this ebook was one of project gutenberg's early files produced at a time when proofing methods and tools were not well developed. there is an improved edition of this title which may be viewed as ebook (#1538) at https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/1538 ******************************************************************* ******************************************************************* this ebook was one of project gutenberg's early files produced at a time when proofing methods and tools were not well developed. there is an improved edition of this title which may be viewed as ebook (#1539) at https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/1539 ******************************************************************* ******************************************************************* this ebook was one of project gutenberg's early files produced at a time when proofing methods and tools were not well developed. there is an improved edition of this title which may be viewed as ebook (#1539) at https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/1539 ******************************************************************* ******************************************************************* this ebook was one of project gutenberg's early files produced at a time when proofing methods and tools were not well developed. there is an improved edition of this title which may be viewed as ebook (#1538) at https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/1538 ******************************************************************* ******************************************************************* this ebook was one of project gutenberg's early files produced at a time when proofing methods and tools were not well developed. there is an improved edition of this title which may be viewed as ebook (#1540) at https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/1540 ******************************************************************* ******************************************************************* this ebook was one of project gutenberg's early files produced at a time when proofing methods and tools were not well developed. there is an improved edition of this title which may be viewed as ebook (#1540) at https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/1540 ******************************************************************* generously made available by internet archive (https://archive.org) note: project gutenberg also has an html version of this file which includes the original lovely illustrations. see 47518-h.htm or 47518-h.zip: (http://www.gutenberg.org/files/47518/47518-h/47518-h.htm) or (http://www.gutenberg.org/files/47518/47518-h.zip) images of the original pages are available through internet archive. see https://archive.org/details/shakespearescome00shak transcriber's note: text enclosed by underscores is in italics (_italics_). _the tempest_ [illustration] [illustration: prospero: '_here in this island we arrived_' (page 20).] shakespeare's comedy of the tempest with illustrations by edmund dulac [illustration] hodder & stoughton new york and london the text is printed by permission from the oxford edition illustrations prospero. here in this island we arrived (page 20), _frontispiece_ prospero. _page_ i have done nothing but in care of thee (page 11), 8 prospero. what seest thou else in the dark backward and abysm of time? (page 13), 16 prospero. and by my prescience i find my zenith doth depend upon a most auspicious star (page 21), 26 caliban. wouldst give me water with berries in't (page 31), 36 antonio. here lies your brother, no better than the earth he lies upon (page 61), 52 stephano. come, swear to that: kiss the book (page 72), 64 ariel. you are three men of sin (page 99), 80 iris. i met her deity cutting the clouds towards paphos (page 110), 94 iris. you nymphs, call'd naiads, of the windring brooks, leave your crisp channels (page 112), 108 prospero. we are such stuff as dreams are made on (page 114), 112 ariel. all prisoners, sir, in the line-grove which weather-fends your cell (page 123), 120 prospero. you demi-puppets that by moonshine do the green sour ringlets make (page 125), 124 prospero. graves at my command have waked their sleepers (page 126), 130 boatswain. and were brought moping hither (page 137), 136 prospero. calm seas, auspicious gales, and sail so expeditious (page 142), 140 dramatis personæ alonso, king of naples. sebastian, his brother. prospero, the right duke of milan. antonio, his brother, the usurping duke of milan. ferdinand, son to the king of naples. gonzalo, an honest old counsellor. adrian, } francisco, } lords. caliban, a savage and deformed slave. trinculo, a jester. stephano, a drunken butler. master of a ship. boatswain. mariners. miranda, daughter to prospero. ariel, an airy spirit. iris, } ceres, } juno, } nymphs, } reapers, } presented by spirits. other spirits attending on prospero. scene--_a ship at sea: an island._ [illustration: act i] scene i _on a ship at sea: a tempestuous noise of thunder and lightning heard._ _enter a_ ship-master _and a_ boatswain. mast. boatswain! boats. here, master: what cheer? mast. good, speak to the mariners: fall to't, yarely, or we run ourselves aground: bestir, bestir. [_exit._ _enter_ mariners. boats. heigh, my hearts! cheerly, cheerly, my hearts! yare, yare! take in the topsail. tend to the master's whistle. blow, till thou burst thy wind, if room enough! _enter_ alonso, sebastian, antonio, ferdinand, gonzalo, _and others_. alon. good boatswain, have care. where's the master? play the men. boats. i pray now, keep below. ant. where is the master, boatswain? boats. do you not hear him? you mar our labour: keep your cabins: you do assist the storm. gon. nay, good, be patient. boats. when the sea is. hence! what cares these roarers for the name of king? to cabin: silence! trouble us not. gon. good, yet remember whom thou hast aboard. boats. none that i more love than myself. you are a counsellor; if you can command these elements to silence, and work the peace of the present, we will not hand a rope more; use your authority: if you cannot, give thanks you have lived so long, and make yourself ready in your cabin for the mischance of the hour, if it so hap. cheerly, good hearts! out of our way, i say. [_exit._ gon. i have great comfort from this fellow: methinks he hath no drowning mark upon him; his complexion is perfect gallows. stand fast, good fate, to his hanging: make the rope of his destiny our cable, for our own doth little advantage. if he be not born to be hanged, our case is miserable. [_exeunt._ _re-enter_ boatswain. boats. down with the topmast! yare! lower, lower! bring her to try with main-course. [_a cry within._] a plague upon this howling! they are louder than the weather or our office. _re-enter_ sebastian, antonio, _and_ gonzalo. yet again! what do you here? shall we give o'er and drown? have you a mind to sink? seb. a plague o' your throat, you bawling, blasphemous, uncharitable dog! boats. work you then. ant. hang, cur! hang, you insolent noisemaker! we are less afraid to be drowned than thou art. gon. i'll warrant him for drowning; though the ship were no stronger than a nutshell. boats. lay her a-hold, a-hold! set her two courses; off to sea again; lay her off. [illustration: prospero: '_i have done nothing but in care of thee_' (page 11).] _enter_ mariners _wet_. mar. all lost! to prayers, to prayers! all lost! boats. what, must our mouths be cold? gon. the king and prince at prayers! let's assist them, for our case is as theirs. seb. i'm out of patience. ant. we are merely cheated of our lives by drunkards: this wide-chapp'd rascal--would thou mightst lie drowning the washing of ten tides! gon. he'll be hang'd yet, though every drop of water swear against it and gape at widest to glut him. [_a confused noise within_:--'mercy on us!'--'we split, we split!'--'farewell my wife and children!'--'farewell, brother!'--'we split, we split, we split!'] ant. let's all sink with the king. seb. let's take leave of him. [_exeunt_ antonio _and_ sebastian. gon. now would i give a thousand furlongs of sea for an acre of barren ground, ling, heath, broom, furze, any thing. the wills above be done! but i would fain die a dry death. [_exeunt._ scene ii _the island. before_ prospero's _cell_. _enter_ prospero _and_ miranda. mir. if by your art, my dearest father, you have put the wild waters in this roar, allay them. the sky, it seems, would pour down stinking pitch, but that the sea, mounting to the welkin's cheek, dashes the fire out. o, i have suffered with those that i saw suffer: a brave vessel, who had no doubt some noble creature in her, dash'd all to pieces. o, the cry did knock against my very heart. poor souls, they perish'd. had i been any god of power, i would have sunk the sea within the earth, or ere it should the good ship so have swallow'd, and the fraughting souls within her. pros. be collected: no more amazement: tell your piteous heart there's no harm done. mir. o, woe the day! pros. no harm. i have done nothing but in care of thee, of thee, my dear one, thee, my daughter, who art ignorant of what thou art, nought knowing of whence i am, nor that i am more better than prospero, master of a full poor cell, and thy no greater father. mir. more to know did never meddle with my thoughts. pros. 'tis time i should inform thee farther. lend thy hand, and pluck my magic garment from me. so: [_lays down his mantle._ lie there, my art. wipe thou thine eyes; have comfort. the direful spectacle of the wreck, which touch'd the very virtue of compassion in thee, i have with such provision in mine art so safely ordered that there is no soul- no, not so much perdition as an hair betid to any creature in the vessel which thou heard'st cry, which thou saw'st sink. sit down; for thou must now know farther. mir. you have often begun to tell me what i am, but stopp'd and left me to a bootless inquisition, concluding 'stay: not yet.' pros. the hour's now come; the very minute bids thee ope thine ear; obey and be attentive. canst thou remember a time before we came unto this cell? i do not think thou canst, for then thou wast not out three years old. mir. certainly, sir, i can. pros. by what? by any other house or person? of any thing the image tell me that hath kept with thy remembrance. mir. 'tis far off, and rather like a dream than an assurance that my remembrance warrants. had i not four or five women once that tended me? pros. thou hadst, and more, miranda. but how is it that this lives in thy mind? what seest thou else in the dark backward and abysm of time? if thou remember'st aught ere thou camest here, how thou camest here thou mayst. mir. but that i do not. pros. twelve year since, miranda, twelve year since, thy father was the duke of milan and a prince of power. mir. sir, are not you my father? pros. thy mother was a piece of virtue, and she said thou wast my daughter; and thy father was duke of milan; and his only heir a princess, no worse issued. mir. o the heavens! what foul play had we, that we came from thence? or blessed was't we did? pros. both, both, my girl: by foul play, as thou say'st, were we heaved thence, but blessedly holp hither. mir. o, my heart bleeds to think o' the teen that i have turn'd you to, which is from my remembrance! please you, farther. pros. my brother and thy uncle, call'd antonio- i pray thee, mark me--that a brother should be so perfidious!--he whom next thyself of all the world i loved and to him put the manage of my state; as at that time through all the signories it was the first, and prospero the prime duke, being so reputed in dignity, and for the liberal arts without a parallel; those being all my study, the government i cast upon my brother and to my state grew stranger, being transported and rapt in secret studies. thy false uncle- dost thou attend me? mir. sir, most heedfully. pros. being once perfected how to grant suits, how to deny them, who to advance and who to trash for over-topping, new created the creatures that were mine, i say, or changed'em, or else new form'd 'em; having both the key of officer and office, set all hearts i' the state to what tune pleased his ear; that now he was the ivy which had hid my princely trunk, and suck'd my verdure out on't. thou attend'st not. mir. o, good sir, i do. pros. i pray thee, mark me. i, thus neglecting worldly ends, all dedicated to closeness and the bettering of my mind with that which, but by being so retired, o'er-prized all popular rate, in my false brother awaked an evil nature; and my trust, like a good parent, did beget of him a falsehood in its contrary as great as my trust was; which had indeed no limit, a confidence sans bound. he being thus lorded, not only with what my revenue yielded, but what my power might else exact, like one who having unto truth, by telling of it, made such a sinner of his memory to credit his own lie, he did believe he was indeed the duke; out o' the substitution, and executing the outward face of royalty, with all prerogative: hence his ambition growing- dost thou hear? mir. your tale, sir, would cure deafness. pros. to have no screen between this part he play'd and him he play'd it for, he needs will be absolute milan. me, poor man, my library was dukedom large enough: of temporal royalties he thinks me now incapable; confederates- so dry he was for sway--wi' the king of naples to give him annual tribute, do him homage, subject his coronet to his crown and bend the dukedom yet unbow'd--alas, poor milan!- to most ignoble stooping. [illustration: prospero: '_what seest thou else in the dark backward abysm of time?_' (page 13).] mir. o the heavens! pros. mark his condition and the event; then tell me if this might be a brother. mir. i should sin to think but nobly of my grandmother: good wombs have borne bad sons. pros. now the condition. this king of naples, being an enemy to me inveterate, hearkens my brother's suit; which was, that he, in lieu o' the premises of homage and i know not how much tribute, should presently extirpate me and mine out of the dukedom, and confer fair milan with all the honours on my brother: whereon, a treacherous army levied, one midnight fated to the purpose did antonio open the gates of milan; and, i' the dead of darkness, the ministers for the purpose hurried thence me and thy crying self. mir. alack, for pity! i, not remembering how i cried out then, will cry it o'er again: it is a hint that wrings mine eyes to't. pros. hear a little further and then i'll bring thee to the present business which now's upon's; without the which this story were most impertinent. mir. wherefore did they not that hour destroy us? pros. well demanded, wench: my tale provokes that question. dear, they durst not, so dear the love my people bore me, nor set a mark so bloody on the business, but with colours fairer painted their foul ends. in few, they hurried us aboard a bark, bore us some leagues to sea: where they prepared a rotten carcass of a butt, not rigg'd, nor tackle, sail, nor mast; the very rats instinctively have quit it: there they hoist us, to cry to the sea that roar'd to us, to sigh to the winds whose pity, sighing back again, did us but loving wrong. mir. alack, what trouble was i then to you! pros. o, a cherubin thou wast that did preserve me. thou didst smile, infused with a fortitude from heaven, when i have deck'd the sea with drops full salt, under my burthen groan'd; which rais'd in me an undergoing stomach, to bear up against what should ensue. mir. how came we ashore? pros. by providence divine. some food we had and some fresh water that a noble neapolitan, gonzalo, out of his charity, who being then appointed master of this design, did give us, with rich garments, linens, stuffs and necessaries, which since have steaded much; so, of his gentleness, knowing i loved my books, he furnish'd me from mine own library with volumes that i prize above my dukedom. mir. would i might but ever see that man! pros. now i arise: [_resumes his mantle._ sit still, and hear the last of our sea-sorrow. here in this island we arrived; and here have i, thy schoolmaster, made thee more profit than other princesses can, that have more time for vainer hours, and tutors not so careful. mir. heavens thank you for't! and now, i pray you, sir, for still 'tis beating in my mind, your reason for raising this sea-storm? pros. know thus far forth. by accident most strange, bountiful fortune, now my dear lady, hath mine enemies brought to this shore; and by my prescience i find my zenith doth depend upon a most auspicious star, whose influence if now i court not but omit, my fortunes will ever after droop. here cease more questions: thou art inclined to sleep; 'tis a good dulness, and give it way: i know thou canst not choose. [miranda _sleeps_. come away, servant, come. i am ready now. approach, my