could he doe. If such a suddaine speech had met his blood. But ruine thee forever, if he had not kild thee ? He could not beare it thus : he is as we, 205 Or any other wrong'd man. Evad. It is dissembling. 196 me, 23. Qi, Qz, omit. 62 ^^t ^a^ije0 tETraget)^ [act m. King. Take him ! farewel j henceforth I am thy foe ; And what disgraces I can blot thee with, looke for. Evad. Stay, sir. — Amintor ! — You shall heare. — Amintor ! Amin. [coming forward] . What, my love ? aio Evad. Amintor, thou hast an ingenious look. And shouldst be vertuous : it amazeth me That thou canst make such base malicious lies. Amin. What, my deere wife ? Evad. Deere wife ! I doe despise thee. Why, nothing can be baser then to sow *i5 Dissention amongst lovers. Amin. Lovers, who ? Evad. The King and me. Amin. Oh, God ! Evad. Who should live long and love with- out distast. Were it not for such pickthanks as thyselfe. Did you lie with me? swearenow,and be punishtazo In hell for this. Amin. The faithlesse sin I made To faire Aspatia is not yet reveng'd ; It followes me. — I will not lose a word 212 shouldst. (^2, should'st. 213 canst. Q2, can'st. 217 Gody Qz. Later editions change to Heaven, and so through- out the play. 223 lose. <^6, F, D, B. gi-Qs, loose. Scene I] tCl^e ^^UCfif tKragCD^ 63 To this vilde woman : but to you, my King, The anguish of my soule thrusts out this truth, 225 Y'are a tyrant ! and not so much to wrong An honest man thus, as to take a pride In talking with him of it. Evad. Now, sir, see How loud this fellow lied ! Amin, You that can know to wrong, should know how men 230 Must right themselves. What punishment is due From me to him that shall abuse my bed ? Is it not death ? Nor can that satisfie, Unlesse I send your lives through all the land. To shew how nobly I have freed myselfe. ^35 King, Draw not thy sword ; thou know'st I cannot feare A subjects hand ; but thou shall feele the weight Of this, if thou doest rage. Amin, The weight of that ! If you have any worth, for Heavens sake, thinke I feare not swords; for, as you are meere man, 240 I dare as easily kill you for this deed. As you dare thinke to doe it. But there is Divinitie about you that strikes dead My rising passions : as you are my King, I fall before you and present my sword 245 224 -vilde^ D. Qq, F, wild. 233 /s ;V, Edd. 1778. Qq, F, It is. 234 //1/ei. Sympson, D, limbs. To cut mine owne flesh, if it be your will. Alas, I am nothing but a multitude Of wa[l]k:ing griefes ! Yet, should I murder you, I might before the world take the excuse Of madnesse : for, compare my injuries, *5o And they will well appeare too sad a weight For reason to endure. But fall I first Amongst my sorrowes, ere my treacherous hand Touch holy things ! But why (I know not what I have to say) why did you choose out me 255 To make thus wretched ? There were thou- sands, fooles, Easie to worke on, and of state enough, Within the iland. Evad. I would not have a foole; It were no credit for me. Amin. Worse and worse ! Thou that dar*st talke unto thy husband thus, 260 Professe thyselfe a whore, and, more then so, Resolve to be so still ! — It is my fate To beare and bowe beneath a thousand griefes, To keepe that little credit with the world ! — But there were wise ones too ; you might have tane 265 Another. 248 ivalking : so Qq, except Q2, which misprints, waking. 256 thousands. Comma inserted by B. F, D, thousand fooles. Scene I] ®j|e ^a)?Deflf WUQtl}^ 65 King. No, for I beleve[cl] thee honest As thou wert valiant. Amtn. All the happinesse BestowM upon me turnes into disgrace. Gods, take your honesty againe, for I Am loaden with it ! — Good my lord the King, 270 Be private in it. King. Thou maist live, Amintor, Free as thy King, if thou wilt winke at this And be a meanes that we may meet in secret. Amin. A baud ! Hold, hold, my brest ! A bitter curse Seize me if I forget not all respects 175 That are religious, on another word Sounded like that ; and through a sea of sinnes Will wade to my revenge, though I should call Paines heere and after life upon my soule ! King. Well, I am resolute you lay not with her ; 180 And so I leave you. Exit King. Evad. You must needs be prating; And see what follows ! Amin. Prethe, vex me not. Leave me. I am afraid some sudden start Will pull a murther on me. Evad. I am gone ; I love my life well. Exit Evadne, 266 beleved. Corrected by D. 66 tB^t ^w^r>tfsi tZTrageD^ [act m. Amin. I hate mine as much. ^85 This tis to breake a troth ! I should be glad If all this tide of griefe would make me mad. Exit. [Scene II. J Room in the Palace. '\ Enter Melantius. Melantius. He know the cause of all Amintors griefes, Or friendship shall be idle. Enter Calianax. Calianax. Oh, Melantius, My daughter will die ! Mel. Trust me, I am sorry ; Would thou hadst tane her roome ! Cal. Thou art a slave, A cut-throat slave, a bloody treacherous slave ! Mel. Take heed, old man ; thou wilt be heard to rave. And lose thine offices. Cal. I am valiant growne At all these yeares, and thou art but a slave ! Mel. Leave! Some company will come, and I respect Thy yeares, not thee, so much that I could wish To laugh at thee alone. Cal. He spoile your mirth : Scene II.] W^t ^U^t^tSi WU^tti^ 67 I meane to fight with thee. There lie, my cloake ! This was my fathers sword, and he durst fight. Are you prepar'd ? Me/. Why, wilt thou doate thyselfe 15 Out of thy life ? Hence, get thee to bed. Have carefull looking-to, and eate warme things. And trouble not mee : my head is full of thoughts More waighty then thy life or death can be. Ca/. You have a name in warre, where you stand safe ao Amongst a multitude ; but I will try What you dare doe unto a weake old man In single fight. You'le give ground, I feare. Come, draw. Me/. I will not draw, unlesse thou pulst thy death 25 Upon thee with a stroke. Theres no one blow That thou canst give hath strength enough to kill me. Tempt me not so far, then ; the power of earth Shall not redeeme thee. Ca/. [aside'^ . I must let him alone ; Hees stout and able ; and, to say the truth, 30 However I may set a face and talke, I am not valiant. When I was a youth, I kept my credit with a testie tricke I had amongst cowards, but durst never fight. 34 amongst. Ql, mongst. 68 Wi^t ^a^De0 tETrageU^ [act m. Mel. I will not promise to preserve your life, 35 If you doe stay. Cal. \_aside~\, I would give halfe my land That I durst fight with that proud man a little. If I had men to hold him, I would beate him Till he aske me mercy. Mel. Sir, wil you be gone ? Cal. [aside'] . I dare not stay j but I will goe home and beat 4^, Q3- Si) 2^) my. 76 tE^t ^a^tie^ tlTrageti^ [actiii. Till I have freed thee : still this swelling brest. I goe thus from thee, and will never cease My vengeance till I finde thy heart at peace. 205 Jmin. It must not be so. Stay ! Mine eies would tell How loth I am to this ; but, love and teares. Leave me awhile ! for I have hazarded All that this world cals happy. — Thou hast wrought A secret from me, under name of friend, aio Which art could nere have found, or torture wrung From out my bosome. Give it me agen; For I will find it where soere it lies. Hid in the mortal'st part : invent a way To give it backe. Mel. Why would you have it backe ?2i5 I will to death pursue him with revenge. Amin. Therefore I call it backe from thee ; for I know Thy blood so high that thou wilt stir in this, And shame me to posterity. Take to thy weapon. [Draws his sword.~\ Mel. Heare thy friend that beares more yeares then thou. azo Amtn. I will not heare : but draw, or I — Mel. Amintor ! 205 tby, Q^i. Q2-F, my. Scene II.] tE^f^t ^a^Uefi ©tagflll? 77 Amin. Draw, then : for I am full as resolute As fame and honour can inforce me be : I cannot linger. Draw ! Mel. I doe. But is not My share of credit equall with thine, 225 If I doe stir ? Amin. No : for it will be cald Honor in thee to spill thy sisters blood. If she her birth abuse ; and, on the King A brave revenge : but on me, that have walkt With patience in it, it will fixe the name 230 Of fearefuU cuckold. O, that word ! Be quicke ! Mel. Then, joyne with me. Amin. I dare not doe a sinne, Or else I would. Be speedy. Mel. Then, dare not fight with me ; for that's a sin. — His griefe distracts him. — Call thy thoughts agen, ^ 235 And to thyselfe pronounce the name of friend. And see what that will worke. I will not fight. Amin. You must. Mel. [sheathing his sword'\ . I will be kild first. Though my passions Offered the like to you, tis not this earth 225 thine. D suggests, thine own. 232-233 I . . . speedy. The division of lines is by editor. Qq, F, D, B, end lines with me^ ivou/d, speedy. 78 tE^^t ^a^lir0 tETragetJ^ [act m. Shall buy my reason to it. Thinke awhile, 240 For you are (I must weepe when I speake that) Almost besides yourselfe. Jmin. \jheathing his sword^ . Oh, my soft tem- per ! So many sweet words from thy sisters mouth, I am afraid would make me take her to Embrace, and pardon her. I am mad indeed ^45 And know not what I doe. Yet have a care Of me in what thou doest. Alel. Why, thinks my friend I will forget his honor ? or, to save The bravery of our house, will lose his fame. And feare to touch the throne of majestic ? *5o Jmin. A curse will follow that ; but rather live And suffer with me. Mel. I will doe what worth Shall bid me, and no more. Jmin. Faith, I am sicke. And desperately I hope ; yet, leaning thus, I feele a kind of ease. Mel. Come, take agen 255 Your mirth about you. Amin. I shall never doo't. Mel. I warrant you ; looke up ; weele walke together ; Put thine arme here j all shall be well agen ? Scene II. ] tE^^t ^3^1)00 tKtageD^ 79 Jmin. Thy love (oh, wretched !) I, thy love, Melantius ; Why I have nothing else. Mei. Be merry then. a6o Exeunt. Enter Melantius agen. Mel. This worthy yong man may doe vio- lence Upon himselfe, but I have cherisht him To my best power, and sent him smiling from me, To counterfeit againe. Sword, hold thy edge; My heart will never faile me. Enter Diphilus. Diphilus ! 165 Thou comst as sent. Diphilus. Yonder has bin such laughing. Mel. Betwixt whom ? Diph. Why, our sister and the King. I thought their spleenes would breake ; they laught us all Out of the roome. Mel. They must weepe, Diphilus. Diph. Must they ? Mel. They must. 270 Thou art my brother ; &, if I did beleeve 263 To my best poiver^ Q3 et al, (^i, Q2, As well as I could. Enter Diphilus. This follows Thou comst as sent, in Q2. 8o tEClje ^w^tts QTragrU^ [act m. Thou hadst a base thought, I would rip it out, Lie where it durst. Diph. You should not ; I would first Mangle myselfe and finde it. Mel. That was spoke According to our straine. Come, joyne thy hands to mine, 275 And sweare a firmnesse to what project I Shall lay before thee. Diph. You doe wrong us both : People hereafter shall not say there past A bond, more than our loves, to tie our lives And deaths together. a8o MeL It is as nobly said as I would wish. Anon He tell you wonders : we are wrong'd. Diph. But I will tell you now, weele right ourselves. Alel. Stay not : prepare the armour in my house ; And what friends you can draw unto our side, 285 Not knowing of the cause, make ready too. Haste, Diph [ilus] , the time requires it, haste ! — Exit Diphilus. I hope my cause is just ; I know my blood • Tels me it is ; and I will credit it. To take revenge, and lose myself withall, 290 Were idle; and to scape impossible, 275 to mine. Qi, Th, B, omit. Scene il] tE^tje ^a^Uf^ tETrageU^ 8 1 Without I had the fort, which (miserie ! ) Remaining in the hands of my old enemy, Calianax — but I must have it. See, Enter Calia?iax. Where he comes shaking by me ! — Good my lord, 295 Forget your spleene to me ; I never wrong'd you. But would have peace with every man. Cal. Tis well ; If I durst fight, your tongue would lie at quiet. Mel. Y'are touchie without all cause. Cal. Doe, mocke me. Mel. By mine honor, I speake truth. Cal. Honor ! where ist ? 300 Mel. See, what starts you make Into your [idle] hatred to my love And freedome to you. I come with resolution To obtaine a sute of you. Cal. A sute of me ! Tis very like it should be granted, sir. 305 Mel. Nay, goe not hence : Tis this ; you have the keeping of the fort, And I would wish you, by the love you ought To beare unto me, to deliver it Into my hands. Cal. I am in hope thou art mad, 310 To talke to me thus. 299 all. Mermaid ed. omits. 302 idle. Only in Qi. 82 ®t)e ^a^ue0 ®rageD^ [act m. MeL But there is a reason To move you to it : I would kill the King, That wrong'd you and your daughter. Cal. Out, traitor ! MeL Nay, but stay : I cannot scape, the deed once done. Without I have this fort. Cal. And should I helpe thee? 315 Now thy treacherous mind betraies itselfe. Mel. Come, delay me not ; Give me a sudden answere, or already Thy last is spoke ! Refuse not offered love When it comes clad in secrets. Cal. \aside'\ . If I say 320 I will not, he will kill me ; I doe see't Writ in his lookes ; and should I say I will, Heele run and tell the King. — I doe not shun Your friendship, deere Melantius, but this cause Is weighty : give me but an houre to thinke. 3*5 Mel. Take it. — \^Aside^ I know this goes unto the King; But I am arm'd. Exit Melantius. Cal. Methinks I feele myselfe But twenty now agen. This fighting foole Wants policie : I shall revenge my girle. And make her red againe. I pray my legges 33° Will last that pace that I will carry them ; I shall want breath before I find the King. Exit. Actus Quartus. [Scene I. Jn Apartment of EvadneA Enter Melantiusy Evadne, and a Lady. Melantius. Save you Evadne, Save you, sweet brother. Mel. In my blunt eie, methinks, you looke, Evadne — Evad. Come, you would make me blush. Mel. I would, Evadne ; I shall displease my ends else. Evad. You shall, if you Commend me; I am bashfull. Come, sir, how doe I looke ? Mel. I would not have your women heare me Break into commendations of you ; tis not Seemely. Evad. Goe waite me in the gallery. Exeunt Ladies. Now speake. Mel. He locke the dore first. Evad. Why ? 