ariel, come. _enter_ ariel. ari. all hail, great master! grave sir, hail! i come to answer thy best pleasure; be't to fly, to swim, to dive into the fire, to ride on the curl'd clouds, to thy strong bidding task ariel and all his quality. pros. hast thou, spirit, perform'd to point the tempest that i bade thee? ari. to every article. i boarded the king's ship; now on the beak, now in the waist, the deck, in every cabin, i flamed amazement: sometime i'ld divide, and burn in many places; on the topmast, the yards and bowsprit, would i flame distinctly, then meet and join. jove's lightnings, the precursors o' the dreadful thunder-claps, more momentary and sight-outrunning were not; the fire and cracks of sulphurous roaring the most mighty neptune seem to besiege, and make his bold waves tremble, yea, his dread trident shake. pros. my brave spirit! who was so firm, so constant, that this coil would not infect his reason? ari. not a soul but felt a fever of the mad, and play'd some tricks of desperation. all but mariners plunged in the foaming brine and quit the vessel, then all afire with me: the king's son, ferdinand, with hair up-staring,--then like reeds, not hair,- was the first man that leap'd; cried, 'hell is empty, and all the devils are here.' pros. why, that's my spirit! but was not this nigh shore? ari. close by, my master. pros. but are they, ariel, safe? ari. not a hair perish'd; on their sustaining garments not a blemish, but fresher than before: and, as thou badest me, in troops i have dispersed them 'bout the isle. the king's son have i landed by himself; whom i left cooling of the air with sighs in an odd angle of the isle, and sitting, his arms in this sad knot. pros. of the king's ship the mariners say how thou hast disposed and all the rest o' the fleet. ari. safely in harbour is the king's ship; in the deep nook, where once thou call'dst me up at midnight to fetch dew from the still-vex'd bermoothes, there she's hid: the mariners all under hatches stow'd; who, with a charm join'd to their suffer'd labour, i have left asleep: and for the rest o' the fleet which i dispersed, they all have met again and are upon the mediterranean flote, bound sadly home for naples, supposing that they saw the king's ship wreck'd, and his great person perish. pros. ariel, thy charge exactly is perform'd: but there's more work. what is the time o' the day? ari. past the mid season. pros. at least two glasses. the time 'twixt six and now must by us both be spent most preciously. ari. is there more toil? since thou dost give me pains, let me remember thee what thou hast promised, which is not yet perform'd me. pros. how now? moody? what is't thou canst demand? ari. my liberty. pros. before the time be out? no more! ari. i prithee, remember i have done thee worthy service; told thee no lies, made thee no mistakings, served without or grudge or grumblings: thou didst promise to bate me a full year. pros. dost thou forget from what a torment i did free thee? ari. no. pros. thou dost, and think'st it much to tread the ooze of the salt deep, to run upon the sharp wind of the north, to do me business in the veins o' the earth when it is baked with frost. ari. i do not, sir. pros. thou liest, malignant thing! hast thou forgot the foul witch sycorax, who with age and envy was grown into a hoop? hast thou forgot her? ari. no, sir. pros. thou hast. where was she born? speak; tell me. ari. sir, in argier. [illustration: prospero: '_and by my prescience i find my zenith doth depend upon a most auspicious star_' (page 21).] pros. o, was she so? i must once in a month recount what thou hast been, which thou forget'st. this damn'd witch sycorax, for mischiefs manifold and sorceries terrible to enter human hearing, from argier, thou know'st, was banish'd: for one thing she did they would not take her life. is not this true? ari. ay, sir. pros. this blue-ey'd hag was hither brought with child and here was left by the sailors. thou, my slave, as thou report'st thyself, wast then her servant; and, for thou wast a spirit too delicate to act her earthy and abhorr'd commands, refusing her grand hests, she did confine thee, by help of her more potent ministers and in her most unmitigable rage, into a cloven pine; within which rift imprison'd thou didst painfully remain a dozen years; within which space she died and left thee there; where thou didst vent thy groans as fast as mill-wheels strike. then was this island- save for the son that she did litter here, a freckled whelp hag-born--not honour'd with a human shape. ari. yes, caliban her son. pros. dull thing, i say so; he that caliban whom now i keep in service. thou best know'st what torment i did find thee in; thy groans did make wolves howl and penetrate the breasts of ever angry bears: it was a torment to lay upon the damn'd, which sycorax could not again undo: it was mine art, when i arrived and heard thee, that made gape the pine and let thee out. ari. i thank thee, master. pros. if thou more murmur'st, i will rend an oak and peg thee in his knotty entrails till thou hast howl'd away twelve winters. ari. pardon, master; i will be correspondent to command, and do my spriting gently. pros. do so, and after two days i will discharge thee. ari. that's my noble master! what shall i do? say what; what shall i do? pros. go make thyself like a nymph o' the sea: be subject to no sight but thine and mine, invisible to every eyeball else. go take this shape and hither come in 't: go, hence with diligence! [_exit_ ariel. awake, dear heart, awake! thou hast slept well; awake! mir. the strangeness of your story put heaviness in me. pros. shake it off. come on; we'll visit caliban my slave, who never yields us kind answer. mir. 'tis a villain, sir, i do not love to look on. pros. but, as 'tis, we cannot miss him: he does make our fire, fetch in our wood and serves in offices that profit us. what, ho! slave! caliban thou earth, thou! speak. cal. [_within._] there's wood enough within. pros. come forth, i say! there's other business for thee: come, thou tortoise! when? _re-enter_ ariel _like a water-nymph_. fine apparition! my quaint ariel, hark in thine ear. ari. my lord, it shall be done. [_exit._ pros. thou poisonous slave, got by the devil himself upon thy wicked dam, come forth! _enter_ caliban. cal. as wicked dew as e'er my mother brushed with raven's feather from unwholesome fen drop on you both! a south-west blow on ye and blister you all o'er! pros. for this, be sure, to-night thou shalt have cramps, side-stitches that shall pen thy breath up; urchins shall, for that vast of night that they may work, all exercise on thee; thou shalt be pinch'd as thick as honeycomb, each pinch more stinging than bees that made 'em. cal. i must eat my dinner. this island's mine, by sycorax my mother, which thou takest from me. when thou camest first, thou strokedst me and madest much of me, wouldst give me water with berries in't, and teach me how to name the bigger light, and how the less, that burn by day and night: and then i loved thee and show'd thee all the qualities o' the isle, the fresh springs, brine-pits, barren place and fertile: cursed be i that did so! all the charms of sycorax, toads, beetles, bats, light on you! for i am all the subjects that you have, which first was mine own king: and here you sty me in this hard rock, whiles you do keep from me the rest o' the island. pros. thou most lying slave, whom stripes may move, not kindness! i have used thee, filth as thou art, with human care, and lodged thee in mine own cell, till thou didst seek to violate the honour of my child. cal. o ho, o ho! would't had been done! thou didst prevent me; i had peopled else this isle with calibans. pros. abhorred slave, which any print of goodness wilt not take, being capable of all ill! i pitied thee, took pains to make thee speak, taught thee each hour one thing or other: when thou didst not, savage, know thine own meaning, but wouldst gabble like a thing most brutish, i endow'd thy purposes with words that made them known. but thy vile race, though thou didst learn, had that in't which good natures could not abide to be with; therefore wast thou deservedly confined into this rock, who hadst deserved more than a prison. cal. you taught me language; and my profit on't is, i know how to curse. the red plague rid you for learning me your language! pros. hag-seed, hence! fetch us in fuel; and be quick, thou'rt best, to answer other business. shrug'st thou, malice? if thou neglect'st or dost unwillingly what i command, i'll rack thee with old cramps, fill all thy bones with aches, make thee roar that beasts shall tremble at thy din. cal. no, pray thee. [_aside._] i must obey: his art is of such power, it would control my dam's god, setebos, and make a vassal of him. pros. so, slave; hence! [_exit_ caliban. _re-enter_ ariel, _invisible, playing and singing_; ferdinand _following_. ariel's _song_. come unto these yellow sands, and then take hands: courtsied when you have and kiss'd the wild waves whist, foot it featly here and there; and, sweet sprites, the burthen bear. hark, hark! burthen [_dispersedly_]. bow-wow. ari. the watch-dogs bark: burthen [_dispersedly_]. bow-wow. ari. hark, hark! i hear the strain of strutting chanticleer cry, cock-a-diddle-dow. fer. where should this music be? i' the air or the earth? it sounds no more: and, sure, it waits upon some god o' the island. sitting on a bank, weeping again the king my father's wreck, this music crept by me upon the waters, allaying both their fury and my passion with its sweet air: thence i have follow'd it, or it hath drawn me rather. but 'tis gone. no, it begins again. ariel _sings_. full fathom five thy father lies; of his bones are coral made; those are pearls that were his eyes: nothing of him that doth fade but doth suffer a sea-change into something rich and strange. sea-nymphs hourly ring his knell: burthen. ding-dong. ari. hark! now i hear them,--ding-dong, bell. fer. the ditty does remember my drown'd father. this is no mortal business, nor no sound that the earth owes. i hear it now above me. pros. the fringed curtains of thine eye advance and say what thou seest yond. mir. what is't? a spirit? lord, how it looks about! believe me, sir, it carries a brave form. but 'tis a spirit. pros. no, wench; it eats and sleeps and hath such senses as we have, such. this gallant which thou seest was in the wreck; and, but he's something stain'd with grief that's beauty's canker, thou mightst call him a goodly person: he hath lost his fellows and strays about to find 'em. mir. i might call him a thing divine, for nothing natural i ever saw so noble. [illustration: caliban: '_wouldst give me water with berries in't_' (page 31).] pros. [_aside._] it goes on, i see, as my soul prompts it. spirit, fine spirit! i'll free thee within two days for this. fer. most sure, the goddess on whom these airs attend! vouchsafe my prayer may know if you remain upon this island; and that you will some good instruction give how i may bear me here: my prime request, which i do last pronounce, is, o you wonder! if you be maid or no? mir. no wonder, sir; but certainly a maid. fer. my language! heavens! i am the best of them that speak this speech, were i but where 'tis spoken. pros. how? the best? what wert thou, if the king of naples heard thee? fer. a single thing, as i am now, that wonders to hear thee speak of naples. he does hear me; and that he does i weep: myself am naples, who with mine eyes, never since at ebb, beheld the king my father wreck'd. mir. alack, for mercy! fer. yes, faith, and all his lords; the duke of milan and his brave son being twain. pros. [_aside._] the duke of milan and his more braver daughter could control thee, if now 'twere fit to do't. at the first sight they have changed eyes. delicate ariel, i'll set thee free for this. [_to_ fer.] a word, good sir; i fear you have done yourself some wrong: a word. mir. why speaks my father so ungently? this is the third man that e'er i saw; the first that e'er i sighed for: pity move my father to be inclined my way! fer. o, if a virgin, and your affection not gone forth, i'll make you the queen of naples. pros. soft, sir! one word more. [_aside._] they are both in either's powers; but this swift business i must uneasy make, lest too light winning make the prize light. [_to_ fer.] one word more; i charge thee that thou attend me: thou dost here usurp the name thou owest not; and hast put thyself upon this island as a spy, to win it from me, the lord on't. fer. no, as i am a man. mir. there's nothing ill can dwell in such a temple: if the ill spirit have so fair a house, good things will strive to dwell with't. pros. follow me. speak not you for him; he's a traitor. come; i'll manacle thy neck and feet together: sea-water shalt thou drink; thy food shall be the fresh-brook muscles, wither'd roots and husks wherein the acorn cradled. follow. fer. no; i will resist such entertainment till mine enemy has more power. [_draws, and is charmed from moving._ mir. o dear father, make not too rash a trial of him, for he's gentle and not fearful. pros. what? i say, my foot my tutor? put thy sword up, traitor; who makest a show but darest not strike, thy conscience is so possess'd with guilt: come from thy ward, for i can here disarm thee with this stick and make thy weapon drop. mir. beseech you, father. pros. hence! hang not on my garments. mir. sir, have pity; i'll be his surety. pros. silence! one word more shall make me chide thee, if not hate thee. what! an advocate for an impostor! hush! thou think'st there is no more such shapes as he, having seen but him and caliban: foolish wench! to the most of men this is a caliban, and they to him are angels. mir. my affections are then most humble; i have no ambition to see a goodlier man. pros. come on; obey: thy nerves are in their infancy again and have no vigour in them. fer. so they are; my spirits, as in a dream, are all bound up. my father's loss, the weakness which i feel, the wreck of all my friends, nor this man's threats, to whom i am subdued, are but light to me, might i but through my prison once a day behold this maid: all corners else o' the earth let liberty make use of; space enough have i in such a prison. pros. [_aside._] it works. [_to_ fer.] come on. thou hast done well, fine ariel! [_to_ fer.] follow me. [_to_ ariel.] hark what thou else shalt do me. mir. be of comfort; my father's of a better nature, sir, than he appears by speech: this is unwonted which now came from him. pros. thou shalt be as free as mountain winds: but then exactly do all points of my command. ari. to the syllable. pros. come, follow. speak not for him. [_exeunt._ [illustration: act ii] scene i _another part of the island._ _enter_ alonso, sebastian, antonio, gonzalo, adrian, francisco, _and others_. gon. beseech you, sir, be merry; you have cause, so have we all, of joy; for our escape is much beyond our loss. our hint of woe is common; every day some sailor's wife, the masters of some merchant, and the merchant, have just our theme of woe; but for the miracle, i mean our preservation, few in millions can speak like us: then wisely, good sir, weigh our sorrow with our comfort. alon. prithee, peace. seb. he receives comfort like cold porridge. ant. the visitor will not give him o'er so. seb. look, he's winding up the watch of his wit: by and by it will strike. gon. sir,-seb. one: tell. gon. when every grief is entertain'd that's offer'd, comes to the entertainer-seb. a dollar. gon. dolour comes to him, indeed: you have spoken truer than you purposed. seb. you have taken it wiselier that i meant you should. gon. therefore, my lord,-ant. fie, what a spendthrift is he of his tongue! alon. i prithee, spare. gon. well, i have done: but yet,-seb. he will be talking. ant. which, of he or adrian, for a good wager, first begins to crow? seb. the old cock. ant. the cockerel. seb. done. the wager? ant. a laughter. seb. a match! adr. though this island seem to be desert,-seb. ha, ha, ha! ant. so, you're paid. adr. uninhabitable and almost inaccessible,-seb. yet,-adr. yet,-ant. he could not miss't. adr. it must needs be of subtle, tender and delicate temperance. ant. temperance was a delicate wench. seb. ay, and a subtle: as he most learnedly delivered. adr. the air breathes upon us here most sweetly. seb. as if it had lungs and rotten ones. ant. or as 'twere perfumed by a fen. gon. here is every thing advantageous to life. ant. true: save means to live. seb. of that there's none, or little. gon. how lush and lusty the grass looks! how green! ant. the ground indeed is tawny. seb. with an eye of green in't. ant. he misses not much. seb. no; he doth but mistake the truth totally. gon. but the rarity of it is,--which is indeed almost beyond credit,-seb. as many vouched rarities are. gon. that our garments, being, as they were, drenched in the sea, hold notwithstanding their freshness and glosses, being rather new-dyed than stained with salt water. ant. if but one of his pockets could speak, would it not say he lies? seb. ay, or very falsely pocket up his report. gon. methinks our garments are now as fresh as when we put them on first in afric, at the marriage of the king's fair daughter claribel to the king of tunis. seb. 'twas a sweet marriage, and we prosper well in our return. adr. tunis was never graced before with such a paragon to their queen. gon. not since widow dido's time. ant. widow! a plague o' that! how came that widow in? widow dido! seb. what if he had said 'widower æneas' too? good lord, how you take it! adr. 'widow dido' said you? you make me study of that: she was of carthage, not of tunis. gon. this tunis, sir, was carthage. adr. carthage? gon. i assure you, carthage. ant. his word is more than the miraculous harp. seb. he hath raised the wall and houses too. ant. what impossible matter will he make easy next? seb. i think he will carry this island home in his pocket and give it his son for an apple. ant. and, sowing the kernels of it in the sea, bring forth more islands. gon. ay. ant. why, in good time. gon. sir, we were talking that our garments seem now as fresh as when we were at tunis at the marriage of your daughter, who is now queen. ant. and the rarest that e'er came there. seb. bate, i beseech you, widow dido. ant. o, widow dido! ay, widow dido. gon. is not, sir, my doublet as fresh as the first day i wore it? i mean, in a sort. ant. that sort was well fished for. gon. when i wore it at your daughter's marriage? alon. you cram these words into mine ears against the stomach of my sense. would i had never married my daughter there! for, coming thence, my son is lost and, in my rate, she too, who is so far from italy removed i ne'er again shall see her. o thou mine heir of naples and of milan, what strange fish hath made his meal on thee? fran. sir, he may live: i saw him beat the surges under him, and ride upon their backs; he trod the water, whose enmity he flung aside, and breasted the surge most swoln that met him: his bold head 'bove the contentious waves he kept, and oar'd himself with his good arms in lusty stroke to the shore, that o'er his wave-worn basis bow'd, as stooping to relieve him: i not doubt he came alive to land. alon. no, no, he's gone. seb. sir, you may thank yourself for this great loss, that would not bless our europe with your daughter, but rather lose her to an african; where she at least is banish'd from your eye, who hath cause to wet the grief on't. alon. prithee, peace. seb. you were kneel'd to and importuned otherwise by all of us, and the fair soul herself weigh'd between loathness and obedience, at which end o' the beam should bow. we have lost your son, i fear, for ever: milan and naples have mo widows in them of this business' making than we bring men to comfort them: the fault's your own. alon. so is the dear'st o' the loss. gon. my lord sebastian, the truth you speak doth lack some gentleness and time to speak it in: you rub the sore, when you should bring the plaster. seb. very well. ant. and most chirurgeonly. gon. it is foul weather in us all, good sir, when you are cloudy. seb. foul weather? ant. very foul. gon. had i plantation of this isle, my lord,-ant. he'ld sow't with nettle-seed. [illustration: antonio: '_here lies your brother, no better than the earth he lies upon_' (page 61).] seb. or docks, or mallows gon. and were the king on't, what would i do? seb. 'scape being drunk for want of wine. gon. i' the commonwealth i would by contraries execute all things: for no kind of traffic would i admit; no name of magistrate: letters should not be known; riches, poverty, and use of service, none; contract, succession, bourn, bound of land, tilth, vineyard, none; no use of metal, corn, or wine, or oil; no occupation: all men idle, all; and women too, but innocent and pure; no sovereignty;-seb. yet he would be king on't. ant. the latter end of his commonwealth forgets the beginning. gon. all things in common nature should produce without sweat or endeavour: treason, felony, sword, pike, knife, gun, or need of any engine, would i not have; but nature should bring forth, of its own kind, all foison, all abundance, to feed my innocent people. seb. no marrying 'mong his subjects? ant. none, man; all idle. gon. i would with such perfection govern, sir, to excel the golden age. seb. save his majesty! ant. long live gonzalo! gon. and,--do you mark me, sir? alon. prithee, no more: thou dost talk nothing to me. gon. i do well believe your highness; and did it to minister occasion to these gentlemen, who are of such sensible and nimble lungs that they always use to laugh at nothing. ant. 'twas you we laughed at. gon. who in this kind of merry fooling am nothing to you: so you may continue and laugh at nothing still. ant. what a blow was there given! seb. an it had not fallen flat-long. gon. you are gentlemen of brave mettle; you would lift the moon out of her sphere, if she would continue in it five weeks without changing. _enter_ ariel, _invisible, playing solemn music_. seb. we would so, and then go a bat-fowling. ant. nay, good my lord, be not angry. gon. no, i warrant you; i will not adventure my discretion so weakly. will you laugh me asleep, for i am very heavy? ant. go sleep, and hear us. [_all sleep except_ alonso, sebastian, _and_ antonio. alon. what, all so soon asleep! i wish mine eyes would, with themselves, shut up my thoughts: i find they are inclined to do so. seb. please you, sir, do not omit the heavy offer of it: it seldom visits sorrow; when it doth, it is a comforter. ant. we too, my lord, will guard your person while you take your rest, and watch your safety. alon. thank you. wondrous heavy. [alonso _sleeps. exit_ ariel. seb. what a strange drowsiness possesses them! ant. it is the quality o' the climate. seb. why doth it not then our eyelids sink? i find not myself disposed to sleep. ant. nor i; my spirits are nimble, they fell together all, as by consent; they dropp'd, as by a thunder-stroke. what might, worthy sebastian?--o, what might?--no more:- and yet methinks i see it in thy face, what thou shouldst be: the occasion speaks thee, and my strong imagination sees a crown dropping upon thy head. seb. what, art thou waking? ant. do you not hear me speak? seb. i do; and surely it is a sleepy language and thou speak'st out of thy sleep. what is it thou didst say? this is a strange repose, to be asleep with eyes wide open; standing, speaking, moving, and yet so fast asleep. ant. noble sebastian, thou let'st thy fortune sleep--die, rather; wink'st whiles thou art waking. seb. thou dost snore distinctly; there's meaning in thy snores. ant. i am more serious than my custom: you must be so too, if heed me; which to do trebles thee o'er. seb. well, i am standing water. ant. i'll teach you how to flow. seb. do so: to ebb hereditary sloth instructs me. ant. o, if you but knew how you the purpose cherish whiles thus you mock it! how, in stripping it, you more invest it! ebbing men, indeed, most often do so near the bottom run by their own fear or sloth. seb. prithee, say on: the setting of thine eye and cheek proclaim a matter from thee, and a birth indeed which throes thee much to yield. ant. thus, sir: although this lord of weak remembrance, this, who shall be of as little memory when he is earth'd, hath here almost persuaded- for he's a spirit of persuasion, only professes to persuade--the king his son's alive, 'tis as impossible that he's undrown'd as he that sleeps here swims. seb. i have no hope that he's undrown'd. ant. o, out of that 'no hope' what great hope have you! no hope that way is another way so high a hope that even ambition cannot pierce a wink beyond, but doubt discovery there. will you grant with me that ferdinand is drown'd? seb. he's gone. ant. then, tell me, who's the next heir of naples? seb. claribel. ant. she that is queen of tunis; she that dwells ten leagues beyond man's life; she that from naples can have no note, unless the sun were post- the man i' the moon's too slow--till new-born chins be rough and razorable; she that from whom we all were sea-swallow'd, though some cast again, and by that destiny to perform an act whereof what's past is prologue, what to come in yours and my discharge. seb. what stuff is this! how say you? 'tis true, my brother's daughter's queen of tunis; so is she heir of naples; 'twixt which regions there is some space. ant. a space whose every cubit seems to cry out, 'how shall that claribel measure us back to naples? keep in tunis, and let sebastian wake.' say, this were death that now hath seized them; why, they were no worse than now they are. there be that can rule naples as well as he that sleeps; lords that can prate as amply and unnecessarily as this gonzalo; i myself could make a chough of as deep chat. o, that you bore the mind that i do! what a sleep were this for your advancement! do you understand me? seb. methinks i do. ant. and how does your content tender your own good fortune? seb. i remember you did supplant your brother prospero. ant. true: and look how well my garments sit upon me; much feater than before: my brother's servants were then my fellows: now they are my men. seb. but, for your conscience? ant. ay, sir; where lies that? if 'twere a kibe, 'twould put me to my slipper: but i feel not this deity in my bosom: twenty consciences, that stand 'twixt me and milan, candied be they and melt ere they molest! here lies your brother, no better than the earth he lies upon, if he were that which now he's like, that's dead; whom i, with this obedient steel, three inches of it, can lay to bed for ever; whiles you, doing thus, to the perpetual wink for aye might put this ancient morsel, this sir prudence, who should not upbraid our course. for all the rest, they'll take suggestion as a cat laps milk; they'll tell the clock to any business that we say befits the hour. seb. thy case, dear friend, shall be my precedent; as thou got'st milan, i'll come by naples. draw thy sword: one stroke shall free thee from the tribute which thou payest; and i the king shall love thee. ant. draw together; and when i rear my hand do you the like, to fall it on gonzalo. seb. o, but one word. [_they talk apart._ _re-enter_ ariel, _invisible_. ari. my master through his art foresees the danger that you, his friend, are in; and sends me forth- for else his project dies--to keep them living. [_sings in_ gonzalo's _ear_. while you here do snoring lie, open-eyed conspiracy his time doth take. if of life you keep a care, shake off slumber, and beware: awake, awake! ant. then let us both be sudden. gon. now, good angels preserve the king! [_they wake._ alon. why, how now? ho, awake! why are you drawn? wherefore this ghastly looking? gon. what's the matter? seb. whiles we stood here securing your repose, even now, we heard a hollow burst of bellowing like bulls, or rather lions: did't not wake you? it struck mine ear most terribly. alon. i heard nothing. ant. o, 'twas a din to fright a monster's ear, to make an earthquake! sure, it was the roar of a whole herd of lions. alon. heard you this, gonzalo? gon. upon mine honour, sir, i heard a humming, and that a strange one too, which did awake me: i shaked you, sir, and cried: as mine eyes open'd, i saw their weapons drawn: there was a noise, that's verily. 'tis best we stand upon our guard, or that we quit this place: let's draw our weapons. alon. lead off this ground; and let's make further search for my poor son. gon. heavens keep him from these beasts! for he is, sure, i' the island. alon. lead away. ari. prospero my lord shall know what i have done: so, king, go safely on to seek thy son. [_exeunt._ [illustration: stephano: '_come, swear to that: kiss the book_' (page 72).] scene ii _another part of the island._ _enter_ caliban _with a burden of wood. a noise of thunder heard_. cal. all the infections that the sun sucks up from bogs, fens, flats, on prosper fall, and make him by inch-meal a disease! his spirits hear me, and yet i needs must curse. but they'll nor pinch, fright me with urchin-shows, pitch me i' the mire, nor lead me, like a firebrand, in the dark out of my way, unless he bid 'em; but for every trifle are they set upon me; sometime like apes that mow and chatter at me and after bite me; then like hedgehogs, which lie tumbling in my barefoot way and mount their pricks at my footfall; sometime am i all wound with adders, who with cloven tongues do hiss me into madness. _enter_ trinculo. lo, now, lo! here comes a spirit of his, and to torment me for bringing wood in slowly. i'll fall flat; perchance he will not mind me. trin. here's neither bush nor shrub, to bear off any weather at all, and another storm brewing; i hear it sing i' the wind; yond same black cloud, yond huge one, looks like a foul bombard that would shed his liquor. if it should thunder as it did before, i know not where to hide my head: yond same cloud cannot choose but fall by pailfuls. what have we here? a man or a fish? dead or alive? a fish: he smells like a fish; a very ancient and fish-like smell; a kind of, not of the newest, poor-john. a strange fish! were i in england now, as once i was, and had but this fish painted, not a holiday fool there but would give a piece of silver: there would this monster make a man; any strange beast there makes a man: when they will not give a doit to relieve a lame beggar, they will lay out ten to see a dead indian. legged like a man! and his fins like arms! warm o' my trot! i do now let loose my opinion; hold it no longer: this is no fish, but an islander, that hath lately suffered by a thunderbolt. [_thunder._] alas, the storm is come again! my best way is to creep under his gaberdine; there is no other shelter hereabout: misery acquaints a man with strange bed-fellows. i will here shroud till the dregs of the storm be past. _enter_ stephano, _singing: a bottle in his hand_. steph. i shall no more to sea, to sea, here shall i die ashore- this is a very scurvy tune to sing at a man's funeral: well, here's my comfort. [_drinks._ [_sings._] the master, the swabber, the boatswain and i, the gunner and his mate loved mall, meg and marian and margery, but none of us cared for kate; for she had a tongue with a tang, would cry to a sailor, go hang! she loved not the savour of tar nor of pitch: then to sea, boys, and let her go hang! this is a scurvy tune too: but here's my comfort. [_drinks._ cal. do not torment me: oh! steph. what's the matter? have we devils here? do you put tricks upon's with savages and men of ind, ha? i have not 'scaped drowning to be afeard now of your four legs; for it hath been said, as proper a man as ever went on four legs cannot make him give ground; and it shall be said so again while stephano breathes at nostrils. cal. the spirit torments me: oh! steph. this is some monster of the isle with four legs, who hath got, as i take it, an ague. where the devil should he learn our language? i will give him some relief, if it be but for that. if i can recover him and keep him tame and get to naples with him, he's a present for any emperor that ever trod on neat's-leather. cal. do not torment me, prithee; i'll bring my wood home faster. steph. he's in his fit now and does not talk after the wisest. he shall taste of my bottle: if he have never drunk wine afore, it will go near to remove his fit. if i can recover him and keep him tame, i will not take too much for him; he shall pay for him that hath him, and that soundly. cal. thou dost me yet but little hurt; thou wilt anon, i know it by thy trembling: now prosper works upon thee. steph. come on your ways; open your mouth; here is that which will give language to you, cat: open your mouth; this will shake your shaking, i can tell you, and that soundly: you cannot tell who's your friend: open your chaps again. trin. i should know that voice: it should be--but he is drowned; and these are devils: o defend me! steph. four legs and two voices: a most delicate monster! his forward voice now is to speak well of his friend; his backward voice is to utter foul speeches and to detract. if all the wine in my bottle will recover him, i will help his ague. come. amen! i will pour some in thy other mouth. trin. stephano! steph. doth thy other mouth call me? mercy, mercy! this is a devil, and no monster; i will leave him; i have no long spoon. trin. stephano! if thou beest stephano, touch me and speak to me; for i am trinculo--be not afeard--thy good friend trinculo. steph. if thou beest trinculo, come forth: i'll pull thee by the lesser legs: if any be trinculo's legs, these are they. thou art very trinculo indeed! how camest thou here? trin. i took him to be killed with a thunder-stroke. but art thou not drowned, stephano? i hope now thou art not drowned. is the storm overblown? i hid me under the dead moon-calf's