5 Commend, ^q, Command. Corrected by Th. Exeunt Ladies, gq, F, print this after the dore first. The in- consistency between Ladies and a Lady at the opening of the act has been corrected by modern editors. 84 tE'^t ^a^De0 tErageD^ [act iv. Alel. I will not have your guilded things, that dance lo In visitation with their Millan skins, Choake up my businesse. Evad. You are strangely disposM, sir. Mel. Good madame, not to make you merry. Evad. No, if you praise me, twill make me sad. Mel. Such a sad commendation I have for you. 15 Evad. Brother, The court has made you wittie, and learne to riddle. Mel. I praise the court for't : has it learnd you nothing ? Evad. Me! Mel. I, Evadne, thou art young and han- some, A lady of a sweet complexion, 20 And such a flowing carriage that it cannot Chuse but inflame a kingdome. Evad. Gentle brother ! Mel. Tis yet in thy repentance, foolish woman. To make me gentle. Evad. How is this ? Mel. Tis base, 15 commendation, Q6. ^2, commendations. Scene L] tETtje ^3^000 ^m%tt>^ 85 And I could blush at these yeeres, through all 25 My honord scars, to come to such a parly. Evad, I understand ye not. Mel. You dare not, foole ! They that commit thy faults flie the remem- brance. Evad. My faults, sir! I would have you know, I care not If they were written here, here in my forehead. 30 Mel. Thy body is too little for the story ; The lusts of which would fill another woman, Though she had twins within her. Evad. This is saucie : Looke you intrude no more. There [lies] your way. MeL Thou art my way, and I will tread upon thee, 35 Till I find truth out. Evad. What truth is that you looke for ? Mel. Thy long-lost honour. Would the gods had set mee Rather to grapple with the plague, or stand One of their loudest bolts ! Come, tell me quickly ; Doe it without inforcement, and take heed 40 You swell me not above my temper. 25 through. Q3, thorough. 34 There lies, Q3. Qi, Q2, Thercs. 86 Wf^t ^a^urs? ®raget)^ [act iv. Evad. How sir ! Where got you this report ? Mel. Where there was people, In every place. Evad. They and the seconds of it Are base people ; beleeve them not ; they lied. Mel. Do not play with mine anger ; doe not, wretch ! 45 I come to know that desperate foole that drew thee From thy faire life : be wise and lay him open. Evad. Unhand me, and learne manners ! such another Forgetfulnesse forfets your life. Mel. Quench me this mighty humour, and then tell me 50 Whose whore you are; for you are one, I know it. Let all mine honors perish but He find him. Though he lie lockt up in thy bloud ! Be sudden ; There is no facing it ; and be not flattered ; The burnt aire where the Dog raignes is not fouler 55 Than thy contagious name, till thy repentance (If the gods grant thee any) purge thy sicknesse. Evad. Begone ! you are my brother ; thats your safety. Mel. He be a wolfe first : tis, to be thy brother. An infamy below the sinne of coward. 60 Scene I.] tE^^e ^3^000 tBtdi^m ^7 I am as far from being part of thee As thou art from thy vertue : seeke a kindred Mongst sensuall beasts, and make a goat thy brother ; A goat is cooler. Will you tell me yet ? Evad. If you stay here and raile thus, I shall tell you 65 He ha you whipt. Get you to your command. And there preach to your centinels, and tell them What a brave man you are : I shall laugh at you. MeL Y'are growne a glorious whore ! Where be your fighters ? What mortall foole durst raise thee to this daring, 70 And I alive ! By my just sword, h'ad safer Bestrid a billow when the angry North Plowes up the sea, or made Heavens fire his foe ! Worke me no hier. Will you discover yet ? Evad. The fellowes mad. Sleepe, and speake sense. 75 MeL Force my swolne heart no further : I would save thee. Your great maintainers are not here ; they dare not : Would they were all, and armed ! I would speake loud : 72 Bestrid. Q2, Bestride. 73 foe. Only in Qi. Q2, food. 76-85 Force . . . canker. Prose in gq and F. 88 ®^e ^a^ues; tE^rageii^ [act iv. Heres one should thunder to 'em ! Will you tell me ? — Thou hast no hope to scape : he that dares most 8c And dams away his soule to doe thee service, Will sooner snatch meat from a hungry lyon Then come to rescue thee ; thou hast death about thee — Has undone thine honour, poyson'd thy vertue, And, of a lovely rose, left thee a canker. 85 Evad, Let me consider. Mel. Doe, whose childe thou wert. Whose honour thou hast murdered, whose grave opened. And so pul'd on the gods that in their justice They must restore him flesh agen and life. And raise his dry bones to revenge this scandall. 90 Evad. The gods are not of my minde ; they had better Let 'em lie sweet still in the earth ; they'l stinke here. Mel. Doe you raise mirth out of my easinesse ? Forsake me, then, all weaknesses of nature. That make men women! Speake, you whore, speake truth, 95 Or, by the deare soule of thy sleeping father. This sword shall be thy lover ! Tell, or He kill thee; And, when thou hast told all, thou wilt deserve it. 84 Hai. F, H'as ; D, He has. Scene L] ^^0 ^a^De0 ^tn^tt}^ 89 Evad, You will not murther me ? MeL No ; tis a justice, and a noble one, 100 To put the light out of such base offenders. Evad. Helpe ! MeL By thy foule selfe, no humane helpe shal help thee, If thou criest ! When I have kild thee, as I Have vow^'d to doe, if thou confesse not, naked 105 As thou hast left thine honor, will I leave thee. That on thy branded flesh the world may read Thy blacke shame and my justice. Wilt thou bend yet ? Evad. Yes. Mel. Up, and begin your storie. Evad. Oh, I am miserable ! no Mel. Tis true, thou art. Speake truth still. Evad. I have offended : noble sir, forgive me ! Mel. With what secure slave ? Evad. Doe not ask me, sir; Mine owne remembrance is a miserie Too mightie for me. Mel. Do not fall back agen ; 115 My sword's unsheathed yet. Evad. What shall I doe ? Mel. Be true, and make your fault lesse. Evad. I dare not tell. Mel. Tell, or He be this day a-killing thee. Evad. Will you forgive me, then ? 90 XE^^t ^pa^Des; tD^rageu^ [act iv. Mel. Stay ; I must aske mine honor first. 120 I have too much foolish nature in me. Speake. Evad. Is there none else here ? Mel. None but a fearefull conscience ; thats too many. Who ist ? Evad. Oh, heare me gently ! It was the King. Mel. No more. My worthy fathers and my services i*5 Are liberally rewarded ! King, I thanke thee ! For all my dangers and my wounds thou hast paid me In my owne metall : these are souldiers thanks! — How long have you lived thus, Evadne ? Evad. Too long. Mel. Too late you find it. Can you be sorry ? 130 Evad. Would I were halfe as blamelesse ! Mel. Evadne, thou wilt to thy trade againe. Evad. First to my grave. Mel. Would gods thou hadst beene so blest ! Dost thou not hate this King now ? prethe hate him. 129-130 Too . . . sorry. Qi, E'vad. Too long, too late I finde it. Mel. Can you be very sorry ? Scene I.] tE^tje ^3^1)00 tCtageU^ 9^ Could'st thou not curse him ? I command thee, curse him ; i35 Curse till the gods heare, and deliver him To thy just wishes. Yet I feare, Evadne, You had rather play your game out. Evad. No ; I feele Too many sad confusions here, to let in Any loose flame hereafter. 140 Mel. Dost thou not feele amongst all those, one brave anger That breakes out nobly and directs thine arme To kill this base King ? Evad. All the gods forbid it ! Mel. No, all the gods require it ! They are dishonored in him. Evad. Tis too fearefull. 145 Mel. Y'are valiant in his bed, and bold enough To be a stale whore, and have your madams name Discourse for groomes and pages ; and hereafter. When his coole majestie hath laid you by. To be at pension with some needie sir 150 For meat and courser cloathes ; thus far you know No feare. Come, you shall kill him. 135 Could \t thou not curse him f Qi , Has sunke thy faire soule. 151 knonv. Qi, had. ^3, knew. 92 tETJie ^a^De0 ®rageu^ [act iv. Evad, Good sir [ Mel. An twere to kisse him dead, thoudst smoother him : Be wise, and kill him. Canst thou live, and know What noble minds shall make thee, see thyselfe»55 Found out with every finger, made the shame Of all successions, and in this great ruine Thy brother and thy noble husband broken ? Thou shalt not live thus. Kneele and sweare to helpe me. When I shall call thee to it; or, by all i6o Holy in Heaven and earth, thou shalt not live To breath a full houre longer ; not a thought ! Come, tis a righteous oath. Give me thy hand[s]. And, both to Heaven held up, swear, by that wealth This lustfull theefe stole from thee, when I say it, 165 To let his foule soule out. Evad. Here I sweare it ; ^Kneeh^ And, all you spirits of abused ladies, Helpe me in this performance ! Mel. [raising her^ . Enough ! This must be knowne to none But you and I, Evadne, not to your lord, 170 155 make thee, see thy self e. Qz, make thee see thyselfe. 163 handsy Edd. 1778. Scene I] ^^t ^3^1)^0 ^tU^th^ 93 Though he be wise and noble, and a fellow Dares step as farre into a worthy action As the most daring, I, as farre as justice. Aske me not why. Farewell. Exii Mel[antius'\ . Evad. Would I could say so to my blacke disgrace ! 175 Oh, where have I beene all this time ? how friended That I should lose myselfe thus desperately, And none for pittie shew me how I wandred ? There is not in the compasse of the light A more unhappy creature : sure I am mon- strous ; 180 For I have done those follies, those mad mis- chiefes. Would dare a woman. Oh, my loaden soule, Be not so cruell to me ; choake not up The way to my repentance ! Enter Amintor. Oh, my lord ! Amin. How now ? Evad. My much abused lord ! \Kneels^ Amin. This cannot be ! 185 Evad. I doe not kneele to live ; I dare not hope it ; The wrongs I did are greater. Looke upon me. Though I appeare with all my faults. Enter Amintor. In Q2 this follows 1. 1 83. 94 ^¥ ^a^De0 ©rageu^ [act iv. Jmin, Stand up. This is a new way to beget more sorrow : Heaven knowes I have too many. Doe not mocke me : 190 Though I am tame and bred up with my wrongs, Which are my foster-brothers, I may leape, Like a hand-wolf, into my naturall wildnesse, And doe an outrage : prethee, doe not mocke me. Evad. My whole life is so leaprous, it infects 19s All my repentance. I would buy your pardon, Though at the highest set, even with my life : That sleight contrition, that['s] no sacrifice For what I have committed. Amin. Sure, I dazle : There cannot be a faith in that foule woman, 200 That knowes no god more mighty than her mischiefes. Thou doest still worse, still number on thy faults, To presse my poore heart thus. Can I beleeve Theres any seed of vertue in that woman Left to shoot up, that dares goe on in sinne, 205 Knowne, and so knowne as thine is ? Oh, Evadne ! Would there were any safetie in thy sex, 189 a. Only in Qi, ^2, no. sorroiv. (^i, sorrows. 198 that''s no, ^^6-8. Qi, Qz, that ; no. Q3, Q4, thats j no. Q5, thats no. Scene I] ^\)t £^3^000 tE^ragCD^ 95 That I might put a thousand sorrowes ofF, And credit thy repentance ! but I must not. Thou hast brought me to that dull calamitie, 210 To that strange misbeleefe of all the world And all things that are in it, that I feare I shall fall like a tree, and find my grave. Only remembring that I grieve. Evad. My lord. Give me your griefes ; you are an innocent, 215 A soule as white as Heaven ; let not my sinnes Perish your noble youth. I doe not fall here To shadow by dissembling with my teares (As all say women can) or to make lesse What my hot will hath done, which Heaven & you Z20 Knowes to be tougher than the hand of time Can cut from mans remembrance; no, I doe not; I doe appeare the same, the same Evadne, Drest in the shames I liv'd in, the same mon- ster. But these are names of honour to what I am j 225 I doe present myself the foulest creature. Most poisonous, dangerous, and despisde of men, Lerna ere bred or Nilus. I am hell. Till you, my deare lord, shoot your light into me, The beames of your forgivenesse ; 1 am soule- sicke, 230 96 W^t ^aplie0 ®rageti^ [act iv. And wither with the feare of one condemned. Till I have got your pardon. Jmin. Rise, Evadne ; Those heavenly powers that put this good into thee Grant a continuance of it ! I forgive thee ; Make thyselfe worthy of it, and take heed, 235 Take heed, Evadne, this be serious. Mocke not the powers above that can and dare Give thee a great example of their justice To all insuing eies, if thou plai'st With thy repentance, the best sacrifice. 240 Evad. I have done nothing good to win be- leefe. My life hath been so faithlesse. All the crea- tures. Made for Heavens honors, have their ends, and good ones. All but the cousening crocodiles, false women : They reigne here like those plagues, those kill- ing sores, 245 Men pray against \ and when they die, like tales 111 told and unbeleev'd, they passe away. And goe to dust forgotten. But, my lord. Those short daies I shall number to my rest (As many must not see me) shall, though too late, 250 239 eies. W, D, B, ages. Scene I] ®|^e ^3^1300 ^tU^tXi^ 97 Though in my evening, yet perceive a will. Since I can doe no good, because a woman. Reach constantly at something that is neere it : I will redeeme one minute of my age. Or, like another Niobe, He weepe 255 Till I am water. Jmin. I am now dissolved ; My frozen soule melts. May each sin thou hast Finde a new mercy ! Rise ; I am at peace. Hadst thou beene thus, thus excellently good. Before that devill-king tempted thy frailty, 260 Sure thou hadst made a star. Give me thy hand : From this time I will know thee ; and, as far As honor gives me leave, be thy Amintor. When we meet next, I will salute thee fairely. And pray the gods to give thee happy daies ; 265 My charity shall goe along with thee. Though my embraces must be far from thee. I should ha' kild thee, but this sweet repentance Lockes up my vengeance ; for which thus I kisse thee — The last kisse we must take : and would to Heaven 270 The holy priest that gave our hands together Had given us equall vertues ! Goe, Evadne ; The gods thus part our bodies. Have a care My honour falles no farther : I am well, then. Evad. All the deare joys here, and above hereafter, 275 98 W^t ^a^Defif tETrageD^ [act iv. Crowne thy faire soule ! Thus I take leave, my lord ; And never shall you see the foule Evadne, Till she have tried all honoured meanes that may Set her in rest and wash her staines away. Exeunf, [Scene II. J hail in the Palace.] Banquet. Enter King, Calianax. Hobo'^es play within. King. I cannot tell how I should credit this From you that are his enemie. Calianax. I am sure He said it to me ; and He justifie it What way he dares oppose — but with my sword. King. But did he breake, without all circum- stance, To you, his foe, that he would have the fort, To kill me and then scape \ Cal. If he denie it. He make him blush. King. It sounds incredibly. Cal. I, so does everything I say of late. King. Not so, Calianax. Cal. Yes, I should sit Mute, whilst a rogue with strong armes cuts your throat. Scene II.] ^ije ^3^1)00 ®rageD^ 99 King. Well, I will trie him j and, if this be true, He pawn my life He find it ; if 't be false And that you cloath your hate in such a lie. You shall hereafter doate in your owne house, 15 Not in the court. Cal. Why, if it be a lie, Mine eares are false, for He be sworne I heard it. Old men are good for nothing : you were best Put me to death for hearing, and free him For meaning it. You would a trusted me 20 Once, but the time is altered. King. And will still, Where I may doe with justice to the world ; You have no witnesse. Cal. Yes, myselfe. King. No more, I meane, there were that heard it. Cal. How ? no more ! Would you have more ? why, am not I enough 25 To hang a thousand rogues ? King. But so you may Hang honest men too, if you please. Cal. I may ! Tis like I will doe so : there are a hundred Will sweare it for a need too, if I say it — Lore. 100 tE^t ^a^ije0 ®rageti^ [act iv. King. Such witnesses we need not. Cal. And tis hard 30 If my word cannot hang a boisterous knave. King. Enough. — Where's Strato ? EnUr Sirat^o'j. Strato. Sir ? King. Why, wheres all the company ? Call Amintor in ; Evadne. Wheres my brother and Melantius ? Bid him come too, and Diphilus. Call all 35 That are without there. — (Exit Strat\_o'j.) If he should desire The combat of you, tis not in the power Of all our lawes to hinder it, unlesse We meane to quit 'em. Cal. Why, if you doe thinke Tis fit an old man and a counsellor 4© To fight for what he sales, then you may grant it. Enter Amint[or~\y Evad\ne]y Melant\jus]y Diph- [ilus], Lisip\_pus]y Cle\on'\y Stra\jo, and~\ Diag \oras\ . King. Come, sirs ! — Amintor, thou art yet a bridegroome. And I will use thee so ; thou shalt sit downe. — Evadne, sit ; — and you, Amintor, too ; This banquet is for you, sir. — Who has brought 45 A merry tale about him to raise laughter Enter Strato. In Qz this follows Sir. Scene II.] tE^f^t ^3^000 tBtU^t^^ lOI Amongst our wine ? Why, Strato, where art thou ? Thou wilt chop out with them unseasonably, When I desire 'em not. Stra. Tis my ill lucke, sir, so to spend them, then. 50 King. Reach me a boule of wine. — Melan- tius, thou Art sad. [^Afelantius.~\ I should be, sir, the merriest here, But I ha nere a story of mine own Worth telling at this time. King. Give me the wine. — Melantius, I am now considering 55 How easie twere for any man we trust To poyson one of us in such a boule. Afel. I thinke it were not hard, sir, for a knave. Ca/. ^astde~\. Such as you are. King. I faith, twere easie. It becomes us well 60 To get plaine dealing men about ourselves ; Such as you all are here. — Amintor, to thee; And to thy faire Evadne. Mel. {aside). Have you thought Of this, Calianax ? Cal. Yes, marry, have I. 52 Melantius. Only Qi. Q2-F, Amin. 102 tB\)t ^a^ue0 tEPrageu^ [act iv. Mel. And whats your resolution ? Cai. Ye shall have it — 65 [Aside.~\ Soundly, I warrant you. King. Reach to Amintor, Strato. Amintor. Here, my love : \_Drinksy and hands the cup to Evadne.'\ This wine will doe thee wrong, for it will set Blushes upon thy cheekes ; and, till thou dost A fault, twere pitty. King. Yet I wonder much 70 [At] the strange desperation of these men That dare attempt such acts here in our state : He could not scape that did it. Mel. Were he knowne, Unpossible. King. It would be knowne, Melantius. Mel. It ought to be. If he got then away, 75 He must weare all our lives upon his sword : He need not flie the island ; he must leave No one alive. King. No; I should thinke no man Could kill me and scape cleare, but that old man. Cal. But I ! Heaven blesse me ! I ! should I, my liege ? 80 King. I doe not think thou wouldst, but yet thou mightst. For thou hast in thy hands the meanes to scape, 71 At, Th-B. Qq, F, Of. Scene II.] ^^t ^^a^tie^ WU^t^^ IO3 By keeping of the fort. — He has, Melantius, And he has kept it well. Afe/. From cobwebs, sir; Tis clean swept: I can find no other art 85 In keeping of it now : twas nere besieg'd Since he commanded. Ca/. I shall be sure Of your good word: but I have kept it safe From such as you. Afel. Keepe your ill temper in ; I speake no malice ; had my brother kept it, 90 I should ha sed as much. King. You are not merry. Brother, drinke wine. Sit you all still ? — (^Jside) Calianax, I cannot trust this ; 1 have throwne out words. That would have fetcht warme blood upon the cheekes Of guilty men, and he is never mov'd ; 95 He knowes no such thing. Cal. Impudence may scape. When feeble vertue is accus'd. King. A must. If he were guilty, feele an alteration At this our whisper, whilst we point at him : You see he does not. Cal. Let him hang himselfe ; 100 What care I what he does ? this he did say. 93 this, D. Qq, F, thus. 104 ^^t ^a^tie0 tETrageti^ [act iv. King. Melan [tius] , you can easily conceive What I have meant ; for men that are in fault Can subtly apprehend when others aime At what they doe amisse : but I forgive 105 Freely before this man, — Heaven doe so too! I will not touch thee, so much as with shame Of telling it. Let it be so no more. Cai. Why, this is very fine ! Mei. I cannot tell What tis you meane ; but I am apt enough no Rudely to thrust into [an] ignorant fault. But let me know it : happily tis nought But misconstruction ; and, where I am cleare, I will not take forgivenesse of the gods, Much less of you. King. Nay, if you stand so stifFe, 115 I shall call back my mercy. Mel. I want smoothnes To thanke a man for pardoning of a crime I never knew. King. Not to instruct your knowledge, but to show you My eares are everywhere ; you meant to kill me, 120 And get the fort to scape. Mel. Pardon me, sir; My bluntnesse will be pardoned. You preserve A race of idle people here about you, III an. Inserted by Th. Scene II.] ®^e ^n^tit& tETrageD^ 105 Facers and talkers, to defame the worth Of those that doe things worthy. The man that uttered this 1^5 Had perisht without food, bee't who it will, But for this arme, that fenst him from the foe : And if I thought you gave a faith to this. The plainnesse of my nature would speake more. Give me a pardon (for you ought to doo't) 13° To kill him that spake this. Cal. [aside] . I, that will be The end of all ; then I am fairely paide For all my care and service. Mel That old man, Who cals me enemy, and of whom I (Though I will never match my hate so low) 135 Have no good thought, would yet, I thinke, excuse me. And sweare he thought me wrong'd in this. Cal. Who, I ? Thou shamelesse fellow ! didst thou not speake to me Of it thyselfe ? Mel. O, then it came from him ! Cal. From me ! who should it come from but from me ? 140 Mel, Nay, I beleeve your malice is enough : But I ha lost my anger. — Sir, I hope You are well satisfied. 124 Facer Sy Qi. Qx et al., Eaters. io6 ®|)e ^a^De0 QPragrD^ [act iv. King. Lisip [pus] , cheare Amintor & his lady : theres no sound Comes from you; I will come and doo't myselfe. 145 Amin, You have done already, sir, for me, I thanke you. King. Melantius, I doe credit this from him. How sleight so ere you mak't. Mel. Tis strange you should. Cal. Tis strange a should beleeve an old mans word That never lied ins life ! Mel. I talke not to thee. — 150 Shall the wilde words of this distempered man, Franticke with age and sorrow, make a breach Betwixt your majestie and me ? Twas wrong To harken to him; but to credit him. As much at least as I have power to beare. 155 But pardon me, (whilst I speake onely truth, I may commend myselfe) I have bestowd My carelesse blood with you, and should be loth To thinke an action that would make me lose That and my thankes too. When I was a boy, 160 I thrust myselfe into my countries cause And did a deed that pluckt five yeares from time , ^ And stil'd me man then. And for you, my King; -^ Your subjects all have fed by vertue of My arme; this sword of mine hath plowd the ground 165 Scene II] tE^^f ^3^0(0 ®rageD^ IO7 And reapt the fruit in peace ; And you yourselfe have liv'd at home in ease. So terrible I grew, that without swords My name hath fetcht you conquest : and my heart And limmes are still the same, my will as great 170 To doe you service. Let me not be paid With such a strange distrust. King. Melant [ius] , I held it great injustice to beleeve Thine enemie, and did not ; if I did, I doe not; let that satisfie. — What, strucke 175 With sadnesse all ? More wine ! Cal. A few fine words Have overthrowne my truth. Ah, th'art a vil- laine ! Mel. {aside). Why, thou wert better let me have the fort : Dotard, I will disgrace thee thus for ever; There shall no credit lie upon thy words : 180 Thinke better, and deliver it. Cal. My leige, Hees at me now agen to doe it. — Speake ; Denie it, if thou canst. — Examine him Whilst he is hot, for if hee coole agen, He will forsweare it. King. This is lunacie, 185 I hope, Melantius. 177 Ah, F. Qq, A. io8 turtle ^a^uesf ®rageu^ [act iv. Mel, He hath lost himselfe Much, since his daughter mist the happinesse My sister gaind ; and, though he call me foe, I pittie him. Cal. Pittie ! a pox upon you ! Mel. Marke his disordered words : and at the maske '9° Diagoras knows he rag'd and raild at me, And cald a lady " whore,'* so innocent She understood him not. But it becomes Both you and me too to forgive distraction : Pardon him, as I doe. Cal. He not speake for thee, ^95 For all thy cunning. — If you will be safe. Chop off his head, for there was never knowne So impudent a rascall. King. Some that love him Get him to bed. Why, pittie should not let Age make itselfe contemptible ; wee must be 200 All old. Have him away. Mel. ^aside~\. Calianax, The King beleeves you; come, you shall go home And rest ; you ha done well. Youle give it up When I have us'd you thus a month, I hope. Cal, Now, now, tis plaine, sir; he does move me still : 205 189 Pittie. (^2, A pittie. 191 Diagoras . . . at me. Ql, Qi, print Mel. before this line. Scene II. ] tE^j^e ^a^Ufsf tETtageu^ 109 He saies he knowes He give him up the fort, When he has usd me thus a month. I am mad, Am I not, still ? Omnes. Ha, ha, ha ! Cal. I shall be mad indeed, if you doe thus. Why should you trust a sturdie fellow there 210 (That has no vertue in him, als in his sword) Before me ? Doe but take his weapons from him, And hees an asse ; and I am a very foole. Both with him and without him, as you use me. Omnes. Ha, ha, ha ! 215 King. Tis well, Cal[ianax] : but if you use This once agen, I shall intreat some other To see your offices be well discharg'd. — Be merry, gentlemen. — It growes somewhat late. — Amintor, thou wouldst be a-bed agen. 220 Amin. Yes, sir. King. And you, Evadne. — Let me take Thee in my armes, Melantius, & beleeve Thou art, as thou deservest to be, my friend Still and for ever. — Good Cal[ianax], Sleepe soundly ; it will bring thee to thyselfe. 225 Exeunt omnes. Manent Mel[antius] ^ Ca/\_ianax] . Cal. Sleepe soundly ! I sleepe soundly now, I hope ; 214 with him and without him. D, B, with 'em and without 'em. 1 1 o ®l)e ^pa^Dest tlTrageu^ [act iv. I could not be thus else. — How dar'st thou stay Alone with me, knowing how thou hast used me ? MeL You cannot blast me with your tongue, and thats The strongest part you have about you. CaL I 230 Doe looke for some great punishment for this ; For I begin to forget all my hate, And tak't unkindly that mine enemie Should use me so extraordinarily scurvily. Mel. I shall melt too, if you begin to take 235 Unkindnesses : I never meant you hurt. CaL Thoult anger me agen. Thou wretched roague. Meant me no hurt ! disgrace me with the King ! Lose all my offices ! This is no hurt. Is it ? I prethee, what dost thou call hurt ? 