gaberdine for fear of the storm. and art thou living, stephano? o stephano, two neapolitans 'scaped. steph. prithee, do not turn me about; my stomach is not constant. cal. [_aside._] these be fine things, an if they be not sprites. that's a brave god and bears celestial liquor. i will kneel to him. steph. how didst thou 'scape? how camest thou hither? swear by this bottle how thou camest hither. i escaped upon a butt of sack which the sailors heaved o'erboard, by this bottle which i made of the bark of a tree with mine own hands since i was cast ashore. cal. i'll swear upon that bottle to be thy true subject; for the liquor is not earthly. steph. here; swear then how thou escapedst. trin. swum ashore, man, like a duck: i can swim like a duck, i'll be sworn. steph. here, kiss the book. though thou canst swim like a duck, thou art made like a goose. trin. o stephano, hast any more of this? steph. the whole butt, man: my cellar is in a rock by the sea-side where my wine is hid. how now, moon-calf! how does thine ague? cal. hast thou not dropp'd from heaven? steph. out o' the moon, i do assure thee: i was the man i' the moon when time was. cal. i have seen thee in her and i do adore thee: my mistress show'd me thee and thy dog and thy bush. steph. come, swear to that: kiss the book: i will furnish it anon with new contents: swear. trin. by this good light, this is a very shallow monster! i afeard of him! a very weak monster! the man i' the moon! a most poor credulous monster! well drawn, monster, in good sooth! cal. i'll show thee every fertile inch o' th' island; and i will kiss thy foot: i prithee, be my god. trin. by this light, a most perfidious and drunken monster! when's god's asleep, he'll rob his bottle. cal. i'll kiss thy foot; i'll swear myself thy subject. steph. come on then; down, and swear. trin. i shall laugh myself to death at this puppy-headed monster. a most scurvy monster! i could find in my heart to beat him,-steph. come, kiss. trin. but that the poor monster's in drink: an abominable monster! cal. i'll show thee the best springs; i'll pluck thee berries; i'll fish for thee and get thee wood enough. a plague upon the tyrant that i serve! i'll bear him no more sticks, but follow thee, thou wondrous man. trin. a most ridiculous monster, to make a wonder of a poor drunkard! cal. i prithee, let me bring thee where crabs grow; and i with my long nails will dig thee pig-nuts; show thee a jay's nest and instruct thee how to snare the nimble marmoset; i'll bring thee to clustering filberts and sometimes i'll get thee young scamels from the rock. wilt thou go with me? steph. i prithee now, lead the way without any more talking. trinculo, the king and all our company else being drowned, we will inherit here: here; bear my bottle: fellow trinculo, we'll fill him by and by again. cal. [_sings drunkenly_] farewell, master; farewell, farewell! trin. a howling monster; a drunken monster! cal. no more dams i'll make for fish; nor fetch in firing at requiring; nor scrape trencher, nor wash dish: 'ban, 'ban, cacaliban has a new master: get a new man. freedom, hey-day! hey-day, freedom! freedom, hey-day, freedom! steph. o brave monster! lead the way. [_exeunt._ [illustration: act iii] scene i _before_ prospero's _cell_. _enter_ ferdinand, _bearing a log_. fer. there be some sports are painful, and their labour delight in them sets off: some kinds of baseness are nobly undergone and most poor matters point to rich ends. this my mean task would be as heavy to me as odious, but the mistress which i serve quickens what's dead and makes my labours pleasures: o, she is ten times more gentle than her father's crabbed, and he's composed of harshness. i must remove some thousands of these logs and pile them up, upon a sore injunction: my sweet mistress weeps when she sees me work, and says, such baseness had never like executor. i forget: but these sweet thoughts do even refresh my labours, most busy lest, when i do it. _enter_ miranda; _and_ prospero _at a distance unseen_. mir. alas, now, pray you, work not so hard: i would the lightning had burnt up those logs that you are enjoin'd to pile! pray, set it down and rest you: when this burns, 'twill weep for having wearied you. my father is hard at study; pray now, rest yourself; he's safe for these three hours. fer. o most dear mistress, the sun will set before i shall discharge what i must strive to do. mir. if you'll sit down, i'll bear your logs the while: pray, give me that; i'll carry it to the pile. [illustration: ariel: '_you are three men of sin_' (page 99).] fer. no, precious creature; i had rather crack my sinews, break my back, than you should such dishonour undergo, while i sit lazy by. mir. it would become me as well as it does you: and i should do it with much more ease; for my good will is to it, and yours it is against. pros. poor worm, thou art infected! this visitation shows it. mir. you look wearily. fer. no, noble mistress; 'tis fresh morning with me when you are by at night. i do beseech you- chiefly that i might set it in my prayers- what is your name? mir. miranda.--o my father, i have broke your hest to say so! fer. admired miranda! indeed the top of admiration! worth what's dearest to the world! full many a lady i have eyed with best regard, and many a time the harmony of their tongues hath into bondage brought my too diligent ear: for several virtues have i liked several women; never any with so full soul, but some defect in her did quarrel with the noblest grace she owed and put it to the foil: but you, o you, so perfect and so peerless, are created of every creature's best! mir. i do not know one of my sex; no woman's face remember, save, from my glass, mine own; nor have i seen more that i may call men than you, good friend, and my dear father: how features are abroad, i am skilless of; but, by my modesty, the jewel in my dower, i would not wish any companion in the world but you, nor can imagination form a shape, besides yourself, to like of. but i prattle something too wildly and my father's precepts i therein do forget. fer. i am in my condition a prince, miranda; i do think, a king; i would, not so!--and would no more endure this wooden slavery than to suffer the flesh-fly blow my mouth. hear my soul speak: the very instant that i saw you, did my heart fly to your service; there resides, to make me slave to it; and for your sake am i this patient log-man. mir. do you love me? fer. o heaven, o earth, bear witness to this sound and crown what i profess with kind event if i speak true! if hollowly, invert what best is boded me to mischief! i beyond all limit of what else i' the world do love, prize, honour you. mir. i am a fool to weep at what i am glad of. pros. fair encounter of two most rare affections! heavens rain grace on that which breeds between 'em! fer. wherefore weep you? mir. at mine unworthiness that dare not offer what i desire to give, and much less take what i shall die to want. but this is trifling; and all the more it seeks to hide itself, the bigger bulk it shows. hence, bashful cunning! and prompt me, plain and holy innocence! i am your wife, if you will marry me; if not, i'll die your maid: to be your fellow you may deny me; but i'll be your servant, whether you will or no. fer. my mistress, dearest; and i thus humble ever. mir. my husband, then? fer. ay, with a heart as willing as bondage e'er of freedom: here's my hand. mir. and mine, with my heart in't: and now farewell till half an hour hence. fer. a thousand thousand! [_exeunt_ ferdinand _and_ miranda _severally_. pros. so glad of this as they i cannot be, who are surprised withal; but my rejoicing at nothing can be more. i'll to my book, for yet ere supper-time must i perform much business appertaining. [_exit._ scene ii _another part of the island._ _enter_ caliban, stephano, _and_ trinculo. steph. tell not me; when the butt is out, we will drink water; not a drop before: therefore bear up, and board 'em. servant-monster, drink to me. trin. servant-monster! the folly of this island! they say there's but five upon this isle: we are three of them; if th' other two be brained like us, the state totters. steph. drink, servant-monster, when i bid thee: thy eyes are almost set in thy head. trin. where should they be set else? he were a brave monster indeed, if they were set in his tail. steph. my man-monster hath drown'd his tongue in sack: for my part, the sea cannot drown me; i swam, ere i could recover the shore, five and thirty leagues off and on. by this light, thou shalt be my lieutenant, monster, or my standard. trin. your lieutenant, if you list; he's no standard. steph. we'll not run, monsieur monster. trin. nor go neither; but you'll lie like dogs and yet say nothing neither. steph. moon-calf, speak once in thy life, if thou beest a good moon-calf. cal. how does thy honour? let me lick thy shoe. i'll not serve him; he is not valiant. trin. thou liest, most ignorant monster: i am in case to justle a constable. why, thou deboshed fish, thou, was there ever man a coward that hath drunk so much sack as i to-day? wilt thou tell a monstrous lie, being but half a fish and half a monster? cal. lo, how he mocks me! wilt thou let him, my lord? trin. 'lord' quoth he! that a monster should be such a natural! cal. lo, lo, again! bite him to death, i prithee. steph. trinculo, keep a good tongue in your head: if you prove a mutineer,--the next tree! the poor monster's my subject and he shall not suffer indignity. cal. i thank my noble lord. wilt thou be pleased to hearken once again to the suit i made to thee? steph. marry, will i: kneel and repeat it; i will stand, and so shall trinculo. _enter_ ariel, _invisible_. cal. as i told thee before, i am subject to a tyrant, a sorcerer, that by his cunning hath cheated me of the island. ari. thou liest. cal. thou liest, thou jesting monkey, thou: i would my valiant master would destroy thee! i do not lie. steph. trinculo, if you trouble him anymore in's tale, by this hand, i will supplant some of your teeth. trin. why, i said nothing. steph. mum, then, and no more. proceed. cal. i say, by sorcery he got this isle; from me he got it. if thy greatness will revenge it on him,--for i know thou darest, but this thing dare not,- steph. that's most certain. cal. thou shalt be lord of it and i'll serve thee. steph. how now shall this be compassed? canst thou bring me to the party? cal. yea, yea, my lord: i'll yield him thee asleep, where thou mayst knock a nail into his head. ari. thou liest; thou canst not. cal. what a pied ninny's this! thou scurvy patch! i do beseech thy greatness, give him blows and take his bottle from him: when that's gone he shall drink nought but brine; for i'll not show him where the quick freshes are. steph. trinculo, run into no further danger: interrupt the monster one word further, and, by this hand, i'll turn my mercy out o' doors, and make a stock-fish of thee. trin. why, what did i? i did nothing. i'll go farther off. steph. didst thou not say he lied? ari. thou liest. steph. do i so? take thou that. [_beats_ trinculo.] as you like this, give me the lie another time. trin. i did not give the lie. out o' your wits and hearing too? a plague o' your bottle! this can sack and drinking do. a murrain on your monster, and the devil take your fingers. cal. ha, ha, ha! steph. now, forward with your tale. prithee, stand farther off. cal. beat him enough: after a little time i'll beat him too. steph. stand farther. come, proceed. cal. why, as i told thee, 'tis a custom with him, i' th' afternoon to sleep: there thou mayst brain him, having first seized his books, or with a log batter his skull, or paunch him with a stake, or cut his wezand with thy knife. remember first to possess his books; for without them he's but a sot, as i am, nor hath not one spirit to command: they all do hate him as rootedly as i. burn but his books. he has brave utensils,--for so he calls them,- which, when he has a house, he'll deck withal. and that most deeply to consider is the beauty of his daughter; he himself calls her a nonpareil: i never saw a woman, but only sycorax my dam and she; but she as far surpasseth sycorax as great'st does least. steph. is it so brave a lass? cal. ay, lord; she will become thy bed, i warrant, and bring thee forth brave brood. steph. monster, i will kill this man: his daughter and i will be king and queen,--save our graces!--and trinculo and thyself shall be viceroys. dost thou like the plot, trinculo? trin. excellent. steph. give me thy hand: i am sorry i beat thee; but, while thou livest, keep a good tongue in thy head. cal. within this half hour will he be asleep: wilt thou destroy him then? steph. ay, on mine honour. ari. this will i tell my master. cal. thou makest me merry; i am full of pleasure: let us be jocund: will you troll the catch you taught me but while-ere? steph. at thy request, monster, i will do reason, any reason. come on, trinculo, let us sing. [_sings_] flout 'em and scout 'em and scout 'em and flout 'em; thought is free. cal. that's not the tune. [ariel _plays the tune on a tabor and pipe_. steph. what is this same? trin. this is the tune of our catch, played by the picture of nobody. steph. if thou beest a man, show thyself in thy likeness: if thou beest a devil, take't as thou list. trin. o, forgive me my sins! steph. he that dies pays all debts: i defy thee. mercy upon us! cal. art thou afeard? steph. no, monster, not i. cal. be not afeard; the isle is full of noises, sounds and sweet airs, that give delight and hurt not. sometimes a thousand twangling instruments will hum about mine ears; and sometime voices, that, if i then had waked after long sleep, will make me sleep again: and then, in dreaming, the clouds methought would open and show riches ready to drop upon me, that, when i waked, i cried to dream again. steph. this will prove a brave kingdom to me, where i shall have my music for nothing. cal. when prospero is destroyed. steph. that shall be by and by: i remember the story. trin. the sound is going away; let's follow it, and after do our work. steph. lead, monster; we'll follow. i would i could see this taborer; he lays it on. trin. wilt come? i'll follow, stephano. [_exeunt._ [illustration: iris: '_i met her deity cutting the clouds towards paphos_' (page 110).] scene iii _another part of the island._ _enter_ alonso, sebastian, antonio, gonzalo, adrian, francisco, _and others_. gon. by'r lakin, i can go no further, sir; my old bones ache: here's a maze trod indeed through forth-rights and meanders! by your patience, i needs must rest me. _alon._ old lord, i cannot blame thee, who am myself attach'd with weariness, to the dulling of my spirits: sit down, and rest. even here i will put off my hope and keep it no longer for my flatterer: he is drown'd whom thus we stray to find, and the sea mocks our frustrate search on land. well, let him go. ant. [_aside to_ seb.] i am right glad that he's so out of hope. do not, for one repulse, forego the purpose that you resolved to effect. seb. [_aside to_ ant.] the next advantage will we take throughly. ant. [_aside to_ seb.] let it be to-night: for, now they are oppress'd with travel, they will not, nor cannot, use such vigilance as when they are fresh. seb. [_aside to_ ant.] i say, to-night: no more. [_solemn and strange music._ alon. what harmony is this? my good friends, hark! gon. marvellous sweet music! _enter_ prospero _above, invisible. enter several strange shapes, bringing in a banquet; they dance about it with gentle actions of salutation; and, inviting the king, etc. to eat, they depart._ alon. give us kind keepers, heavens! what were these! seb. a living drollery. now i will believe that there are unicorns, that in arabia there is one tree, the phoenix' throne, one phoenix at this hour reigning there. ant. i'll believe both; and what does else want credit, come to me, and i'll be sworn 'tis true: travellers ne'er did lie, though fools at home condemn 'em. gon. if in naples i should report this now, would they believe me? if i should say, i saw such islanders- for, certes, these are people of the island- who, though they are of monstrous shape, yet, note, their manners are more gentle-kind than of our human generation you shall find many, nay, almost any. pros. [_aside._] honest lord, thou hast said well; for some of you there present are worse than devils. alon. i cannot too much muse such shapes, such gesture and such sound, expressing, although they want the use of tongue, a kind of excellent dumb discourse. pros. [_aside._] praise in departing. fran. they vanish'd strangely. seb. no matter, since they have left their viands behind; for we have stomachs. will't please you taste of what is here? alon. not i. gon. faith, sir, you need not fear. when we were boys, who would believe that there were mountaineers dew-lapp'd like bulls, whose throats had hanging at 'em wallets of flesh? or