240 MeL To poyson men, because they love me not; To call the credit of mens wives in question ; To murder children betwixt me and land ; This I call hurt. CaL All this thou thinkst is sport, For mine is worse ; but use thy will with me, 245 For betwixt griefe and anger I could crie. MeL Be wise, then, and be safe ; thou mai'st revenge — Scene II.] ©tlf ^3^1100 tRXn^tH^ 1 1 1 Ca/, I, o th' King. I would revenge of thee. Mel. That you must plot yourselfe. Cal. I am a fine plotter. MeL The short is, I will hold thee with the King 250 In this perplexity, till peevishnesse And thy disgrace have laid thee in thy grave : But if thou wilt deliver up the fort. He take thy trembling body in piy armes, And beare thee over dangers : thou shalt hold 255 Thy wonted state. Cal. If I should tell the King, Canst thou deni't agen .? Afei. Trie, and beleeve. Cal. Nay, then, thou canst bring anything about. [Melantius] , thou shalt have the fort. MeL Why, well. Here let our hate be buried ; and this hand 260 Shall right us both. Give me thy aged brest To compasse. Cal. Nay, I doe not love thee yet ; I cannot well endure to looke on thee ; And if I thought it were a curtesie. Thou shouldst not have it. But I am disgrac't ; 265 My offices are to be taen away ; And if I did but hold this fort a day, 259 Melantius. Only Qi. 1 1 2 turtle ^a^De0 ©rageu^ [act iv. I doe beleeve the King would take it from me, And give it thee, things are so strangely carried. Nere thanke me for't ; but yet the King shall know 27w There was some such thing in't I told him of, And that I was an honest man. MeL Heele buy That knowledge very deerely. Enter Diphilus. Diph [ilus] , What newes with thee? Diphilus. This were a night indeed To doe it in ; the King hath sent for her. 275 Mel. Shee shall performe it, then. — Goe, Diph [ilus], And take from this good man, my worthy friend, The fort ; heele give it thee. Diph. Ha you got that ? Cal. Art thou of the same breed ? Canst thou denie This to the King too ? Diph. With a confidence 280 As great as his. Cal. Faith, like enough. Mel. Away, and use him kindly. Cal. Touch not me; I hate the whole straine. If thou follow me A great way off, He give thee up the fort ; And hang yourselves. Scene II.] ^\)t ^3^1)00 tCrageU^ 1 1 3 Mel. Begone ! Diph. Hees finely wrought. 285 Exeunt Cal\_ianax and~\ Diph \_i/us] . Mel. This is a night, spight of astronomers, To doe the deed in. I will wash the staine That rests upon our house ofF with his bloud. Enter Amintor. Amin. Melantius, now assist me ; if thou beest That which thou saist, assist me. I have lost 290 All my distempers and have found a rage So pleasing. Helpe me ! Mel. [aside"] . Who can see him thus, And not sweare vengeance ? — Whats the mat- ter, friend ? Amin. Out with thy sword ; and, hand in hand with mee. Rush to the chamber of this hated King, 295 And sinke him with the weight of all his sinnes To hell for ever. Mel. Twere a rash attempt, Not to be done with safety. Let your reason Plot your revenge, and not your passion. Amin. If thou refusest me in these extremes, 300 Thou art no friend. He sent for her to me ; By Heaven, to me, myselfe ! and, I must tell ye, I love her as a stranger : there is worth 1 14 tKtje ^a^ueflf ©rageu^ [act iv. In that vild woman, worthy things, Melantius, And she repents. He doo't myselfe alone, 305 Though I be slaine. Farewell. Mel. \aside\. Heele overthrow My whole designe with madnes. — Amintor, Thinke what thou doest : I dare as much as valour : But tis the King, the King, the King, Amintor, With whom thou fightest ! — [Aside.) I know hees honest, 310 And this will worke with him. Amin. I cannot tell What thou hast said ; but thou hast charm'd my sword Out of my hand, and left me shaking here, Defenselesse. Mel. I will take it up for thee. Amin. What a wild beast is uncollected man ! 315 The thing that we call honor beares us all Headlong unto sinne, and yet itselfe is nothing. Mel. Alas, how variable are thy thoughts ! Amin. Just like my fortunes. I was run to that I purpos'd to have chid thee for. Some plot, 320 I did distrust, thou hadst against the King, By that old fellowes carriage. But take heede ; Theres not the least limbe growing to a king But carries thunder in't. sczNE II. ] tlTi^e ^a^Desf tETrageH^ 1 1 5 Mel. I have none Against him. Jmin. Why, come then, and still remember 325 Wee may not thinke revenge. MeL I will remember. Exeunt, Actus 5 [Scene I. A Room in the Palace.'\ Enter Evadne and a Gentleman [of the Bed-chamber.l^ Evadne. Sir, is the King a-bed ? Gentleman. Madame, an houre agoe. Evad. Give me the key then, and let none be neere. Tis the Kings pleasure. Gent. I understand you, madamej would twere mine ! I must not wish good rest unto your ladiship. Evad. You talke, you talke. Gent. Tis all I dare doe, madame ; but the King Will wake, and then, [methinks — ] Evad. Saving your imagination, pray, good night, sir. Gent. A good night be it then, and a long one, madam. I am gone. Exit. Evad. The night growes horrible ; and all about me. Like my blacke purpose. Oh, the conscience King abed* 8 meth'inh. Only Qi. ii Ex'it^ so Ql, ^2. Q3-F, mark no exit. W, D, B, begin a new scene here. scKNE I. ] t!^\)t ^a^De0 tEPrageD^ 1 1 7 Of a lost virgin, whither wilt thou pull me? To what things dismall as the depth of hell 15 Wilt thou provoke me ? Let no woman dare From this houre be disloyall, if her heart be flesh, If she have blood and can feare. Tis a daring Above that desperate fooles that left his peace, And went to sea to fight : tis so many sins, 20 An age cannot repent 'm ; and so great The gods want mercy for. Yet I must through m : I have begun a slaughter on my honour. And I must end it there. — A sleepes. Good Heavens ! Why give you peace to this untemperate beast, 25 That hath so long transgrest you ? I must kill him. And I will doo't bravely : the meere joy Tels me, I merit in it. Yet I must not Thus tamely doe it as he sleepes — that were To rock him to another world : my vengeance 30 Shall take him waking, and then lay before him The number of his wrongs and punishments : He shape his sins like Furies, till I waken His evill angell, his sicke conscience, 14 "virgin. Qi, B, virtue. 21 repent. Only Qi. Qx et al.^ prevent. 24 Good Heavens \ Qi, B, Oh God! 1 1 8 tKt)e ^a^De0 tlTrageti^ [act v. And then He strick him dead. King, by your leave — Ties his armes to the bed, 35 I dare not trust your strength j you [r] grace and I Must grapple upon even tearmes no more. So, if he raile me not from my resolution, I shall be strong enough. — My lord, the King ! My lord ! — A sleepes as if he meant to wake 40 No more. — My lord ! — Is he not dead already ? Sir^! My lord ! King. Whose that ? Evad. Oh, you sleepe soundly, sir ! King. My deare Evadne, I have been dreaming of thee : come to bed. Evad. I am come at length, sirj but how welcome } 45 King. What prettie new device is this, Evadne ? What, doe you tie me to you ? By my love, This is a queint one. Come, my deare, and kisse me ; He be thy Mars ; to bed, my queene of love : 38-30 So, if . . . the King ! Qi reads: — So if he raile me not from my resolution. As I beleeve I shall not, I shall fit him. My lord, the King ! etc. 39-42 The arrangement of the verse follows D and Th. Qq, F, B, end the verse lines with enough . . . sleepes . . . lord , . . lord. Scene I] ®^e ^3^1300 ^m^tl>^ I IQ Let us be caught together, that the gods 50 May see and envie our embraces. Evad. Stay, sir, stay ; You are too hot, and I have brought you physick To temper your high veines. King. Prethee, to bed, then ; let me take it warme ; There thou shalt know the state of my body better. 55 Evad. I know you have a surfeited foule body ; And you must bleed. \praws a knife.'\ King. Bleed ! Evad. I, you shall bleed. Lie still ; and, if the devill. Your lust, will give you leave, repent. This Steele Comes to redeeme the honor that you stole, 60 King, my faire name ; which nothing but thy death Can answere to the world. King. How's this, Evadne ? Evad. I am not she; nor beare I in this breast So much cold spirit to be cald a woman • I am a tiger ; I am anything 65 That knowes not pittie. Stirre not: if thou doest. He take thee unprepar'd, thy feares upon thee. 1 20 ®t)e ^ai?ne0 ®rageti^ [act v. That make thy sins looke double, and so send thee (By my revenge, I will !) to looke those tor- ments Prepared for such blacke soules. 70 King. Thou doest not meane this ; tis im- possible ; Thou art too sweet and gentle. Evad. No, I am not j I am as foule as thou art, and can number As many such hels here. I was once faire, Once I was lovely ; not a blowing rose 75 More chastly sweet, till thou, thou, thou foule canker, (Stirre not) didst poison me. I was a world of vertue Till your curst court and you (Hell blesse you for't) With your temptations on temptations Made me give up mine honour; for which. King, 80 I am come to kill thee. King. No ! Evad. I am. King. Thou art not! I prethee speake not these things: thou art gentle, And wert not meant thus rugged. Evad. Peace, and heare me. Scene L] tj^^t ^3^1)^0 ®raSeD^ 1 2 1 Stirre nothing but your tongue, and that for mercy To those above us ; by whose lights I vow, 85 Those blessed fires that shot to see our sinne. If thy hot soule had substance with thy bloud, I would kill that too, which being past my Steele, My tongue shall reach. Thou art a shamelesse villaine j A thing out of the overcharge of nature, 90 Sent, like a thicke cloud, to disperse a plague Upon weake catching women ; such a tyrant That for his lust would sell away his subjects, I, all his Heaven hereafter ! King. Heare, Evadne, Thou soule of sweetnesse,heare ! I am thy King. 95 Evad. Thou art my shame ! Lie still ; theres none about you. Within your cries ; all promises of safety Are but deluding dreames. Thus, thus, thou foule man. Thus I begin my vengeance ! Stabs him. King. Hold, Evadne ! I do command thee hold. Evad. I doe not meane, sir, 100 To part so fairely with you ; we must change More of these love trickes yet. King. What bloudie villaine Provok't thee to this murther? 122 tEI^tie ^a^ues; tETraged^ [actv. Evad. Thou, thou monster ! King. Oh! Evad. Thou keptst me brave at court, and whorde me, King; 105 Then married me to a young noble gentleman. And whorde me still. King. Evadne, pittie me ! Evad. Hell take me, then ! This for my lord Amintor ! This for my noble brother ! And this stroke For the most wrong'd of women ! Kils him. King. Oh ! I die. "o Evad. Die all our faults together ! I forgive thee. Exit. Enter two \_Gentlemen'\ of the Bed-chamber. 1st Gentleman. Come, now shees gone, lets enter; the King expects it and will be angry. 2nd Gentleman. Tis a fine wench ; weele have a snap at her one of these nights as she goes 115 from him. 1st Gent. Content. How quickly hee had done with her ! I see kings can do no more that way than other mortall people. 2d Gent. How fast he is ! I cannot heare him 1*0 breathe. 1st Gent. Either the tapers give a feeble light, Or hee lookes very pale. Exit. Q2, Exeunt. Scene I] ti^^t ^a^Ufsf GTrageD^ 123 2£i Gent. And so he does : Pray Heaven he be well ; lets looke — Alas ! Hees stiffe, wounded, and dead ! Treason, trea- son ! 1*5 1st Gent. Run forth and call. 2d Gent. Treason, treason ! Exit \_Second'\ Gent\_leman'\. 1st Gent. This will be laid on us : Who can beleeve a woman could doe this ? Enter Cleon and Lisippus. Cleon. How now ! wheres the traitor ? 1st Gent. Fled, fled away ! but there her woe- full act 130 Lies still. Cleon. Her act ! a woman ! Lysippus. Wheres the body ? 1st Gent. There. Lys. Farewell, thou worthy man ! there were two bonds That tied our loves, a brother and a king, The least of which might fetch a floud of teares ;i3s But such the miserie of greatnesse is. They have no time to mourne ; then, pardon me ! Sirs, which way went she ? Enter Strato. Strata. Never follow her; For she, alas ! was but the instrument. Exit Gentleman. In Qa, after 1. 126. 124 ^\lt ^a^lie0 ®rageD^ [act v. Newes is now brought in that Melantius 140 Has got the fort, and stands upon the wall, And with a loud voice cals those few that passe At this dead time of night, delivering The innocence of this act. Lys. Gentlemen, I am your King. Strat. We doe acknowledge it. 145 Lys. I would I were not ! Follow all ; for this Must have a sudden stop. Exeunt. [Scene II. Before the Fort.'] Enter Melant[ius]y Diph[ilusy and] Ca /\^ianax] , on the Walls. Melantius. If the dull people can beleeve I am arm'd, (Be constant, Diph[ilus],) now we have time Either to bring our banisht honors home, Or create new ones in our ends. Diphilus. I feare not ; My spirit lies not that way. — Courage, Cal- ianax ! 5 Calianax. Would I had any ! You should quickly know it. Mel. Speake to the people ; thou art eloquent. Cal. Tis a fine eloquence to come to the gal- lowes : Scene II.] ^\^t ^3^1)05? QPtageD^ 1 25 You were born to be my end ; the devill take you ! Now must I hang for companie. Tis strange, 10 I should be old and neither wise nor valiant. Enter Lisip[j)us]f Diag[oras\y Clean , Strat\oy and^ Guard, Lysippus. See where he stands, as boldly con- fident As if he had his full command about him. Strata. He lookes as if he had the better cause, sir; Under your gracious pardon, let me speake it. 15 Though he be mighty-spirited and forward To all great things, to all things of that danger Worse men shake at the telling of, yet certainly I doe beleeve him noble, and this action Rather puld on then sought : his mind was ever 20 As worthy as his hand. Lys. Tis my feare too. Heaven forgive all ! — Summon him. Lord Cleon. Clean. Ho, from the wals there ! Mel. Worthy Cleon, welcome : We could have wisht you here, lord ; you are honest. Cal. (aside). Well, thou art as flattering a knave, though 25 I dare not tell thee so — 1 26 tE^t ^a^Ue0 tE^rageD^ [act v. Lys. Melantius ! MeL Sir ? Lys. I am sorry that we meet thus ; our old love Never requir'd such distance. Pray [to] Heaven, You have not left yourselfe and sought this safety More out of feare than honor ! You have lost 30 A noble master; which your faith, Melantius, Some thinlce might have preserved ; yet you know best. Cal. [aside] . When time was, I was mad* some that dares fight, I hope will pay this rascall. MeL Royall young man ; those teares looke lovely on thee : 35 Had they beene shed for a deserving one. They had beene lasting monuments. Thy bro- ther, Whirst he was good, I cald him King, and serv'd him With that strong faith, that most unwearied valour Puld people from the farthest sunne toseekehim, 40 And buy his friendship. I was then his souldier. 