that there were such men whose heads stood in their breasts? which now we find each putter-out of five for one will bring us good warrant of. alon. i will stand to and feed, although my last: no matter, since i feel the best is past. brother, my lord the duke, stand to and do as we. _thunder and lightning._ _enter_ ariel, _like a harpy; claps his wings upon the table; and, with a quaint device, the banquet vanishes_. ari. you are three men of sin, whom destiny, that hath to instrument this lower world and what is in't, the never-surfeited sea hath caused to belch up you; and on this island where man doth not inhabit; you 'mongst men being most unfit to live. i have made you mad; and even with such-like valour men hang and drown their proper selves. [alonso, sebastian, _etc. draw their swords_. you fools! i and my fellows are ministers of fate: the elements, of whom your swords are temper'd, may as well wound the loud winds, or with bemock'd-at stabs kill the still-closing waters, as diminish one dowle that's in my plume: my fellow-ministers are like invulnerable. if you could hurt, your swords are now too massy for your strengths and will not be uplifted. but remember- for that's my business to you--that you three from milan did supplant good prospero; exposed unto the sea, which hath requit it, him and his innocent child; for which foul deed the powers, delaying, not forgetting, have incensed the seas and shores, yea, all the creatures, against your peace. thee of thy son, alonso, they have bereft; and do pronounce by me lingering perdition, worse than any death can be at once, shall step by step attend you and your ways; whose wraths to guard you from- which here, in this most desolate isle, else falls upon your heads--is nothing but heart-sorrow and a clear life ensuing. _he vanishes in thunder; then, to soft music, enter the shapes again, and dance, with mocks and mows, and carrying out the table._ pros. bravely the figure of this harpy hast thou perform'd, my ariel; a grace it had, devouring: of my instruction hast thou nothing bated in what thou hadst to say: so, with good life and observation strange, my meaner ministers their several kinds have done. my high charms work and these mine enemies are all knit up in their distractions; they now are in my power; and in these fits i leave them, while i visit young ferdinand, whom they suppose is drown'd, and his and mine loved darling. [_exit above._ gon. i' the name of something holy, sir, why stand you in this strange stare? alon. o, it is monstrous, monstrous! methought the billows spoke and told me of it; the winds did sing it to me, and the thunder, that deep and dreadful organ-pipe, pronounced the name of prosper: it did bass my trespass. therefore my son i' the ooze is bedded, and i'll seek him deeper than e'er plummet sounded and with him there lie mudded. [_exit._ seb. but one fiend at a time, i'll fight their legions o'er. ant. i'll be thy second. [_exeunt_ sebastian _and_ antonio. gon. all three of them are desperate: their great guilt, like poison given to work a great time after, now 'gins to bite the spirits. i do beseech you that are of suppler joints, follow them swiftly and hinder them from what this ecstasy may now provoke them to. adr. follow, i pray you. [_exeunt._ [illustration: act iv] scene i _before_ prospero's _cell_. _enter_ prospero, ferdinand, _and_ miranda. pros. if i have too austerely punish'd you, your compensation makes amends, for i have given you here a third of mine own life, or that for which i live; who once again i tender to thy hand: all thy vexations were but my trials of thy love, and thou hast strangely stood the test: here, afore heaven, i ratify this my rich gift. o ferdinand, do not smile at me that i boast her off, for thou shalt find she will outstrip all praise and make it halt behind her. fer. i do believe it against an oracle. pros. then, as my gift and thine own acquisition worthily purchased, take my daughter: but if thou dost break her virgin-knot before all sanctimonious ceremonies may with full and holy rite be minister'd, no sweet aspersion shall the heavens let fall to make this contract grow; but barren hate, sour-eyed disdain and discord shall bestrew the union of your bed with weeds so loathly that you shall hate it both: therefore take heed, as hymen's lamps shall light you. fer. as i hope for quiet days, fair issue and long life, with such love as 'tis now, the murkiest den, the most opportune place, the strong'st suggestion our worser genius can, shall never melt mine honour into lust, to take away the edge of that day's celebration, when i shall think, or phoebus' steeds are founder'd, or night kept chain'd below. pros. fairly spoke. sit then and talk with her; she is thine own. what, ariel! my industrious servant, ariel! _enter_ ariel. ari. what would my potent master? here i am. pros. thou and thy meaner fellows your last service did worthily perform; and i must use you in such another trick. go bring the rabble, o'er whom i give thee power, here to this place: incite them to quick motion; for i must bestow upon the eyes of this young couple some vanity of mine art: it is my promise, and they expect it from me. ari. presently? pros. ay, with a twink. ari. before you can say 'come' and 'go,' and breathe twice and cry 'so, so,' each one, tripping on his toe, will be here with mop and mow. do you love me, master? no? pros. dearly, my delicate ariel. do not approach till thou dost hear me call. ari. well, i conceive. [_exit._ pros. look thou be true; do not give dalliance too much the rein: the strongest oaths are straw to the fire i' the blood: be more abstemious, or else, good night your vow! fer. i warrant you, sir; the white cold virgin snow upon my heart abates the ardour of my liver. pros. well. now come, my ariel! i bring a corollary, rather than want a spirit: appear, and pertly! no tongue! all eyes! be silent. [_soft music._ _enter_ iris. iris. ceres, most bounteous lady, thy rich leas of wheat, rye, barley, vetches, oats and pease; thy turfy mountains, where live nibbling sheep, and flat meads thatch'd with stover, them to keep; thy banks with pioned and twilled brims, which spongy april at thy hest betrims, to make cold nymphs chaste crowns; and thy broom-groves, whose shadow the dismissed bachelor loves, being lass-lorn; thy pole-clipt vineyard; and thy sea-marge, sterile and rocky-hard, where thou thyself dost air;--the queen o' the sky, whose watery arch and messenger am i, bids thee leave these, and with her sovereign grace, here on this grass-plot, in this very place, to come and sport: her peacocks fly amain: approach, rich ceres, her to entertain. [illustration: iris: '_you nymphs, call'd naiads, of the windring brooks, leave your crisp channels_' (page 112).] _enter_ ceres. cer. hail, many-colour'd messenger, that ne'er dost disobey the wife of jupiter; who with thy saffron wings upon my flowers diffusest honey-drops, refreshing showers, and with each end of thy blue bow dost crown my bosky acres and my unshrubb'd down, rich scarf to my proud earth; why hath thy queen summon'd me hither, to this short-grass'd green? iris. a contract of true love to celebrate; and some donation freely to estate on the blest lovers. cer. tell me, heavenly bow, if venus or her son, as thou dost know, do now attend the queen? since they did plot the means that dusky dis my daughter got, her and her blind boy's scandal'd company i have forsworn. iris. of her society be not afraid: i met her deity cutting the clouds towards paphos, and her son dove-drawn with her. here thought they to have done some wanton charm upon this man and maid, whose vows are, that no bed-right shall be paid till hymen's torch be lighted: but in vain; mars's hot minion is return'd again; her waspish-headed son has broke his arrows, swears he will shoot no more, but play with sparrows and be a boy right out. cer. high'st queen of state, great juno, comes; i know her by her gait. _enter_ juno. juno. how does my bounteous sister? go with me to bless this twain, that they may prosperous be and honour'd in their issue. [_they sing._ juno. honour, riches, marriage-blessing, long continuance, and increasing, hourly joys be still upon you! juno sings her blessings on you. cer. earth's increase, foison plenty, barns and garners never empty, vines with clustering bunches growing, plants with goodly burthen bowing; spring come to you at the farthest in the very end of harvest! scarcity and want shall shun you; ceres' blessing so is on you. fer. this is a most majestic vision, and harmonious charmingly. may i be bold to think these spirits? pros. spirits, which by mine art i have from their confines call'd to enact my present fancies. fer. let me live here ever; so rare a wonder'd father and a wise makes this place paradise. [juno _and_ ceres _whisper, and send_ iris _on employment_. pros. sweet, now, silence! juno and ceres whisper seriously; there's something else to do: hush, and be mute, or else our spell is marr'd. iris. you nymphs, call'd naiads, of the windring brooks, with your sedged crowns and ever-harmless looks, leave your crisp channels and on this green land answer your summons; juno does command: come, temperate nymphs, and help to celebrate a contract of true love; be not too late. [illustration: prospero: '_we are such stuff as dreams are made on_' (page 114).] _enter certain nymphs._ you sunburnt sicklemen, of august weary, come hither from the furrow and be merry: make holiday: your rye-straw hats put on and these fresh nymphs encounter every one in country footing. _enter certain reapers, properly habited: they join with the nymphs in a graceful dance; towards the end whereof_ prospero _starts suddenly, and speaks; after which, to a strange, hollow, and confused noise, they heavily vanish_. pros. [_aside._] i had forgot that foul conspiracy of the beast caliban and his confederates against my life: the minute of their plot is almost come. [_to the spirits._] well done! avoid; no more! fer. this is strange: your father's in some passion that works him strongly. mir. never till this day saw i him touch'd with anger so distemper'd. pros. you do look, my son, in a moved sort, as if you were dismay'd: be cheerful, sir. our revels now are ended. these our actors, as i foretold you, were all spirits and are melted into air, into thin air: and, like the baseless fabric of this vision, the cloud-capp'd towers, the gorgeous palaces, the solemn temples, the great globe itself, yea, all which it inherit, shall dissolve and, like this insubstantial pageant faded, leave not a rack behind. we are such stuff as dreams are made on, and our little life is rounded with a sleep. sir, i am vex'd; bear with my weakness; my old brain is troubled: be not disturb'd with my infirmity: if you be pleased, retire into my cell and there repose: a turn or two i'll walk, to still my beating mind. fer. mir. we wish your peace. [_exeunt._ pros. come with a thought. i thank thee, ariel: come. _enter_ ariel. ari. thy thoughts i cleave to. what's thy pleasure? pros. spirit, we must prepare to meet with caliban. ari. ay, my commander: when i presented ceres, i thought to have told thee of it, but i fear'd lest i might anger thee. pros. say again, where didst thou leave these varlets? ari. i told you, sir, they were red-hot with drinking; so full of valour that they smote the air for breathing in their faces; beat the ground for kissing of their feet; yet always bending towards their project. then i beat my tabor; at which, like unback'd colts, they prick'd their ears, advanced their eyelids, lifted up their noses as they smelt music: so i charm'd their ears that calf-like they my lowing follow'd through tooth'd briers, sharp furzes, pricking goss and thorns, which enter'd their frail shins: at last i left them i' the filthy-mantled pool beyond your cell, there dancing up to the chins, that the foul lake o'erstunk their feet. pros. this was well done, my bird. thy shape invisible retain thou still: the trumpery in my house, go bring it hither, for stale to catch these thieves. ari. i go, i go. [_exit._ pros. a devil, a born devil, on whose nature nurture can never stick; on whom my pains, humanely taken, all, all lost, quite lost; and as with age his body uglier grows, so his mind cankers. i will plague them all, even to roaring. _re-enter_ ariel, _loaden with glistering apparel, etc._ come, hang them on this line. prospero _and_ ariel _remain, invisible. enter_ caliban, stephano, _and_ trinculo, _all wet_. cal. pray you, tread softly, that the blind mole may not hear a foot fall: we now are near his cell. steph. monster, your fairy, which you say is a harmless fairy, has done little better than played the jack with us. do you hear, monster? if i should take a displeasure against you, look you,-trin. thou wert but a lost monster. cal. good my lord, give me thy favour still. be patient, for the prize i'll bring thee to shall hoodwink this mischance: therefore speak softly, all's hush'd as midnight yet. trin. ay, but to lose our bottles in the pool,-steph. there is not only disgrace and dishonour in that, monster, but an infinite loss. trin. that's more to me than my wetting: yet this is your harmless fairy, monster. steph. i will fetch off my bottle, though i be o'er ears for my labour. cal. prithee, my king, be quiet. see'st thou here, this is the mouth o' the cell: no noise, and enter. do that good mischief which may make this island thine own for ever, and i, thy caliban, for aye thy foot-licker. steph. give me thy hand. i do begin to have bloody thoughts. trin. o king stephano! o peer! o worthy stephano! look what a wardrobe here is for thee! cal. let it alone, thou fool; it is but trash. trin. o, ho, monster! we know what belongs to a frippery! o king stephano! steph. put off that gown, trinculo; by this hand i'll have that gown. trin. thy grace shall have it. cal. the dropsy drown this fool! what do you mean to dote thus on such luggage? let's alone and do the murder first: if he awake, from toe to crown he'll fill our skins with pinches, make us strange stuff. steph. be you quiet, monster. mistress line, is not this my jerkin? now is the jerkin under the line: now, jerkin, you are like to lose your hair and prove a bald jerkin. trin. do, do: we steal by line and level, an't like your grace. steph. i thank thee for that jest; here's a garment for't: wit shall not go unrewarded while i am king of this country. 'steal by line and level' is an excellent pass of pate; there's another garment for't. trin. monster, come, put some lime upon your fingers, and away with the rest. cal. i will have none on't: we shall lose our time, and all be turn'd to barnacles, or to apes with foreheads villanous low. steph. monster, lay to your fingers: help to bear this away where my hogshead of wine is, or i'll turn you out of my kingdom: go to, carry this. trin. and this. steph. ay, and this. _a noise of hunters heard. enter divers spirits, in shape of dogs and hounds, hunting them about;_ prospero _and_ ariel _setting them on_. pros. hey, mountain, hey! ari. silver! there it goes, silver! pros. fury, fury! there, tyrant, there! hark! hark! [caliban, stephano, _and_ trinculo _are driven out_. go charge my goblins that they grind their joints with dry convulsions, shorten up their sinews with aged cramps, and more pinch-spotted make them than pard or cat o' mountain. ari. hark, they roar! pros. let them be hunted soundly. at this hour lies at my mercy all mine enemies: shortly shall all my labours end, and thou shalt have the air at freedom: for a little follow, and do me service. [_exeunt._ [illustration: ariel: '_all prisoners, sir, in the line-grove which weather-fends your cell_' (page 123).] [illustration: act v] scene i _before_ prospero's _cell_. _enter_ prospero _in his magic robes, and_ ariel. pros. now does my project gather to a head: my charms crack not; my spirits obey; and time goes upright with his carriage. how's the day? ari. on the sixth hour; at which time, my lord, you said our work should cease. pros. i did say so, when first i raised the tempest. say, my spirit, how fares the king and 's followers? ari. confined together in the same fashion as you gave in charge, just as you left them; all prisoners, sir, in the line-grove which weather-fends your cell; they cannot budge till your release. the king, his brother, and yours, abide all three distracted, and the remainder mourning over them, brimful of sorrow and dismay; but chiefly him that you term'd, sir, 'the good old lord, gonzalo'; his tears run down his beard, like winter's drops from eaves of reeds. your charm so strongly works 'em, that if you now beheld them, your affections would become tender. pros. dost thou think so, spirit? ari. mine would, sir, were i human. pros. and mine shall. hast thou, which art but air, a touch, a feeling of their afflictions, and shall not myself, one of their kind, that relish all as sharply, passion as they, be kindlier moved than thou art? though with their high wrongs i am struck to the quick, yet with my nobler reason 'gainst my fury do i take part: the rarer action is in virtue than in vengeance: they being penitent, the sole drift of my purpose doth extend not a frown further. go release them, ariel: my charms i'll break, their senses i'll restore, and they shall be themselves. [illustration: prospero: '_you demi-puppets that by moonshine do the green sour ringlets make_' (page 125).] ari. i'll fetch them, sir. [_exit._ pros. ye elves of hills, brooks, standing lakes and groves, and ye that on the sands with printless foot do chase the ebbing neptune and do fly him when he comes back; you demi-puppets that by moonshine do the green sour ringlets make, whereof the ewe not bites; and you whose pastime is to make midnight mushrooms, that rejoice to hear the solemn curfew; by whose aid, weak masters though ye be, i have bedimm'd the noontide sun, call'd forth the mutinous winds, and 'twixt the green sea and the azured vault set roaring war: to the dread rattling thunder have i given fire and rifted jove's stout oak with his own bolt; the strong-based promontory have i made shake and by the spurs pluck'd up the pine and cedar: graves at my command have waked their sleepers, oped, and let 'em forth by my so potent art. but this rough magic i here abjure, and, when i have required some heavenly music, which even now i do, to work mine end upon their senses that this airy charm is for, i'll break my staff, bury it certain fathoms in the earth, and deeper than did ever plummet sound i'll drown my book. [_solemn music._ _re-enter_ ariel _before: then_ alonso, _with a frantic gesture, attended by_ gonzalo; sebastian _and_ antonio _in like manner, attended by_ adrian _and_ francisco: _they all enter the circle which_ prospero _had made, and there stand charmed; which_ prospero _observing, speaks_: a solemn air and the best comforter to an unsettled fancy cure thy brains, now useless, boil'd within thy skull! there stand, for you are spell-stopp'd. holy gonzalo, honourable man, mine eyes, even sociable to the show of thine, fall fellowly drops. the charm dissolves apace, and as the morning steals upon the night, melting the darkness, so their rising senses begin to chase the ignorant fumes that mantle their clearer reason. o good gonzalo, my true preserver, and a loyal sir to him thou follow'st! i will pay thy graces home both in word and deed. most cruelly didst thou, alonso, use me and my daughter: thy brother was a furtherer in the act. thou art pinch'd for't now, sebastian. flesh and blood, you, brother mine, that entertain'd ambition, expell'd remorse and nature; who, with sebastian, whose inward pinches therefore are most strong, would here have kill'd your king; i do forgive thee, unnatural though thou art. their understanding begins to swell, and the approaching tide will shortly fill the reasonable shore that now lies foul and muddy. not one of them that yet looks on me, or would know me: ariel, fetch me the hat and rapier in my cell: i will discase me, and myself present as i was sometime milan: quickly, spirit; thou shalt ere long be free. ariel _sings and helps to attire him_. where the bee sucks, there suck i: in a cowslips bell i lie; there i couch when owls do cry. on the bat's back i do fly after summer merrily. merrily, merrily shall i live now under the blossom that hangs on the bough. pros. why, that's my dainty ariel! i shall miss thee; but yet thou shalt have freedom: so, so, so. to the king's ship, invisible as thou art: there shalt thou find the mariners asleep under the hatches; the master and the boatswain being awake, enforce them to this place, and presently, i prithee. ari. i drink the air before me, and return or ere your pulse twice beat. [_exit._ gon. all torment, trouble, wonder and amazement inhabits here: some heavenly power guide us out of this fearful country! pros. behold, sir king, the wronged duke of milan, prospero: for more assurance that a living prince does now speak to thee, i embrace thy body; and to thee and thy company i bid a hearty welcome. alon. whether thou be'st he or no, or some enchanted trifle to abuse me, as late i have been, i not know: thy pulse beats as of flesh and blood; and, since i saw thee, the affliction of my mind amends, with which, i fear, a madness held me: this must crave, an if this be at all, a most strange story. thy dukedom i resign and do entreat thou pardon me my wrongs. but how should prospero be living and be here? pros. first, noble friend, let me embrace thine age, whose honour cannot be measured or confined. gon. whether this be or be not, i'll not swear. pros. you do yet taste some subtilties o' the isle, that will not let you believe things certain. welcome, my friends all! [_aside to_ sebastian _and_ antonio.] but you, my brace of lords, were i so minded, i here could pluck his highness' frown upon you and justify you traitors: at this time i will tell no tales. seb. [_aside._] the devil speaks in him. pros. no. for you, most wicked sir, whom to call brother would even infect my mouth, i do forgive thy rankest fault; all of them; and require my dukedom of thee, which perforce, i know, thou must restore. [illustration: prospero: '_graves at my command have waked their sleepers_' (page 126).] alon. if thou be'st prospero, give us particulars of thy preservation; how thou hast met us here, who three hours since were wreck'd upon this shore; where i have lost- how sharp the point of this remembrance is!- my dear son ferdinand. pros. i am woe for't, sir. alon. irreparable is the loss, and patience says it is past her cure. pros. i rather think you have not sought her help, of whose soft grace for the like loss i have her sovereign aid, and rest myself content. alon. you the like loss! pros. as great to me as late; and, supportable to make the dear loss, have i means much weaker than you may call to comfort you, for i have lost my daughter. alon. a daughter? o heavens, that they were living both in naples, the king and queen there! that they were, i wish myself were mudded in that oozy bed where my son lies. when did you lose your daughter? pros. in this last tempest. i perceive, these lords at this encounter do so much admire that they devour their reason and scarce think their eyes do offices of truth, their words are natural breath: but, howsoe'er you have been justled from your senses, know for certain that i am prospero and that very duke which was thrust forth of milan, who most strangely upon this shore, where you were wreck'd, was landed, to be the lord on't. no more yet of this; for 'tis a chronicle of day by day, not a relation for a breakfast, nor befitting this first meeting. welcome, sir; this cell's my court: here have i few attendants and subjects none abroad: pray you, look in. my dukedom since you have given me again, i will requite you with as good a thing; at least bring forth a wonder, to content ye as much as me my dukedom. _here_ prospero _discovers_ ferdinand _and_ miranda _playing at chess_. mir. sweet lord, you play me false. fer. no, my dear'st love, i would not for the world. mir. yes, for a score of kingdoms you should wrangle, and i would call it fair play. alon. if this prove a vision of the island, one dear son shall i twice lose. seb. a most high miracle! fer. though the seas threaten, they are merciful; i have cursed them without cause. [_kneels._ alon. now all the blessings of a glad father compass thee about! arise, and say how thou camest here. mir. o, wonder! how many goodly creatures are there here! how beauteous mankind is! o brave new world, that has such people in't! pros. 'tis new to thee. alon. what is this maid with whom thou wast at play? your eld'st acquaintance cannot be three hours: is she the goddess that hath sever'd us, and brought us thus together? fer. sir, she is mortal; but by immortal providence she's mine: i chose her when i could not ask my father for his advice, nor thought i had one. she is daughter to this famous duke of milan, of whom so often i have heard renown, but never saw before; of whom i have received a second life; and second father this lady makes him to me. alon. i am hers: but, o, how oddly will it sound that i must ask my child forgiveness! pros. there, sir, stop: let us not burthen our remembrance with a heaviness that's gone. gon. i have inly wept, or should have spoke ere this. look down, you gods, and on this couple drop a blessed crown! for it is you that have chalk'd forth the way which brought us hither. alon. i say, amen, gonzalo! gon. was milan thrust from milan, that his issue should become kings of naples? o, rejoice beyond a common joy, and set it down with gold on lasting pillars: in one voyage did claribel her husband find at tunis, and ferdinand, her brother, found a wife where he himself was lost, prospero his dukedom in a poor isle, and all of us ourselves when no man was his own. alon. [_to_ fer. _and_ mir.] give me your hands: let grief and sorrow still embrace his heart that doth not wish you joy! gon. be it so! amen! _re-enter_ ariel, _with the_ master _and_ boatswain _amazedly following_. o look, sir, look, sir! here is more of us: i prophesied, if a gallows were on land, this fellow could not drown. now, blasphemy, that swear'st grace o'erboard, not an oath on shore? hast thou no mouth by land? what is the news? boats. the best news is, that we have safely found our king and company; the next, our ship- which, but three glasses since, we gave out split- is tight and yare and bravely rigged as when we first put out to sea. ari. [_aside to_ pros.] sir, all this service have i done since i went. [illustration: boatswain: '_and were brought moping hither_' (page 137).] pros. [_aside to_ ariel.] my tricksy spirit! alon. these are not natural events; they strengthen from strange to stranger. say, how came you hither? boats. if i did think, sir, i were well awake, i'ld strive to tell you. we were dead of sleep, and--how we know not--all clapp'd under hatches; where but even now with strange and several noises, of roaring, shrieking, howling, jingling chains, and mo diversity of sounds, all horrible, we were awaked; straightway, at liberty; where we, in all her trim, freshly beheld our royal, good and gallant ship, our master capering to eye her: on a trice, so please you, even in a dream, were we divided from them and were brought moping hither. ari. [_aside to_ pros.] was't well done? pros. [_aside to_ ariel.] bravely, my diligence. thou shalt be free. alon. this is as strange a maze as e'er men trod; and there is in this business more than nature was ever conduct of: some oracle must rectify our knowledge. pros. sir, my liege, do not infest your mind with beating on the strangeness of this business; at pick'd leisure which shall be shortly, single i'll resolve you, which to you shall seem probable, of every these happen'd accidents; till when, be cheerful and think of each thing well. [_aside to_ ariel.] come hither, spirit: set caliban and his companions free; untie the spell. [_exit_ ariel.] how fares my gracious sir? there are yet missing of your company some few odd lads that you remember not. _re-enter_ ariel, _driving in_ caliban, stephano, _and_ trinculo, _in their stolen apparel_. steph. every man shift for all the rest, and let no man take care for himself; for all is but fortune. coragio, bully-monster, coragio! trin. if these be true spies which i wear in my head, here's a goodly sight. cal. o setebos, these be brave spirits indeed! how fine my master is! i am afraid he will chastise me. seb. ha, ha! what things are these, my lord antonio? will money buy 'em? ant. very like; one of them is a plain fish, and, no doubt, marketable. pros. mark but the badges of these men, my lords, then say if they be true. this mis-shapen knave, his mother was a witch, and one so strong that could control the moon, make flows and ebbs, and deal in her command without her power. these three have robb'd me; and this demi-devil- for he's a bastard one--had plotted with them to take my life. two of these fellows you must know and own; this thing of darkness i acknowledge mine. cal. i shall be pinch'd to death. alon. is not this stephano, my drunken butler? seb. he is drunk now: where had he wine? alon. and trinculo is reeling ripe: where should they find this grand liquor that hath gilded 'em? how camest thou in this pickle? trin. i have been in such a pickle since i saw you last that, i fear me, will never out of my bones: i shall not fear fly-blowing. seb. why, how now, stephano! steph. o, touch me not; i am not stephano, but a cramp. pros. you'ld be king o' the isle, sirrah? steph. i should have been a sore one then. alon. this is a strange thing as e'er i look'd on. [illustration: prospero: '_calm seas, auspicious gales, and sail so expeditious_' (page 142).] [_pointing to_ caliban. pros. he is as disproportion'd in his manners as in his shape. go, sirrah, to my cell; take with you your companions; as you look to have my pardon, trim it handsomely. cal. ay, that i will; and i'll be wise hereafter and seek for grace. what a thrice-double ass was i, to take this drunkard for a god and worship this dull fool! pros. go to; away! alon. hence, and bestow your luggage where you found it. seb. or stole it, rather. [_exeunt_ cal., steph., _and_ trin. pros. sir, i invite your highness and your train to my poor cell, where you shall take your rest for this one night; which, part of it, i'll waste with such discourse as, i not doubt, shall make it go quick away; the story of my life and the particular accidents gone by since i came to this isle: and in the morn i'll bring you to your ship and so to naples, where i have hope to see the nuptial of these our dear-beloved solemnized; and thence retire me to my milan, where every third thought shall be my grave. alon. i long to hear the story of your life, which must take the ear strangely. pros. i'll deliver all; and promise you calm seas, auspicious gales and sail so expeditious that shall catch your royal fleet far off. [_aside to_ ariel.] my ariel, chick, that is thy charge: then to the elements be free, and fare thou well! please you, draw near. [_exeunt._ epilogue spoken by prospero now my charms are all o'erthrown, and what strength i have's mine own, which is most faint: now, 'tis true, i must be here confined by you, or sent to naples. let me not, since i have my dukedom got and pardon'd the deceiver, dwell in this bare island by your spell; but release me from my bands with the help of your good hands: gentle breath of yours my sails must fill, or else my project fails, which was to please. now i want spirits to enforce, art to enchant, and my ending is despair, unless i be relieved by prayer, which pierces so that it assaults mercy itself and frees all faults. as you from crimes would pardon'd be, let your indulgence set me free. printed by t. and a. constable, printers to his majesty at the edinburgh university press * * * * * * transcriber's note: some illustrations of this work have been moved from their original sequence to enable the contents to continue without interruption. transcribers' notes this e-book contains the text of _the fall of british tyranny_, extracted from representative plays by american dramatists: vol 1, 1765-1819. comments and background to all the plays and the other plays are available at project gutenberg. spelling as in the original has been preserved. the fall of british tyranny _by_ john leacock john leacock among the elusive figures of early american drama stands john leacock, author of "the fall of british tyranny,"[1] published in 1776, in philadelphia. even more elusive is the identification, inasmuch as his name has been spelled variously leacock, lacock, and laycock. to add to the confusion, watson's "annals of philadelphia," on the reminiscent word of an old resident of that town, declares that joseph leacock penned "the medley."