28 to. Only in Qi. 32 Some . . . best. Qi, I'm sure might have preserved. 41 buy. Qi, D, B, beg. Scene II. ] ^^^0 ^3^1)00 ^tU^tl}^ 1 2 J But since his hot pride drew him to disgrace me, And brand my noble actions with his lust, (That never cur'd dishonor of my sister, Base staine of whore, and, which is worse, the joy 45 To make it still so) like myselfe, thus I Have flung him off with my allegeance ; And stand here, mine owne justice, to revenge What I have suffered in him, and this old man Wrong'd almost to lunacie. Cal. Who, I ? so You wud draw me in. I have had no wrong; I doe disclaime ye all. Me/. The short is this. Tis no ambition to lift up myselfe Urgeth me thus ; I doe desire againe To be a subject, so I may be free; 55 If not, I know my strength, and will unbuild This goodly towne. Be speedy and be wise In a reply. Strat, Be sudden, sir, to tie All up againe. What's done is past recall. And past you to revenge ; and there are thou- sands 6o That wait for such a troubled houre as this. Throw him the blanke. 45-47 Base . . . allegeance, the verse division of D. ^q, F, B, end Ibes with luorse . . . myselfe . . . allegeance. 128 ®l)e ^3^000 tCragei)^ [act v. Lys. Melantius, write in that Thy choice : my scale is at it. \_Throzvs a paper to Melantius,'\ Mel. It was our honours drew us to this act, Not gaine ; and we will only worke our pardons. 65 Cal. Put my name in too. Diph. You disclaimed us all But now, Calianax. Cal. Thats all one ; He not be hangd hereafter by a tricke ; He have it in. Mel. You shall, you shall — Come to the backe gate, and weele call you King, 70 And give you up the fort. Lys, Away, away ! Exeunt Omnes. [Scene III. Ante-room to Amintor* s Apartments. '\ Enter Aspatia, in mans apparell, \_and with artificial scars on her face. '\ Aspatia. This is my fatall houre. Heaven may forgive My rash attempt, that causelessly hath laid Grifes on me that will never let me rest. And put a womans hart into my breast. It is more honor for you that I die ; 5 Scene III. ] ^j^t ^3^1)00 tETrageD^ 1 29 For she that can endure the misery That I have on me, and be patient too, May live and laugh at al that you can doe. — God save you, sir ! Enter Servant. Servant. And you, sir ! Whats your busi- nesse ? Asp. With you, sir, now ; to doe me the faire office 10 To helpe me to your lord. Ser. What, would you serve him ? Asp. He doe him any service ; but, to haste, For my affaires are ernest, I desire To speake with him. Ser. Sir, because you are in such haste, would 15 Bee loth to delay you longer : you can not. Asp. It shall become you, though, to tell your lord. Ser. Sir, he will speake with nobody j [But in particular, I have in charge. About no waightie matters.] Asp. This is most strange. 20 Art thou gold-proofe ? theres for thee ; helpe me to him. Ser. Pray be not angry, sir ; He doe my best. Exit. 9 God. Q2 misprints Cod. 19-20 But in particular .... matter i. Only in Ql. 1 30 W^t #a^tie0 tETtagen^ [act v. Jsp. How stubbornly this fellow answered me ! There is a vild dishonest tricke in man, More then in women. All the men I meet *S Appeare thus to me, are harsh and rude. And have a subtletie in every thing. Which love could never know ; but we fond women Harbour the easiest and the smoothest thoughts, And thinke all shall goe so. It is unjust 30 That men and women should be matcht together. Enfer Amintor and his man. Amintor, Where is he ? Ser. There, my lord. Amin, What would you, sir ? Asp, Please it your lordship to command your man Out of the roome, I shall deliver things Worthy your hearing. Amin. Leave us. \Exit Servant.~\ Asp. {aside). Oh, that that shape 35 Should bury falsehood in it ! Amin. Now your will, sir. Asp. When you know me, my lord, you needs must ghesse My businesse ; and I am not hard to know ; For, till the chance of warre markt this smooth face 25 ivomen. Q 1 66 1, woman. Scene III. ] tE^t ^U^t^tii WUQt^^ 1 3 1 With these few blemishes, people would call me 40 My sisters picture, and her mine. In short, I am the brother to the wrong'd Aspatia. Jmin. The wrong'd Aspatia ! would thou wert so too Unto the wrong'd Amintor ! Let me kisse That hand of thine, in honour that I beare 45 Unto the wrong'd Aspatia. Here I stand That did it. Would he could not ! Gentle youth. Leave me ; for there is something in thy lookes That cals my sinnes in a most hideous forme Into my mind ; and I have griefe enough 50 Without thy helpe. Asp. I would I could with credit ! Since I was twelve yeeres old, I had not scene My sister till this houre I now arriv'd : She sent for me to see her manage ; A wofull one ! but they that are above 55 Have ends in everything. She us'd few words, But yet enough to make me understand The basenesse of the injuries you did her. That little trayning I have had is war; I may behave myselfe rudely in peace ; 60 I would not, though. I shall not need to tell you, I am but young and would be loth to lose Honour, that is not easily gain'd againe. 58 injuries. Q6, F, D, injurie. 132 . tETlJe ^a^ue0 tB^rageJ)^ [act v. Fairely I meane to deale : the age is strict For single combats ; and we shall be stopt, 65 If it be publisht. If you like your sword, Use it ; if mine appeare a better to you, Change ; for the ground is this, and this the time. To end our difference. \_Draws.'\ Amin, Charitable youth. If thou beest such, think not I will maintaine 70 So strange a wrong ; and, for thy sisters sake, Knowe, that I could not thinke that desperate thing I durst not doe ; yet, to injoy this world, I would not see her ; for, beholding thee, I am I know not what. If I have ought 75 That may content thee, take it and begone. For death is not so terrible as thou ; Thine eies shoot guilt into me. Jsp, Thus, she swore. Thou wouldst behave thyselfe, and give me words That would fetch teares into my eies; and so 80 Thou dost indeed. But yet she bad me watch Lest I weare cossen'd, and be sure to fight Ere I returned. Amin. That must not be with me. For her He die directly ; but against her Will never hazard it. 80 my. Q4-F, D, B, mine. Scene III.] titje ^3^000 tETtageu^ 133 Asp, You must be urg'd. 85 I doe not deale uncivilly with those That dare to fight ; but such a one as you Must be usd thus. Shee strikes him. Amin. I prethee, youth, take heed. Thy sister is a thing to me so much Above mine honour that I can indure 90 All this — Good gods ! a blow I can indure; But stay not, lest thou draw a timelesse death Upon thyselfe. Asp. Thou art some prating fellow, One that hath studied out a tricke to talke And move soft hearted people ; to be kickt, 95 She kickes him. Thus to be kickt ! — {Aside^ Why should he be so slow In giving me my death ? Amin. A man can beare No more, and keepe his flesh. Forgive me, then ! I would indure yet, if I could. Now shew \Draws.'\ The spirit thou pretendest, and understand 100 Thou hast no houre to live. {They fight.) What dost thou meane ? Thou canst not fight •, the blowes thou makst at me 101-105 What . . . defencelesse. In Qq and F, lines end vf'x^Jight . . , besides . . . armes . . . defencelesse. 1 34 W^t ^nt^tfS tCrageD^ [act v. Are quite besides ; and those I offer at thee, Thou spread'st thine armes and takst upon thy brest, Alas, defencelesse ! Jsp. I have got enough, 105 And my desire. There is no place so fit For me to die as here. \_Fa//s.'\ Enter EvadnCy her hands bloudy, with a knife. Evadne. Amintor, I am loaden with events, That flie to make thee happy ; I have joyes. That in a moment can call backe thy wrongs no And settle thee in thy free state againe. It is Evadne still that followes thee, But not her mischiefes. Jmin. Thou canst not foole me to beleeve agen ; But thou hast looks and things so full of newesus That I am staid. Evad. Noble Amintor, put off thy amaze. Let thine eies loose and speake. Am I not faire ? Lookes not Evadne beautious with these rites now ? Were those houres halfe so lovely in thine eies 120 When our hands met before the holy man ? I was too foule within to looke faire then ; Since I knew ill, I was not free till now. Scene III.] ®|)e ^3^^300 ^t^^tl^^ 135 Jmin. There is presage of some important thing About thee, which, it seemes, thy tongue hath lost ; 125 Thy hands are bloudy, and thou hast a knife. Evad. In this consists thy happinesse and mine : Joy to Amintor ! for the King is dead. Jmin. Those have most power to hurt us, that we love ; We lay our sleeping lives within their armes. 130 Why, thou hast raisd up mischiefe to his height. And found one to out-name thy other faults j Thou hast no intermission of thy sinnes, But all thy life is a continued ill ; Blacke is thy colour now, disease thy nature. 135 Joy to Amintor ! Thou hast toucht a life. The very name of which had power to chaine Up all my rage, and calme my wildest wrongs. Evad. Tis done ; and, since I could not find a way To meet thy love so cleere as through his life, 140 I cannot now repent it. Jmin. Couldst thou procure the gods to speake to me. To bid me love this woman and forgive, Ithinke I should fall out with them. Behold, Here lies a youth whose wounds bleed in my brest, 145 1 36 W\^t ^a^tiesf STrageD^ [act v. Sent by a violent fate to fetch his death From my slow hand ! And, to augment my woe, You now are present, stain'd with a kings bloud Violently shed. This keepes night here And throwes an unknown wildernesse about me. 150 Jsp. Oh, oh, oh ! Jmin. No more; pursue me not. Evad. Forgive me, then, And take mee to thy bed : wee may not part. \^Kneels.-\ Amin. Forbeare, be wise, and let my rage goe this way. Evad. Tis you that I would stay, not it. Amin. Take heed, 155 It will returne with me. Evad. If it must be, I shall not feare to meete it. Take me home. Amin. Thou monster of crueltie, forbeare ! Evad. For Heavens sake, looke more calme ! thine eies are sharper Then thou canst make thy sword. Amin. Away, away ! 160 Thy knees are more to mee than violence ; I am worse then sicke to see knees follow me For that I must not grant. For Gods sake, stand ! Evad. Receive me, then. Amin. I dare not stay thy language; 158 of erudite. Th, B, of all cruelty. Scene III] ^E^lje ^3^1100 tE^U^tH^ 137 In midst of all my anger and my griefe, 165 Thou doest awake something that troubles me, And saies, I lov'd thee once. I dare not stay ; There is no end of womans reasoning. Leaves her. Evad. [m/«^] . Amintor, thou shalt love me now againe ! Go; I am calme. Farewell, and peace for ever! 170 Evadne, whom thou hat'st, will die for thee ! Kills herselfe, Amin. I have a little humane nature yet, Thats left for thee, that bids me stay thy hand. Re turtles. Evad. Thy hand was welcome, but it came too late. Oh, I am lost ! the heavie sleepe makes haste. 175 She dies. Asp. Oh, oh, oh ! Amin. This earth of mine doth tremble, and I feele A stark affrighted motion in my bloud ; My soul growes wearie of her house, and I All over am a trouble to myselfe. i8o There is some hidden power in these dead things That calls my flesh unto 'em ; I am cold : Be resolute and beare em company. Theres something yet which I am loth to leave : l%z jlesh. {^i, selfe. ««^o, Qi, (^5, Q2, into. 1 38 ^^t ^a^De0 ®rageti^ [act v. Theres man enough in me to meet the feares 185 That death can bring; and yet would it were done ! I can finde nothing in the whole discourse Of death, I durst not meet the bouldest way ; Yet still, betwixt the reason and the act, The wrong I to Aspatia did stands up ; 190 I have not such another fault to answere: Though she may justly arme herselfe with scorne And hate of me, my soule will part lesse troubled, When I have paid to her in teares my sorrow : I will not leave this act unsatisfied, 195 If all thats left in me can answer it. Jsp. Was it a dreame ? there stands Amintor still ; Or I dreame still. Jmin. How doest thou ? speake ; receive my love & helpe. Thy bloud climbes up to his old place againe ; 200 Theres hope of thy recoverie. Jsp. Did you not name Aspatia ? Jmin. I did. Jsp. And talkt of teares and sorrow unto her ? Jmin. Tis true ; and till these happie signes in thee Did stay my course, it was thither I was going. 205 Jsp. Thou art there already, and these wounds are hers : 205 Did stay, Q3. Qi, Q2, staid. Scene III] tB^t ^3^1^00 QtrEgeD^ 139 Those threats I brought with me sought not revenge, But came to fetch this blessing from thy hand : I am Aspatia yet. Jmin. Dare my soule ever looke abroad agen ? 210 Jsp. I shall sure live, Amintor ; I am well ; A kinde of healthfull joy wanders within me. Amin. The world wants lives to excuse thy losse ; Come, let me bare thee to some place of helpe. Asp. Amintor, thou must stay ; I must rest here ; 215 My strength begins to disobey my will. How dost thou, my best soule ? I would faine live Now, if I could. Wouldst thou have loved me, then ? Amin. Alas, All that I am's not worth a haire from thee ! 