[2] "he wrote also a play, with good humour," says this authority, "called 'british tyranny.'" on careful search of the files, no definite information in regard to leacock has been forthcoming. the dedication to "the fall of british tyranny" was signed "dick rifle," but there is no information to be traced from this pseudonym. searching the colonial records of pennsylvania, i discovered no less than three john leacocks mentioned, all of whom were coroners, as well as a joseph leacock, who occupied the same position. examining the records of the pennsylvania soldiers of the revolution, i found several john leacocks in the ranks as privates, and also one john laycock. professor moses coit tyler, in his "literary history of the american revolution" (ii, 198), giving a list of the characters in the play and the names of those supposed to be lampooned, analyzes the piece thoroughly, and says, "from internal evidence, it must be inferred that the writing of the play was finished after the publication of 'common sense' in january, 1776, and before the news had reached philadelphia of the evacuation of boston, march 17, 1776." though sabin takes for granted that leacock wrote "the fall of british tyranny," hildeburn, in the "issues of the press" (ii, 249), states that it is "said to have been written by mr. laycock of philadelphia." if the john leacock, whose name appears in the philadelphia directory of 1802, is the one who wrote "the fall of british tyranny," following that clue we find his name disappearing from the directory in 1804. hence, he must either have died, or have moved away from philadelphia. the elusive name of leacock is to be considered also in connection with an opera entitled, "the disappointment; or, the force of credulity," signed by andrew barton,[3] supposed to be a pseudonym, and attributed variously to "colonel" thomas forrest and to john leacock. i already have had occasion to mention "the disappointment" in connection with godfrey's "the prince of parthia." the reader will remember that in 1767 "the disappointment" was put into rehearsal, but was suddenly withdrawn in preference to godfrey's piece. this play has been fully and interestingly analyzed by o. g. sonneck, who gives the reasons for the withdrawal of the play from rehearsal by the american company of philadelphia, 1767. these reasons are definitely stated in the _pennsylvania gazette_ for april 16, 1767, which contains this warning in the american company's advertisement of "the mourning bride": "n.b. 'the disappointment' (that was advertised for monday), as it contains personal reflections, is unfit for the stage." the reason why this piece is attributed to "colonel" thomas forrest is that there is a memorandum in substantiation on the title-page of a copy owned by the library company of philadelphia. mr. sonneck gives further and more extensive treatment of the subject in his excellent book on "early opera in america," (schirmer, 1915) as well as in "sammelbände der internationale musik gesellschaft," for 1914-1915. we mention the matter here, because, although sonneck enters into a long discussion of the life of forrest, he fails to give any satisfactory account of john leacock. in fact, he says in closing, "if andrew barton, esq., is to be a pseudonym, it seems to me that john leacock, claimed (by mr. hildeburn) to have written the tragi-comedy of 'the fall of british tyranny,' should not be cast aside so cheerfully in favour of thomas forrest." seilhamer and durang, referring to the matter, mention joseph leacock as a claimant for the authorship of "the disappointment," and say that he was a jeweler and a silversmith in philadelphia; they also mention john leacock, the coroner. durang, in the "history of the philadelphia stage," throws all weight in favour of thomas forrest. sonneck says further, regarding the matter,--"we may dispose of joseph by saying that he seems to have been among the dead when, in 1796, the second edition of 'the disappointment,' revised and corrected by the author, was issued. on the other hand, coroner john leacock figures in the philadelphia directories even later." so the matter stands. the play, however, is a very definite contribution, illustrating how quickly the american spirit changed in the days preceding the revolution. imagine, in 1762, the students of the college of new jersey giving a piece entitled "the military glory of great britain;"[4] and so short a time afterwards, only fourteen years, in fact, a piece with the title, "the fall of british tyranny," being greeted by the theatre-going public! leacock's attempt may be taken as the first example that we have of an american chronicle play. and it is likewise significant as being the first literary piece in which george washington appears as a character. in the advertisement, the play is thus described (see ford): "a pleasing scene between roger and dick, two shepherds near lexington. "clarissa, etc. a very moving scene on the death of dr. warren, etc., in a chamber near boston, the morning after the battle of bunker's hill. "a humorous scene between the boatswain and a sailor on board a man-of-war, near norfolk in virginia. "two very laughable scenes between the boatswain, two sailors and the cook, exhibiting specimens of seafaring oratory, and peculiar eloquence of those sons of neptune, touching tories, convicts, and black regulars: and between lord kidnapper and the boatswain. "a very black scene between lord kidnapper and major cudjo. "a religious scene between lord kidnapper, chaplain, and the captain. "a scene, the lord mayor, etc., going to st. james's with the address. "a droll scene, a council of war in boston, admiral tombstone, elbow room, mr. caper, general clinton and earl piercy. "a diverting scene between a whig and a tory. "a spirited scene between general prescott and colonel allen. "a shocking scene, a dungeon, between colonel allen and an officer of the guard. "two affecting scenes in boston after the flight of the regulars from lexington, between lord boston, messenger and officers of the guard. "a patriotic scene in the camp at cambridge, between the generals washington, lee, and putnam, etc., etc." it is interesting to note that in the abbé robin's discerning remarks, concerning the effect of drama on the pupils of harvard in 1781, and on the general appeal of drama among the american patriots, he mentions "the fall of british tyranny" without giving the author's name. footnotes: [1] the fall/of/british tyranny;/or,/american liberty/triumphant./the first campaign./a tragi-comedy of five acts,/as lately planned/at the royal theatrum pandemonium,/at st. james's./the principal place of action in america./publish'd according to act of parliament./quis furor ô cives! quæ tanta licentia ferri?/lucan. lib. i. ver. 8./what blind, detested madness could afford/such horrid licence to the murd'ring sword?/rowe./philadelphia:/printed by styner and cist, in second-street,/near arch-street. m dcc lxxvi. [2] "the medley; or, harlequin have at ye all." a pantomime produced at covent garden, and published in 1778. [3] from sabin, i take the following: barton (a.) "the disappointment; or, the force of credulity." a new american comic opera, of two acts. by andrew barton, esq. [motto.] _new york, printed in the year_ m, dcc, lxviii. 8vo. pp. v., 58. p. t. second edition, revised and corrected, with large additions, by the author. _philadelphia_, francis shallus, 1796. 12 mo. pp. iv., 94, p. 3801. [sabin also notes that the philadelphia library copy is very rare, with ms key to the characters, who were philadelphians. air no. iv is yankee doodle (1767).] [4] the title-page runs as follows: the/military glory/of/great-britain,/an/entertainment,/given by the late candidates for/bachelor's degree,/at the close of the/anniversary commencement, held/in/nassau-hall/new-jersey/september 29th, 1762./philadelphia:/printed by william bradford, m, dcc, lxii. [illustration: the fall of british tyranny or, american liberty _triumphant_. the first campaign. a _tragi-comedy_ of five acts, as lately planned at the royal theatrum pandemonium, at st. james's. the principal place of action in america. publish'd. according to act of parliament. quis furor ô cives! quæ tanta licentia ferri? lucan. lib. 1. ver. 8. _what blind, detested madness could afford such horrid license to the murd'ring sword?_ rowe. _philadelphia:_ printed by styner and cist, in second-street, near arch-street. m dcc lxxvi. fac-simile title-page of the first edition] _the dedication_ to lord boston, lord kidnapper, and the innumerable and never-ending clan of macs and donalds upon donalds, and the remnant of the gentlemen officers, actors, merry andrews, strolling players, pirates, and buccaneers in america. my lords and gentlemen: _understanding you are vastly fond of plays and farces, and frequently exhibit them for your own amusement, and the laudable purpose of ridiculing your masters (the yankees, as you call 'em), it was expected you would have been polite enough to have favoured the world, or america at least (at whose expense you act them), with some of your play-bills, or with a sample of your composition._ _i shall, however, not copy your churlishness, but dedicate the following tragi-comedy to your patronage, and for your future entertainment; and as the most of you have already acted your particular parts of it, both comic and tragic, in reality at lexington, bunker's-hill, the great-bridge, &c., &c., &c., to the very great applause of yourselves, tho' not of the whole house, no doubt you will preserve the marks, or memory of it, as long as you live, as it is wrote in capital american characters and letters of blood on your posteriors: and however some whigs may censure you for your affected mirth (as they term it, in the deplorable situation you are now in, like hogs in a pen, and in want of elbow room), yet i can by no means agree with them, but think it a proof of true heroism and philosophy, to endeavour to make the best of a bad bargain, and laugh at yourselves, to prevent others from laughing at you; and tho' you are deprived of the use of your teeth, it is no reason you should be bereaved of the use of your tongues, your eyes, your ears, and your risible faculties and powers. that would be cruel indeed! after the glorious and fatiguing campaign you have made, and the many signal victories obtained over whole herds of cattle and swine, routing flocks of sheep, lambs and geese, storming hen-roosts, and taking them prisoners, and thereby raising the glory of old england to a pitch she never knew before. and ye macs, and ye donalds upon donalds, go on, and may our gallows-hills and liberty poles be honour'd and adorn'd with some of your heads: why should tyburn and temple-bar make a monopoly of so valuable a commodity?_ _wishing you abundance of entertainment in the re-acting this tragi-comedy, and of which i should be proud to take a part with you, tho' i have reason to think you would not of choice let me come within three hundred yards of your stage, lest i should rob you of your laurels, receive the clap of the whole house, and pass for a second garrick among you, as you know i always act with applause, speak bold--point blank--off hand--and without prompter._ _i am_, my lords and gentlemen buffoons, _your always ready humble servant,_ dick rifle. the preface solomon said, "oppression makes a wise man mad:" but what would he have said, had he lived in these days, and seen the oppression of the people of boston, and the distressed situation of the inhabitants of charlestown, falmouth, stonnington, bristol, norfolk, &c.? would he not have said, "the tongue of the sucking child cleaveth to the roof of his mouth for thirst; the young children ask for bread, but no man breaketh it unto them?" "they that did feed delicately, perish in the streets; they that were brought up in scarlet, embrace the dung." what would he have said of rejected petitions, disregarded supplications, and contemned remonstrances? would he not have said, "from hardness of heart, good lord, deliver us?" what would he have said of a freeborn people butchered--their towns desolated, and become an heap of ashes--their inhabitants become beggars, wanderers and vagabonds--by the cruel orders of an unrelenting tyrant, wallowing in luxury, and wantonly wasting the people's wealth, to oppress them the more? would he not have said, it was oppression and ingratitude in the highest degree, exceeding the oppression of the children of israel? and, like moses, have cried out, let the people go? would he not have wondered at our patience and long-suffering, and have said, "'tis time to change our master!--'tis time to part!"--and had he been an american born, would he not have shewed his wisdom by adopting the language of independency? happy then for america in these fluctuating times, she is not without her solomons, who see the necessity of heark'ning to reason, and listening to the voice of common sense. the goddess of liberty hail! patriots,[5] hail! by me inspired be! speak boldly, think and act for liberty, united sons, america's choice band, ye patriots firm, ye sav'ours of the land. hail! patriots, hail! rise with the rising sun, nor quit your labour, till the work is done. ye early risers in your country's cause, shine forth at noon, for liberty and laws. build a strong tow'r, whose fabric may endure firm as a rock, from tyranny secure. yet would you build my fabric to endure, be your hearts warm--but let your hands be pure. never to shine, yourselves, your country sell; but think you nobly, while in place act well. let no self-server general trust betray, no picque, no party, bar the public way. front an arm'd world, with union on your side: no foe shall shake you--if no friends divide. at night repose, and sweetly take your rest; none sleeps so sound as those by conscience blest; may martyr'd patriots whisper in your ear, to tread the paths of virtue without fear; may pleasing visions charm your patriot eyes; while freedom's sons shall hail you blest and wise, hail! my last hope, she cries, inspired by me, wish, talk, write, fight, and die--for liberty. footnotes: [5] the congress the prologue _spoken by_ mr. peter buckstail. since 'tis the fashion, preface, prologue next, else what's a play?--like sermon without text! since 'tis the fashion then, i'll not oppose; for what's a man if he's without a nose? the curtain's up--the music's now begun, what is 't?--why murder, fire, and sword, and gun. what scene?--why blood!--what act?--fight and be free! or be ye slaves--and give up liberty! blest continent, while groaning nations round bend to the servile yoke, ignobly bound, may ye be free--nor ever be opprest by murd'ring tyrants, but a land of rest! what say ye to 't? what says the audience? methinks i hear some whisper common sense. hark! what say them tories?--silence--let 'em speak, poor fools! dumb--they hav'n't spoke a word this week, dumb let 'em be, at full end of their tethers, 'twill save the expense of tar and of feathers: since old pluto's lurch'd 'em, and swears he does not know if more these tory puppy curs will bark or no. now ring the bell--come forth, ye actors, come, the tragedy's begun, beat, beat the drum, let's all advance, equipt like volunteers, oppose the foe, and banish all our fears. we will be free--or bravely we will die, } and leave to tories tyrants' legacy, } and all our share of its dependency. } dramatis personæ lord paramount, mr. bute. lord mocklaw, mr. mansfield. lord hypocrite, mr. dartmouth. lord poltron, mr. sandwich. lord catspaw, mr. north. lord wisdom, mr. chatham. lord religion, bishop of st. asaph. lord justice, mr. camden. lord patriot, mr. wilkes. bold irishman, mr. burke. judas, mr. hutchinson. charley, mr. jenkinson. brazen, mr. wedderburne. colonel, mr. barre. lord boston, mr. gage. admiral tombstone, mr. graves. elbow room,[6] mr. howe. mr. caper, mr. burgoyne. lord kidnapper, mr. dunmore. general washington. general lee. general putnam. _officers, soldiers, sailors, citizens, negroes, &c., &c., &c._ footnotes: [6] it seems to be generally thought that the expression of "elbow room" is to be attributed to general howe, and not to general burgoyne. the fall of british tyranny, &c. act i. scene i. _at st. james's._ lord paramount [_solus, strutting about_]. many long years have rolled delightfully on, whilst i have been basking in the sunshine of grandeur and power, whilst i have imperceptibly (tho' not unsuspected) guided the chariot of state, and greased with the nation's gold the imperial wheels. 