220 Asp. Give me thine hand ; mine hands grope up & down. And cannot finde thee ; I am wondrous sicke : Have I thy hand, Amintor ? ^w/«. *Thou greatest blessing of the world, thou hast. Asp. I doe beleeve thee better then my sense. 225 Oh, I must goe ! farewell ! Dies, 213 li-ves. Qq, F, lines, to excuse, Th, B, to expiate. '^ 220 aw'i, 24-F. gi-Qs, ams. 140 ^^t 3pa^iJe0 tEtragen^ [act v. Jmin. She sounds. — Aspatia! — Helpe! for Gods sake, water, Such as may chaine life ever to this frame ! — Aspatia, speake ! — What, no helpe yet? I foole ! He chafe her temples. Yet theres nothing stirs : 430 Some hidden power tell her, Amintor cals. And let her answere me! — Aspatia, speake ! — I have heard, if there be any life, but bow The body thus, and it will shew itselfe. Oh, she is gone ! I will not leave her yet. 235 Since out of justice we must challenge nothing, He call it mercy, if youle pitty me. You heavenly powers, and lend for some few yeeres The blessed soule to this faire seat againe ! No comfort comes ; the gods denie me too ! 240 He bow the body once againe — Aspatia 1 — The soule is fled forever, and I wrong Myselfe so long to loose her company. Must I talke now ? Heres to be with thee, love ! Kils himselfe. Enter Servant. Servant. This is a great grace to my lord, to 245 have the new King come to him ; I must tell him he is entring. — Oh, God ! — Helpe, helpe ! 227 sounds. F, swounds. 230 theres, 24-F- Qi-3, there. s«NE III.] tC^iie ^pa^oesf tlTrageli^ 141 Enter Lis/p[^us], Me/ant^ius'], Cal[ianax\, Cleon, Diph[ilus, and~\ Strato. Lysippus. Wheres Amintor ? Strato. Oh, there, there ! Lys. How strange is this ! Calianax. What should we doe here ? Melantius. These deaths are such acquainted things with me 250 That yet my heart dissolves not. May I stand StifFe here for ever ! — Eies, call up your teares ! This is Amintor. Heart, he was my friend ; Melt ! now it flowes. — Amintor, give a word To call me to thee. 255 Amin, Oh! Mel. Melantius cals his friend Amintor. Oh, Thy armes are kinder to me then thy tongue ! Speake, speake ! Amin. What ? 260 Mel. That little word was worth all the sounds That ever I shall heare againe. D'lph. Oh, brother, Here lies your sister slaine ! You lose yourselfe In sorrow there. Mel. Why, Dip[hilus], it is A thing to laugh at in respect to this : 265 Here was my sister, father, brother, sonne, 248 Strato. Edd. 1 778 changed to &ri/., so D. 142 ^))t ^apUf0 ©rageu^ [act v. All that I had. — Speake once againej what youth Lies slaine there by thee ? Jmin. Tis Aspatia. My last is said. Let me give up my soule Into thy bosome. [Z)/Vj.]27o Cal. Whats that ? whats that ? Aspatia ? Mel. I never did Repent the greatnesse of my heart till now ; It will not burst at need. CaL My daughter dead here too ! And you have all fine new trickes to grieve, but I nereays knew any but direct crying. Mel. I am a pratler : but, no more ! [^Ofers to stab himself.'] Diph. Hold, brother ! Lis. Stop him. Diph. Fie, how unmanly was this offer in you ! Does this become our straine ? a8o Cal. I know not what the matter is, but I am growne very kinde, and am friends with you [all now] . You have given me that among you will kill me quickly ; but He go home and live as long as I can. [Exit.'] 185 Mel, His spirit is but poore that can be kept 269 My last is said. Q3, My senses fade. 283 all now. Only in Qi, Scene III.] tETI&e ^a^De0 ®rageD^ 143 From death for want of weapons. Is not my hands a weapon sharpe enough To stop my breath ? or, if you tie downe those, I vow, Amintor, I will never eat, 290 Or drinke, or sleepe, or have to doe with that That may preserve life ! This I sweare to keepe. Lys. Look to him, though, and beare those bodies in. May this a faire example be to me. To rule with temper, for on lustfuU kings 295 Unlookt-for sudden deaths from God are sent, But curst is he that is their instrument. [Exeunt.'\ 288 hands. Q6, F, hand, sharpe, Qi - Q3. Q4 - F, D B, good. FINIS. 0ott& to Cl^c jttaiti'js CtageUr For the meaning of single ivords see the Glossary. Date. This play, licensed, April 4, 1619, to R. Higginbotham and F. Constable, was evidently written before October 31, 161 1, on which day a play was licensed by Sir George Buc, and endorsed, " This second maiden's tragedy." It was first printed in 1619, for F. Constable. For other editions see Bibliography. There is no certain early limit, but 1 609 is a reasonable conjecture for the date of the first production. Stage History. The play was first acted at either the Globe or the Blackfriars theatre by the King's men, and probably while Shakespeare was still an active member of that company. Burbadge played Melantius, and the play was popular until the closing of the theatres. A droll, the Testy Lord, based on the scenes dealing with Calianax, was played at the Red Bull during the suppression of the theatres, and the play was revived on Nov. 17, 1660. Pepys saw it in the following year, and it was popular during the Restoration, as is evinced by Dryden's criticisms and Rymer's attack in his Trage- dies of the Last Age Considered. An alteration of the play, or rather a new fifth act, without the murder of the king, was written by Waller, and two versions were printed ; but it does not appear that either of these versions for any long time supplanted the orig- inal play on the stage. In 1703 it was revived at Drury Lane, where it had not been acted for twelve years; in 1706, at the Haymarket, Evadne was played by Mrs. Barry, Aspatia by Mrs. Bracegirdle, and Melantius by Betterton ; and Melantius was the last part acted by Betterton three days before his death in 1610. The play appeared occasionally until the middle of the century j then it seems to have been laid aside until 1837, when, with alter- ations by Macready and three new scenes by Sheridan Knowles, it was revived as the Bridal. 7, 73. That beares the light above her. Weber j]iote0 to W^t ^aiu'0 ®rageti^ 145 adopted about of Qx and understood ligAt to stand for lightning. Dyce took Aer to refer to Aspatia and understood the passage to mean, has greater distinction than Aspatia. Daniel (B) suggested '* blears " for beares, — " Evadne makes dim the very light of heaven that is above her, by her superior brilliancy." Dyce' s inter- pretation seems the most satisfactory. A similar uncertainty of the quartos between abo-ve and about is found in 1. 138. 8, 100. in course. In turn. See 11, i, 106. II. Scene II. Compare Henry VI 11^ v, 4, and the Induc- tion to Four Plays in One, for similar scenes. 11, 4. well said. Here, as frequently, equivalent to "well done." 12, 21. Office ! •* The syllable 0^ reminds the testy states- man of his robe, and he carries on the image. ' ' Coleridge, cited by D and B. I3» 5^- breake a dozen wiser heads than his own, etc. At Shirley's masque, the Triumph of Peace, at court, in 1633, Lord Pembroke broke his staff over the shoulders of Thomas May, the poet. Osborne in his Traditional Memoirs relates the story, observing in the very words of the text that Pembroke ** did not refraine, whilst he was chamberlaine, to break many wiser heads than his owne." This coincidence was noted by Weber ; and Dyce, quoting Weber's note, which he queries as by Sir Walter Scott, added that in a copy of the quarto of 1638 in his possession, ** Pembroke " was written in the margin opposite this passage. I7» ^39- This beautie. The beauty of the court, disclosed by the entrance of Cynthia, is referred to. The mists, mentioned in the stage-direction, doubtless disappeared. 20, 196-198. These . . . things. Daniel (B) believes Q2 a bungling attempt to correct the certainly corrupt <^i, and pro- poses to read : These are our music : next, thy watery race Led on in couples, we are pleased to grace This noble night ; Bid them draw near, each in their richest things. Dyce suggested **Lead" for Bring in 1. 197. 21, 214. Blew Proteus. Blue, because a sea-deity. • 22, 252. if not her measure. 146 j^otrflf to W^t ^paiO'g tETragei)^ altered to "If not o'er measure" ; Dyce retained the reading of Q2, and explained, '* though perhaps what I bring may not com- pletely fill up her [^t/iis hour'^ measure." Fleay i^Chron. Eng. DramOy i, 193) suggested that the words are merely the misprint of a stage-direction, — " Another measure." His suggestion is doubt- less correct and is adopted by Daniel (B). In Qi there are but two songs and two dances 5 ^2 provides three songs and three accom- panying dances. 24, 292. yon same flashing streame. This is the ef- fulgence of the court, shot from the south. A greater light, a greater majesty, than that of the daybreak in the east. 27, 22. take it. Contradistinctive to leave it, ofl. 18 j it refers to trick in 1. 17. 28, 30. Plucke downe a side. To set up a side meant, to be partners in a game j to pluck donvn a side, to cause the loss of a game. 28, 38. But I could run my countrey. But I could (B, qy., would) drive my country at a hot pace. 29, 56. lost. Left of Q5-F has the same meaning as lost i the two were used interchangeably. See 1. 347. 43> 341- that my flesh could beare with patience. Dyce notes : " If the text be right [thatl must refer to Nor let the king Know I conceive he wrongs me"; [11. 339, J40.] — that concealment would enable me to bear my injury with patience. ' ' 48, 67. the wilde iland. Naxos. 49, 78. A miserable life of this poore picture I A living representation of the pitiful scene depicted in this needle- work. 64, 264. that little credit. The force of that is intensive, — such little credit. 79, 260. Enter Melantius agen. Daniel (B) notes, " Perhaps a new scene should be marked here." No change of place is intended 5 and only a very brief interval of time can be supposed to have intervened between the exit and the reentry of Melantius. jliotesf to ®t)e ^aiD'flf ®rageD^ 147 79, 266. as sent. "As if you were sent on purpose.'* Mason. 83, 2. you looke, Evadne. Dyce remarks that modern editors (punctuating as in the text) strangely misunderstand the line ; but his interpretation — you look or seem to be Evadne — can be justified only if Evadne is supposed to misunderstand her bro- ther, and even then is not supported by Melantius' succeeding lines. The punctuation of Theobald, retained in the text, requires less re- finement in interpretation. 84, II. Millan skins. "Fine gloves manufactured at Milan." Nares. 85, 32. fill. " As a sheet of paper is JiWd or covered with writing." Daniel (B). 86, 55. where the Dog raignes. The dog star, Sirius, which gave the name to the dog-days, and was associated with the hottest and most unhealthful weather. 95, 228. Lerna. The name of a marsh and a lake in Ar- golis, famous in Greek mythology as the abode of the Lernean Hydra, slain by Hercules in the accomplishment of one of his twelve labors. 96, 239. if thou plai'st with thy repentance, the best sacrifice. If thou mak'st thy repentance, the most ac- ceptable sacrifice you can offer, merely a mockery and sport. 100, 39. Quit *em. Abandon them, forsake them. 113, 286. astronomers. " When astrologer and astronomer began to be differentiated, the relation between them was, at first, the converse of the present usage." iV". E. D. 116. King abed. The stage-directions indicate the business on the Elizabethan stage. At the rear of the stage was a bed with closed curtains j or the bed was placed in the inner stage and cur- tains concealed it from the front. Evadne remained on the stage from the opening of the scene to line ill; and there was nothing to indicate the change of scene at line 1 1 , marked by Theobald and other modern editors. 117, 19. that desperate fooles. The reference has not been identified. 121, 86. Those blessed fires that shot. Meteors. 126, 33. When time was. From the beginning. 129, 12. but, to haste. But, to make haste. 148 ^otta to ®l^e ^aiu'0 ®rageU^ But in particular, I have in charge, 129, 19-20. ^ijQut no waightie matters. I have in charge that he will speake with nobody, especially if they wish to speake on weighty matters. 135, 142-43. Couldst thou . . . this woman. Dan- iel's suggestion of " thee, woman," avoids the confusion of the change from the personal to the demonstrative pronoun. The change, however, seems natural to Amintor's passion. TEXT The first quarto, published in 1620, some twelve years after the play was first acted, presents an evidently corrupt and unauthorized text, diflfering utterly at the beginning and the end from the other quartos, and in the remaining portion of the play apparently based on a copy made by some scribe in the audience. The passages at the beginning and the end were in the opinion of Dyce, supplied ** by some hireling writer," and they certainly cannot have been the work of Beaumont or Fletcher. They may possibly have been alterations made for some theatrical performance, but their contents offer no support for Fleay's conjecture [CAron. Eng. Drama, i, 189) that they were made for the presentation at court, 1612- 13. The main body of the text, though presenting many readings due to the inaccurate hearing of the scribe and though carelessly printed with little regard to the division of verse-lines, often sup- plies corrections for the corruptions of later quartos. Walkeley, the publisher of Qi, brought out the second quarto in 1622, to which he prefixed an Address to the Reader, disclaiming for himself or the printer any blame for the errors of Qi and promising their reforma- tion. By whom he was supplied with a corrected text cannot be known. Beaumont had been dead six years j and though Fletcher was still alive, there is nothing to indicate that he supplied or revised the text. Walkeley had printed an anonymous edition of Thierry and Theodoret in 1 621, and the first quarto of ^ f^^^g and No King With the authors' names in 1 61 9 5 the manuscript for the latter he had obtained from Sir Henry Nevill, and he had now secured from some source a good copy of Philaster. Q2 is our chief authority for the text. Q3, 1630, follows it in the main, but Q4, 1634, presents many changes especially in the oaths, and these changes have been generally preserved in subsequent quartos, the Folio of 1679, and by modern editors up to Dyce, and even he often retains the modified oaths. The later quartos repeat the text of Q4'34; Q5a has many errors of its own 5 and F, printed from Q6, reproduces the accumulated errors, though it adds a few corrections that are improvements. 150 tRtXt The present edition is based on Q2, its spelling is retained, and all departures from its letter are noted. Readings from other quartos have occasionally been adopted. In view of the peculiar relation of Qi to Qz, and the fact that the full variants for Qi have never been printed except in the recent BuUen Variorum edition, and there not with entire accuracy, it has been thought best to include full variants of Qi, even when of the slightest significance. Similarly, full variants of the later Qq and F are given. Variants of modern editors are given only when of importance to the text j but all de- viations of Dyce or Daniel ( B ) from the present text are specifically noted. The arrangement of verse-lines in Q2 is followed in the main ; that of Dyce is sometimes preferred, when the reading of Qz is given in the notes. Variations in the verse-lines of Qi are not in general given. In all other respects except those just noted, the text follows the methods specified in the textual note to the Maid''s Tragedy. Professor J. W. Cunliffe transcribed the text of Q2 from the copy in the Bodleian Library, and collated it with Q3. Professor G. P. Baker collated the text with the Locker-Lampson copy of Qi now in the library of Mr. Robert Hoe, of New York. The authorities of the Cambridge University Press, through the kind intervention of the Master of Peterhouse and Mr. A. R. Waller, supplied the advance sheets of the edition of Philaster which Mr. Waller is editing for their "Cambridge English Classics." These sheets furnished a basis for the collation of the Qq and F, and a comparison of their variants with those of Leonhardt and Daniel (B). For the great kindness and important services of these gen- tlemen, the editor would offer his grateful acknowledgements. PHILASTER. Loue lies a Bleeding, ^s ithathheene diuerfe times Med, at the Globe, and Blackc-Fricrs, by hts Maiejlies Scruants^ Written by? and yQenU The fccond Impreflion, corrc(^ed^and amended. LONDOIT. Printed for T h o m a s W a ik ley, and are to belolde at his Hioppe, at the figne of the Eagle and Childe, in Brittaines Bttrfc, 1622* SOURCES The plot seems to have been the invention of the authors. Stories of a devoted heroine who disguises herself as a page were common in contemporary fiction and drama, and the similarity of the story of Euphrasia to that of Viola in Tivelfth Night and to the tale of Felismena and Don Felix in the Diana of Montemayor has been frequently noted. The situation of Philaster as a son revenging a father is also found not only in Hamlet but in various other Eliza- bethan plays. More notable are the resemblances between Philaster and Cymbeline ; but in the opinion of the present editor, Shakspere was in this case the borrower. A number of the situations and types of character employed in Philaster reappear in other plays by Beau- mont and Fletcher, especially Cupid's Re-venge and the Maid's Tragedy. TO THE READER. Courteous Reader. Philaster, and Arethusa his love, have laine so long a bleeding, by reason of some danger- ous and gaping wounds which they received in the first impression, that it is wondered how they could goe abroad so long, or travaile so farre as they have done. Although they were hurt neither by me, nor the printer ; yet I knowing and finding by experience how many well- wishers they have abroad, have adventured to bind up their wounds & to enable them to visite upon better tearmes such friends of theirs as were pleased to take knowledge of them so mained and deformed as they at the first were ; and if they were then gracious in your sight, assuredly they will now finde double favour, being reformed, and set forth suteable to their birth and breeding. By your sewiceahle Friend^ Thomas Walkley. To the Reader, etc. Only in Qz. mained. i. e., maimed. [THE STATIONER TO THE UNDERSTANDING GENTRIE This play so afFectlonatly taken and approoved by the seeing auditors or hearing spectators, (of which sort I take or conceive you to bee the greatest part) hath received (as appeares by the copious vent of two editions) no lesse acceptance with improovement of you likewise the readers, albeit the first impression swarm' d with errors, proov- ing it selfe like pure gold, which the more it hath beene tried and refined, the better is esteemed j the best poems of this kind, in the first presentation, resemble that all tempting minerall newly digged up, the actors being onely the labouring miners, but you the skilfull triers and refiners: now considering how currant this hath passed, under the infallible stampe of your judicious censure and applause, and (like a gainefull office in this age) eagerly sought for, not onely by those that have heard & seene it, but by others that have meerely heard thereof} here you behold me acting the merchant-adventurers part, yet as well for their satisfaction as mine owne benefit, and if my hopes (which I hope shall never lye like this Love A Bleeding) doe fairely arrive at their intended haven, I shall then be ready to lade a new bottome, and set foorth againe, to gaine the good- will both of you and them. To whom respectively I convey this hearty greeting: Adieu.] The Stationer^ etc., Qj, and with variations of spelling, Q4-Q6. [The Scene being in Cicilie. The Persons Represented in the Play are these, viz: The King. Philaster, Heire to the Crowne. Pharamond, Prince of Spaine. Dion, a Lord. Cleremont, ) Noble Gentlemen, Thrasaline, ) his Associates. Arethusa, the Kings Daughter. Gallatea, a wise Modest Lady at- tending the Princesse. Megra, a Lascivious Lady. An old Wanton Lady, or Croane. Another Lady attending the Prin- cesse. EUFRASiA, Daughter of Dion^ but disguised like a Page, and called Bellario. An old Captaine. Five Citizens. A countrey fellow. Two woodmen. The Kings Guard and Traine.] Two Noble Gentlemen. lit* Scene^ etc,^ Q3 j and with variations of spelling, Galatea^ Thrasilint, Q4-F. Q2 omits. Qi substitutes : The Actors Names. King of Cccely. Arathusa, the Princesse. Phylaster. Pharamont, a Spanish Prince. Leon, a Lord. Gleremon, Trasilin, Bellario a Page, Leon's daughter. Caliatea, a Lady of Honor. Megra, another Lady. A Waiting Gentlewoman. Two Woodmen. A Countrey Gallant. An Old Captaine. And Souldiers. A Messenger. Qi has X ^^ll^e of. 124 comforts. Ql, comfort. 126 onely. Q^i omits. Scene I.] ^f^iUmt 163 To adde [a] comfort in particular To you or me, but all ; and to confirme The nobles, and the gentry of these kingdomes, By oath to your succession, which shall be 130 Within this moneth, at most. Thra. This will be hardly done. Ck, It must be ill done, if it be done. Dion. When tis at best, twill be but halfe done. Whilst so brave a gentleman is wrong'd and flung off. 135 Thra. I feare. Cle. Who does not? Dion. I feare not for my selfe, and yet I feare too. Well, we shall see, we shall see. No more. Pharamond. Kissing your white hand, mis- trisse, I take leave 140 To thanke your royall father ; and thus farre. To be my owne 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 speake my self) 145 To what a person, of what eminence. Ripe expectation, of what faculties, 127 adde a, Q3-F. Qz omits a. 129 these kingdomes. Qi, our kingdome. 134 /«. (^i,itis. 1 64 p^itoter [act i. Manners and vertues, you would wed your king- domes ; You in me have your wishes. Oh, this countrey ! By more then all the gods I hold it happy; j^q Happy, in their deare memories that have bin Kings great and good ; happy in yours, that is ; And from you (as a chronicle to keepe Your noble name from eating age) doe I Opine my selfe most happy. Gentlemen, 155 Beleeve me. in a word, a princes word, There shall be nothing to make up a kingdome Mighty, and flourishing, defenced, fear'd, Equall to be commanded and obeyed. But through the travells of my life I'le finde it, 160 And tye it to this countrey. By all the gods. My reigne shall be so easie to the subject. That every man shall be his prince himselfe, And his owne lawe ; yet I his prince and law. And, deerest lady, to your deerest selfe, 165 (Deere, in the choyce of him, whose name and lustre Must make you more and mightier) let me say, 149 Tou in me. Qi, and in me. your. Q2 misprints, you. 150 a// the gods. Q4-F, all my hopes. 152 happy. Q5-F omit. 154 eating. Qi, rotting. 155 Opine^ F. Qq, Open. 160 travells. Mod. Edd., travails. Jinje it. Qi, finde it out. 161 By all the gods. Q4-F, And I vow. 162 io , . . subject. Qi, as . . . subjects. Scene!.] ^)^ilSimt 1 65 You are the blessedst living; for, sweete prin- cesse, You shall injoy a man of men to be Your servant ; you shall make him yours, for whom 170 Great queenes must die. Thra. Miraculous ! Cle. This speech calls him Spaniard, beeing nothing but a large inventory of his owne com- mendations. 175 Dion. I wonder what's his price? for cer- tainely Hee'll sell himselfe, he has so praisde his shape. Ent[er'] Philaster. But heere comes one more worthy those large speeches Than the large speaker of them ; Let mee bee swallowed quicke, if I can finde, 180 In all the anatomy of yon mans vertues. One sinnew sound enough to promise for him, 172 Miraculous! Qi, Miracles. 176-185 I ivonder . . . judgement. Qq and F print as prose; verse first in ed. 171 1. 177 sell. Q6, F, tell, bimselfe . . . prats' d. Qi, him . . . be praised. Enter Philaster^ so placed in Qi ; in Q2, after line 175. 178 speeches. Qi, praises. 1 81-182 In . . . enough. Q'j ^11 the Anatomy of yon man's vertues unseene to sound enough. 1 66 pjilafifter [acti. He shall be constable. By this sunne, Hee'll ne're make king, unlesse it be of trifles, In my poore judgement. 185 Philaster. Right noble sir, as low as my obe- dience, And with a heart as loyall as my knee, I beg your favour. King, Rise, you have it sir. Dion. Marke but the King how pale he lookes, he feares ! Oh, this same whoreson conscience, how it jades us ! 19& King, Speake your intents sir. Phi. Shall I speake um freely ? Be still my royall Soveraigne. King. As a subject We give you freedome. Dion. Now it heates. Phi. Then thus I turne My language to you, prince, you forraigne man ! Ne*re stare, nor put on wonder, for you must 195 183-185 He . . . Ja^^emewr, division of lines as in B J D prints as two lines, ending the first with king. 184 of trifles. Q4-F, D, for trifles. 187 j4nd. gi omits. 188 your. Qi, for. 189 lookes^ he feares! Q4-F, D, looks with fear. 190 Ob . . . boiv. (^i, And ... ah how. 191 intents. Q2, intent. um. Ql, on. 193 turne. Q5, turnd. 195 for. Qi omits. Scene!.] ^^ilSimt 1 67 Indure me, and you shall. This earth you tread upon (A dowry as you hope with this faire princesse), By my dead father (oh, I had a father Whose memory I bow to !) was not left To your inheritance, and I up and living, — 200 Having my selfe about me, and my sword, The soules of all my name, and memories. These armes, and some few friends, beside the gods, — To part so calmely with it, and sit still, And say, " I might have beene." I tell thee, Pharamond, 205 When thou art king, looke I be dead and rotten. And my name ashes, as I : for, heare me, Phara- mond, This very ground thou goest on, this fat earth. My fathers friends made fertile with their faiths. Before that day of shame, shall gape and swallow aio Thee and thy nation, like a hungry grave. Into her hidden bowells : prince, it shall ; By the just gods it shall. Pha. He's mad beyond cure, mad. I gj faire. Q I, sweet. 198-199 By . . . left. Qq and F transpose these two lines; the order in the text is due to Th. 203 beside^ S^> SS- Q^ ^' '^^•j besides. 207 as I. S4-F, D, omit. 212 ber. Qi, his. 213 By the just gods. Q4-F, D, By Nemesis. 1 68 pt)ila0ter [acti. Dion. Here's a fellow has some fire in*s vaines : The outlandish prince lookes like a tooth- drawer. 215 Phi. Sir, prince of poppingjayes, Fie make it well appeare To you, I am not mad. King. You displease us, You are too bold. Phi. No sir, I am too tame, Too much a turtle, a thing borne without pas- sion, A faint shaddow, that every drunken clow'd sayles over 220 And makes nothing. King. I doe not fancie this. Call our physitions : sure he's somewhat tainted. Thra. I doe not thinke twill prove so. Dion. H'as given him a generall purge already. For all the right he has, and now he meanes 225 To let him blood. Be constant, gentlemen. By heaven. Fie run his hazard. Although I run my name out of the kingdome. 216 5/r . . . popping jayes, Vie. Qi, I . . . popines, I will. 219 turtle. Qi, turcle. 221 makes. Qi, make. Ill— tiz fancie this . . . sure. Q^i, fancy this choUer, Sure. 224 H'as. Q2, Has. 224—228 H'as . . . kingdome^ as verse first by W. 226-227 Be . . . run. Q I, be constant gentle heavens, I'll run. 227 By heaven. Q4-D, by these hilts. Scene I.] ^J^iU&ttt 1 69 Cle. Peace, we are all one soule. Pba. What you have scene in me to stirre offence, 230 I cannot finde, unlesse it be this lady, Offer'd into mine armes, with the succession, Which I must keepe (though it hath pleasd your fury To muteny within you) without disputing Your geneolegies, or taking knowledge 235 Whose branch you are. The King will leave it me. And I dare make it mine ; you have your answer. Phi. If thou wert sole inheritor to him That made the world his, and couldst see no sunne Shine upon anything but thine ; were Pharamond 240 As truely valiant as I feele him cold. And ringd amongst the choycest of his friends. Such as would blush to talke such serious follies, Or backe such bellied commendations, And from this presence, — spight of [all] these bugs, 245 You should heare further from me. 229 all. Q4'39-F omit. z^d it me. gi, it to me. 238 ivert. Q4, Q5b, were. 240 anything. Qsb, any thine; Q6, F, any. 244 bellied, 23-F. Qi, Q2, belied. 245 this presence. Qi, his presence; Q5-F, this present. spight . . . bugs, Q3-F. ^i , Spit all those bragges. Qz omits all. 1 70 Ptlitotrr [Act I. King. Sir, you wrong the prince : I gave you not this freedome to brave our best friends ; You deserve our frowne. Go to, be better temper'd. Phi, It must be, sir, when I am nobler usde.250 Gal. Ladyes, This would have beene a patterne of succession, Had he ne're met this mischiefe. By my life, He is the worthiest the true name of man This day within my knowledge. 255 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. King. Philaster, tell me. The injuries you aime at in your riddles. 260 Phi. If you had my eyes, sir, and sufferance. My griefes upon you, and my broken fortunes. My wants great, and now nought but hopes and feares, 248—249 to brave . . . froiune. Ql omits. 250 nobler, (^i, noblier. 251 Gal. Ladyes^ etc. (^i gives this speech to Leon (Dion). 253 ne're. Ql, never. 254 i/e /.f. gijthisis. 256 j7oar. (^i omits. 257 theotberis. Qi, I'm sure tothers. my. Q6, F, Th, D, mine. 262 griefes. Qi, griefe. 263 wants. Q2, want's, nought buty Q4-F. Q1-Q3, nothing. Scene!.] ^^tlSi^ttt IJl My wrongs would make ill riddles to be laught at. Dare you be still my king and right me not ? 265 King. Give me your wrongs in private. Phi. Take them ; And ease me of a load would bow strong Atlas. They whisper. Cle. He dares not stand the shock. Dion. I cannot blame him, there's danger in't. Every man in this age has not a soule of christall,27o for all men to reade their actions through : mens hearts and faces are so farre asunder that they hold no intelligence. Doe but view yon stranger well, and you shall see a feaver through all his bravery, and feele him shake like a true tenant \zj^ if he give not back his crowne againe upon the report of an elder gun, I have no augury. King. Goe to : Be more your selfe, as you respect our favour ; You'l stirre us else ; sir I must have you know, 280 265 not. Ql, Q2, omit. 266-267 Take . . . Atlas. Q^i omits. They 'whisper. Qq, F, after private, 1. 266. 270-272 has . . . faces. Qi, has a soule of Christall, to read their actions, though men's faces. 273 Doe. Qi omits. yon. Qi, the. 274 through. Qi, throw, 275 bra-very, gi, braveries. true tenant. Q I, true truant. See Notes. 280 have. Qi, am. 172 l^tlitoCer [Act I. That y'are, and shall be, at our pleasure, what fashion we Will put upon you. Smooth your brow, or by the gods — Phi. I am dead, sir, y'are my fate. It was not I Said I was wrong'd : I carry all about me My weake stars leade me to ; all my weake for- tunes. J85 Who dares in all this presence speake, (that is But man of flesh, and may be mortall) tell me, I doe not most intirely love this prince. And honour his full vertues ! King. Sure hee's possest. Phi. Yes, with my fathers spirit. It's here, O King, 290 A dangerous spirit ! now he tells me. King, I was a kings heire, bids me be a king. And whispers to me, these are all my subjects. Tis strange, he will not let me sleepe, but dives 281 y^are. Qi, W, D, you are. 281-282 That . . . gods. D prints as three lines, ending, •what, broiVj gods. 282 broiu, or. Qi, selfe, ore. 284 I ivas. Q4-F, I was not. 285 leade. Q5-F, led. to. Qi-Q^, too. 286 dares. Qi, dare. Qz includes speake in the parentheses; ■Ql omits the parentheses. 287 man. Q2, men. 289 Sure. Ql omits. 290 spirit. It^s here. Ql, spirit is. 291 now. Qiy and now. 292 be. Q5-F, are. Scene I] ^\)i\Si!Sttt 173 Into my fancy, and there gives me shapes 295 That kneele, and doe me service, cry me king : But rie suppresse him, he's a factious spirit. And will undoe me. — \_To Phar.'\ Noble sir, your hand, I am your servant. King. Away, I doe not like this : rie make you tamer, or Pie dispossesse you 300 Both of [your] life and spirit. For this time I pardon your wild speech, without so much As your imprisonment. Exeunt K[ing'\y Pha\ramond'\y Are\thu- sa, and Attendants]^ . Dion. I thanke you, sir, you dare not for the people. Gal, Ladyes, what thinke you now of this brave fellow ? 305 Meg. A pretty talking fellow, hot at hand. But eye yon stranger ; is he not a fine compleate gentleman ? O these strangers, I doe affect them strangely : they doe the rarest home things, and please the fullest! As I live, I could love all the 3^0 nation over and over for his sake. 301 your, Qi. Q2-F omit. 302 your. Qi omits. 305 Gal. Ladyes, etc. Qi gives this speech to Tra. (Thrasiline). 307 be not. ^6, F, not he. 310 I could. <^6, F, could I. 3 1 0-3 1 1 the nation, gi, their nation. 174 J^liila^ter [acti. Gal. Gods comfort your poore head-peece, lady, tis a weake one, and had need of a night cap. Exit Ladyes. Dion. See how his fancy labours, has he not 315 Spoke home, and bravely ? what a dangerous traine Did he give fire to ! How he shooke the King, Made his soule melt within him, and his blood Run into whay ! It stood upon his brow Like a cold winter dew. Phi. Gentlemen, 320 You have no suite to me ? I am no minion : You stand (me thinkes) like men that would be courtiers, If I could well be flatter'd at a price. Not to undoe your children. Y'are all honest : Goe, get you home againe, and make your countrey 325 A vertuous court, to which your great ones may, In their diseased age, retire and live recluse. Cle. How doe you, worthy sir? 312 Gal. Gods, etc. Ql gives this speech to "Lad." Gods. (24-F, Pride. 313 lady. Qi omits, had. gi, has. 315 Qq and F end this line with spoke ; the division in the text is due to Th. 323 /, W, D, B. Qq, F, you. See Notes. 324 T^are. Qi, you are. 327 recluse. Ql, recluses. 328 worthy. Qi, worth. Scene I] Pt|ila0ter 175 Phi, Well, very well ; And so well, that if the King please, I finde I may live many yeares. Dion The King must please, 330 Whilst we know what you are, and who you are. Your wrongs and vertues. Shrinke not, worthy sir. But ad your father to you ; in whose name, Wee'U waken all the gods, and conjure up The rods of vengeance, the abused people, 335 Who, like to raging torrents, shall swell high. And so begirt the dens of these Male-dragons, That through the strongest safety, they shall beg For mercy at your swords point. Phi. Friends, no more ; Our eares may be corrupted : tis an age 34° We dare not trust our wills to. Do you love me ? Thra. Do we love heaven and honour ? Phi. My Lord Dion, you had A vertuous gentlewoman cald you father; Is she yet alive ? Dion. Most honored sir, she is ; 345 329 Ifnde. Qi omits. 330 The. Qi, Sir, the. 331 ivhat . . . 'wbo. Ql, who . . . what. 332 -vertues, Ql, D, B. ^2-?, injuries. 333 ^^- S^j call. 336 to. Ql omits. 339 Friends, (^i, Friend. 340 eares. Q4'39-F, years. 343 Dion. Qi, Lyon. 176 pi^ilaSftfr [Act I. And for the penance but of an idle dreame, Has undertooke a tedious pilgrimage. Enter a Lady. Phi. Is it to me, or any of these gentlemen you come ? Lady. To you, brave lord ; the princesse would intreate Your present company. -.^ Phi. The princesse send for me ? you are mistaken. La. If you be cald Philaster, tis to you. Phi. Kisse her faire hand, and say I will attend her. {Exit LadyJ] Dion. Doe you know what you doe ? Phi. Yes, goe to see a woman. 355 Cle. But doe you weigh the danger you are in ? Phi. Danger in a sweete face? By Jupiter, I must not feare a woman. Thra. But are you sure it was the princesse sent ? It may be some foule traine to catch your life. 360 346 the. Qi, a. Enter a Lady. Qi has after 1. 344, Enter a Gentlewoman j and at 11. 349, 352, for La. reads, Gent- Woo. 348 h . . . these. Qi, I'stto me, or to any of these. D, B, begin a new verse-line with Or. 351 you are, Qi. Q2-F, Y'are. 352 to. Qi omits. 353 faire. Q4-F omit. Exit Lady. (;^i , Exit Gent- Woo ; g^-F omit. Scene II.] ^\)Mmt 177 Phi. I doe not thinke it, gentlemen; she's noble. Her eye may shoote me dead, or those true red And white friends in her cheekes may steale my soul out ; There's all the danger in't : but be what may. Her single name hath arm'd me. Exif Phil\_aster\ . Dion, Goe on : 365 And be as truely happy as th'art fearelesse ! — Come, gentlemen, let's make our friends ac- quainted. Least the King prove false. Exit Gentlemen. [Scene II. Arethusa* s Apartment in the Palace. "^ Enter Arethusa and a Lady. Arethusa. Comes he not ? Lady. Madam ? Are, Will Philaster come ? La. Deare madam, you were wont To credit me at first. 361 doe. gl, dare. 363 friends, ^i, fiend friends. cheekes^ Qi. Q2-F, face. 366 tFart. Qi, 26, F, thou art. Enter . . . Lady. Qi, Enter Princesse and her Gentlewoman. Qi throughout the scene reads *' Prin " for Are., and " Woo" for La. 3 at first. Qi, at the first. 178 pi)ila0ter [acti. Are. But didst thou tell me so ? I am forgetful!, and my womans strength 5 Is so o'recharg'd with dangers like to grow About my marriage, that these under things Dare not abide in such a troubled sea : How lookt he, when he told thee he would come ? La, Why, well. 10 Are, And not a little fearfull ? La. Feare, madam! sure, he knowes 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 doe noble things, 15 As fooles in strife throw gold into the sea, Drownd in the doing. But I know he feares ? La. Feare, madam ! me thought his lookes hid more Of love than feare. Are. Of love ? To whom ? To you ? Did you deliver those plaine words I sent, %o With such a winning jeasture and quicke looke, That you have caught him ? 6 dangers. F, danger. 8 Dare, ^i, dares. 1 3 all are. Q4-F, are all. 18 Feare. Qi o^aits. me thought. Q I "^ee thoughts. 21 •winning. Qi, woing. looke. Ql, looks. 22 him. Qi omits. Scene II.] ^^h^ttt 179 La. Madam, I meane to you. Jre. Of love to me ! Alas ! thy ignorance Lets thee not see the crosses of our births. Nature, that loves not to be questioned 25 Why she did this, or that, but has her ends, And knowes she does well, never gave the world Two things so opposite, so contrary. As he and I am. If a bowle of blood Drawne from this arme of mine would poyson thee, 30 A draught of his would cure thee. Of love to me ! La. Madam, I think I heare him. j^re. Bring him in. J^Exit Lady.~\ You gods that would not have your doomes withstood. Whose holy wisdomes at this time it is. To make the passions of a feeble maide, 35 The way unto your justice ; I obay. La. Here is my Lord Philaster. Enter Phil\_aster\. Are. Oh, tis well : Withdraw your selfe. 26 her. Qi, his. 28 T1V0. Ql, To. contrary. Qi, bound to put. 30 of mine, ^i omits. 31 Of. gi omits. 33 ivould. ^i, will. doomes. (^i, dens. 35 passions. Q4-F, passion. 36 unto. Qi, into. 37 tis. Qi, Q2, it is. i8o jaijilafifter [acti. Phtlaster. Madam, your messenger Made me beleeve, you wish'd to speake with me. Are. Tis true, Philaster ; but the words are such, 40 I have to say, and doe so ill beseeme The mouth of woman, that I wish them sayd. And yet am loth to speake them. Have you knowne. That I have ought detracted from your worth ? Have I in person wrong'd you ? or have set 45 My baser instruments to throw disgrace Upon your vertues ? Phi. Never, madam, you. Jre. Why then should you in such a publike place. Injure a princesse, and a scandall lay Upon my fortunes, fam'd to be so great, 50 Calling a great part of my dowry in question ? Phi. Madam, this truth which I shall speake will be Foolish : but, for your faire and vertuous selfe, I could afPoord my selfe to have no right To any thing you wish'd. Jre. Philaster, know, 55 I must enjoy these kingdomes. Phi. Madam, both ? 41 doe. Qi, dos. beseeme. Qi, become. 49 Injure. Qi, Injury. t,o farn d. Qi, found. 53 and. Qi omits. Scene II.] pj^tlaSftrt l8l Are. Both, or I dye : by heaven I die, Philas- ter, If I not calmly may enjoy them both. Phi. I would doe much to save that noble life ; Yet would be loth to have posterity 60 Plnd in our stories that Philaster gave His right unto a scepter and a crowne. To save a ladies longing. Are. Nay then, heare . I must and will have them, and more — Phi. What, more ? Are. Or lose that little life the gods prepared 65 To trouble this poore peece of earth withall. Phi. Madam, what more ? Are. Turne then away thy face. Phi. No. Are. Doe. Phi. I can indure it. Turne away my face ? 70 I never yet saw enemy that lookt So dreadfully but that I thought my selfe As great a basiliske as he ; or spake So horrible but that I thought my tongue Bore thunder underneath, as much as his ; 75 Nor beast that I could turne from : shall I then 57 4v^- Qij