'tis i that move the mighty engine of royalty, and with the tincture of my somniferous opiate or (in the language of a courtier) by the virtue of my secret influence, i have lulled the axletree to sleep, and brought on a pleasing insensibility. let their champion, lord wisdom, groan, he is now become feeble and impotent, a mere cripple in politics; their lord patriot's squint has lost its basilisk effect: and the bold irishman may bellow the _keenew_ till he's hoarse, he's no more when compar'd to me than an irish salmon to a scotch herring: i care not a bawbee for them all. i'll reign in britain, i'll be king of their counsels, and chief among the princes. oh! ambition, thou darling of my soul! stop not till i rise superior to all superlative, till i mount triumphantly the pinnacle of glory, or at least open the way for one of my own family and name to enter without opposition. the work is now cut out, and must be finish'd, i have ventur'd too far to recede, my honour's at stake, my importance, nay my life, depends upon it! last night's three hours' closeting has effectually done the business; then i spoke my mind in such terms as to make a lasting impression, never to be eradicated--all--all was given up to me, and now since i hold the reins of government, since i am possessed of supreme power, every thing shall be subservient to my royal will and pleasure. scene ii. _enter mocklaw._ mocklaw. i am your lordship's most obedient humble servant. paramount. be seated,--i sent for you to have a small conference with you--and to let you know, your advice respecting certain points of law, i have found succeeded to admiration; even beyond my most sanguine expectations. mocklaw. i am heartily glad of it, altho' the advice i gave your lordship, i cannot say, was law; yet, your lordship can easily pass it as such by a royal proclamation: and should it ever be disputed, i have quirks and quibbles enough at your service, with mr. brazen and mr. attorney-general's assistance, to render it so doubtful, obscure and ambiguous, as to puzzle lord justice, perplex dunning, and confound glynn. paramount. can you show me an instance of a royal proclamation passing for a law? or advise me how to make it such, if you can, i shall make it well worth your study. mocklaw. my lord, as you have now got a parliament exactly to your mind, ev'ry thing you propose will be granted; but in order that you may see precedents are not wanting--there is a statute in the reign of henry the 8th that expressly shews the then parliament passed a law that the king's proclamation should be the law of the land-paramount. are you sure of that? mocklaw. my lord, here it is--this is real law: _luce meridiana clariora_. when we find any thing of this kind, ready made to our hands, it's a treasure we should never part with. [_paramount reads._ paramount. i see it plain! this, this alone is worth a ton of gold.--now, by st. andrew! i'll strike a stroke that shall surprise all europe, and make the boldest of the adverse party turn pale and tremble--scotch politics, scotch intrigues, scotch influence, and scotch impudence (as they have termed it), they shall see ere long shine with unheard of splendour, and the name of lord paramount the mighty, shall blaze in the annals of the world with far greater lustre (as a consummate politician) than the name of alexander the great, as an hero! mocklaw. that day i much wish for,--but, with your lordship's permission, i would just mention, that secrecy and dissimulation are the soul of enterprise; your lordship hath many enemies, who watch ev'ry movement of state with a jealous and wary eye. paramount. i know it, but the futile attempts of my timid adversaries have hitherto proved abortive--so far i have borne down all opposition, and those (even some of the greatest of them) who not long since were my most open, as well as secret enemies, i now behold with the most princely pleasure, the earliest to attend, to congratulate me on my birthday, tho' uninvited, bow down, and make the most submissive congees. have you not seen this, mocklaw? and how i keep them in expectation of something, by now and then bestowing part of a gracious smile amongst a dozen of them? mocklaw. i have, my lord, and no doubt they interpret that as a favourable omen;--however, policy, my lord, would dictate that to you, if there were no other consideration. paramount. true, and yet they are cursedly mistaken--and now, mocklaw, as i have ever found you to be well dispos'd towards me, and the cause i espouse, and as i trust you continue satisfy'd with my former bounty, and my promise now of granting you a pension for life, with liberty to retire, i shall make you my confident, and disclose to you a secret no man except myself yet knows, which i expect you have so much honour to let it remain a secret to all the world (i mean as to the main point i have in view). mocklaw. depend upon it, my lord, i am sincerely devoted to your lordship, command me, i care not what it is, i'll screw, twist and strain the law as tight as a drumhead, to serve you. paramount. i shall at this time but just give you a hint of the plan i've drawn up in my own mind. you must have perceived in me a secret hankering for majesty for some time past, notwithstanding my age;--but as i have considered the great dislike the nation in general have, as to my person, i'll wave my own pretensions, and bend my power and assiduity to it in favour of one, the nearest a kin to me, you know who i mean, and a particular friend of yours, provided i continue to be dictator, as at present; and further, i intend america shall submit. what think you of it so far? mocklaw. a day i've long wish'd to see! but you stagger me, my lord, not as to my honour, secrecy, or resolution to serve you, but as to the accomplishment of such grand designs. paramount. 'tis true, i have undertaken a mighty task, a task that would have perplexed the council of nice, and stagger'd even julius cæsar--but-mocklaw. you have need, my lord, of all your wisdom, fortitude and power, when you consider with whom you have to contend--let me see--lord wisdom--lord religion--lord justice--lord patriot--the bold irishman, &c., &c., &c., and the wisdom of the united colonies of america in congress to cope with; as individuals they are trifling, but in league combined may become potent enemies. paramount. granted--but are you so little of a lawyer as not to know the virtue of a certain specific i'm possess'd of, that will accomplish any thing, even to performing miracles? don't you know there's such sweet music in the shaking of the treasury keys, that they will instantly lock the most babbling patriot's tongue? transform a tory into a whig, and a whig into a tory? make a superannuated old miser dance, and an old cynic philosopher smile. how many thousand times has your tongue danc'd at westminster hall to the sound of such music? mocklaw. enchanting sounds, powerful magic, there's no withstanding the charms of such music, their potency and influence are irresistible--that is a point of law i can by no means give up, of more force than all the acts of parliament since the days of king alfred. paramount. i'm glad you acknowledge that--now then for a line of politics--i propose to begin first by taxing america, as a blind--that will create an eternal animosity between us, and by sending over continually ships and troops, this will, of course, produce a civil war--weaken britain by leaving her coasts defenseless, and impoverish america; so that we need not fear any thing from that quarter. then the united fleets of france and spain with troops to appear in the channel, and make a descent, while my kinsman with thirty thousand men lands in scotland, marches to london, and joins the others: what then can prevent the scheme from having the wish'd for effect? this is the main point, which keep to yourself. mocklaw. if it has failed heretofore, 'tis impossible it should fail now; nothing within the reach of human wisdom was ever planned so judiciously; had solomon been alive, and a politician, i would have sworn your lordship had consulted him.--but i would beg leave to hint to your lordship the opposition to be apprehended from the militia of england, and the german forces that may be sent for according to treaty. paramount. as to the militia, they are half of them my friends, witness lancaster, manchester, liverpool, &c., &c., &c., the other half scarce ever fired a gun in their lives, especially those of london; and i shall take care by shaking the keys a little to have such officers appointed over them, who are well known to be in my interest. as to the german forces, i have nothing to apprehend from them; the parliament can soon pass an act against the introduction of foreign troops, except the french or spaniards, who can't be called foreign, they are our friends and nearest neighbours. have you any thing further to object against the probability of this plan? mocklaw. nothing, my lord, but the people of ireland, who must be cajoled or humbugg'd. paramount. as to that, let me alone, i shall grant the roman catholics, who are by far the most numerous, the free exercise of their religion, with the liberty of bearing arms, so long unjustly deprived of, and disarm in due time all the protestants in their turn. mocklaw. that will be a noble stroke, the more i consider it, the more i'm surpris'd at your lordship's profound wisdom and foresight: i think success is certain. paramount. then this is the favourable crisis to attempt it; 'tis not the thought of a day, a month, or a year. have you any more objections? mocklaw. i have one more, my lord-paramount. well, pray let's hear it; these lawyers will be heard. mocklaw. the bishops and clergy are a powerful, numerous body; it would be necessary, my lord, to gain them over, or keep them silent--a religious war is the worst of wars. paramount. you are very right, i have 'em fast enough--mammon will work powerfully on them--the keys--the keys--his grace my lord of suffolk is managing this business for me, and feeding them with the hopes of being all created archbishops here, and each to have a diocese, and bishops of their own appointment in america; not a city or town there but must be provided with a bishop: there let religion erect her holy altars, by which means their revenues will be augmented beyond that of a cardinal. all this we must make 'em believe. mocklaw. true, my lord, what is a bishop without faith? this is the grandest stroke of religious circumvention that ever was struck.--i've done, my lord. paramount. very well, you'll not fail to meet the privy council here this evening; in the mean time you'll go and search the statutes for other precedents to strengthen the cause; and remember i have enjoin'd you to secrecy. mocklaw. depend upon it, my lord, i cannot prove ungrateful to your lordship, nor such an enemy to myself. [_exit mocklaw._ scene iii. lord paramount [_solus_]. this mocklaw is a cursed knowing dog, and i believe the father of brazen; how readily he found an old act of parliament to my purpose, as soon as i told him i would make it worth his study; and the thoughts of a pension will make him search his old worm-eaten statute books from the reign of king arthur down to this present time; how he raises objections too to make me think his mind is ever bent on study to serve me. the shaking of the treasury keys is a fine bait. [_rings the bell._] charters, magna chartas, bill of rights, acts of assembly, resolves of congresses, trials by juries (and acts of parliament too) when they make against us, must all be annihilated; a suspending power i approve of, and of royal proclamations. [_enter charley._ charley. i wait your lordship's orders. paramount. write a number of cards, and see that the lords of the privy council, and mr. judas, be summoned to give their attendance this evening at six o'clock, at my pandemonium. charley. i'm gone, my lord. [_exit charley._ paramount [_solus_]. how do we shew our authority? how do we maintain the royal prerogative? keep in awe the knowing ones of the opposite party, and blind the eyes of the ignorant multitude in britain? why, by spirited measures, by an accumulation of power, of deception, and the shaking of the keys, we may hope to succeed, should that fail, i'll enforce them with the pointed bayonet; the americans from one end to the other shall submit, in spite of all opposition; i'll listen to no overtures of reconciliation from any petty self-constituted congress, they shall submit implicitly to such terms as i of my royal indulgence please to grant. i'll shew them the impudence and weakness of their resolves, and the strength of mine; i will never soften; my inflexibility shall stand firm, and convince them the second pharaoh is at least equal to the first. i am unalterably determined at every hazard and at the risk of every consequence to compel the colonies to absolute submission. i'll draw in treasure from every quarter, and, solomon-like, wallow in riches; and scotland, my dear scotland, shall be the paradise of the world. rejoice in the name of paramount, and the sound of a bawbee shall be no more heard in the land of my nativity.-scene iv. _enter charley in haste._ charley. my lord, the notices are all served. paramount. it's very well, charley. charley. my lord, be pleased to turn your eyes, and look out of the window, and see the lord mayor, aldermen, common council and liverymen going to st. james's with the address. paramount. where? sure enough--curse their impudence; how that squinting scoundrel swells with importance--mind, charley, how fond he is of bowing to the gaping multitude, and ev'ry upstart he sees at a window--i hope he'll not turn his blear eyes t'wards me--i want none of his bows, not i--stand before me, charley-charley. i will, my lord, and if he looks this way, i'll give him such a devilish grin as best suits such fellows as him, and make him remember it as long as he lives. paramount. do so, charley; i hate the dog mortally, i religiously hate him, and hope ere long to have satisfaction for his insolence and the freedoms he has taken with me and my connections: i shall never forget the many scandalous verses, lampoons and pasquinades he made upon us. charley. indeed, he has used your lordship too ill ever to be forgotten or forgiven. paramount. damn him, i never intend to do either--see again how he bows--there again--how the mob throw up their hats, split their throats; how they huzza too; they make a mere god of the fellow; how they idolize him--ignorant brutes! charley. a scoundrel; he has climb'd up the stilts of preferment strangely, my lord. paramount. strangely, indeed; but it's our own faults. charley. he has had better luck than honester folks; i'm surpris'd to think he has ever rose to the honour of presenting a remonstrance, or rather, that he could ever have the impudence to think of remonstrating. paramount. aye, charley, you see how unaccountably things turn out; his audacity is unparalleled--a newgate dog. charley. my lord, i believe the fellow was never known to blush; and, indeed, it's an observation i made some time ago, and i believe a just one, without an exception, that those who squint never blush. paramount. you must be mistaken, charley. charley. no, my lord, it's a fact, i had an uncle squinted exactly like him, who was guilty of many scandalous things, and yet all the parish, with the parson at their head, could not make him blush, so that at last he became a by-word--here comes old shame-the-devil; this dog is the very spawn of him. paramount. hoot, mon, ye give your uncle a shocking character. charley. i only mention it, my lord, for the similarity's sake. paramount. for the spawn of him, and the similarity's sake, i'm apt to think you've been abusing your own cousin all this while. charley. god forbid, my lord, i should be any how allied to him. paramount. i fancy, charley, if the truth was known, your uncle did not mention you in his will, and forgot to leave you the mansion-house and farm at gallows-hill. am i right, charley? charley. you're right, my lord, upon my honour--but-paramount. i thought so--well, never mind--ha, ha, ha, who are those two fat fellows there, that go in such state? charley. i suppose them to be a couple of livery tallow-chandlers, my lord, by their big bellies. paramount. ha, ha,--what work the guards would make amongst them--but they must not be called yet.--and who are those other two behind 'em? charley. this is mr. hone, and the other mr. strap, a couple of the corporation barbers, forsooth. paramount. ha, ha, ha, i thought they had been a couple of dukes;--and that one--who is he with the monstrous wig? charley. that is mr. alderman pipeshank, in newgate-street. paramount. a parcel of newgate dogs altogether--well it is a good deal of satisfaction to me to think how this fellow will be received at st. james's; he'll not return back so pleas'd as he seems to be now, i warrant you--i have taken care he shall meet with a d----d cold reception there; he will have to make his appearance before lord frostyface, lord scarecrow, lord sneerwell, lord firebrand, lord mawmouth, lord waggonjaws, lord gripe, lord brass, lord surly and lord tribulation, as hard-fac'd fellows as himself; and the beauty of it is, not one of them loves him a whit more than i do. charley. that will be rare diversion for them that are present; he'll look then, my lord, like sampson making sport for the philistines. paramount. aye, but i wish he was as blind too, as sampson was.--well charley, we have been dispos'd to be a little merry with this ridiculous parade, this high life below stairs. i wish you had begun your description a little sooner, before they were all gone; the looks of these wiseacres afford us some mirth, tho' we despise them and their politics, and it's not unlikely it may end in blood--be it so, i'm prepar'd for the worst. charley. rather so, my lord, than submit to such rascals. paramount. i'll give up my life first for a sacrifice. [_exit charley._ scene v. _enter mocklaw, poltron, hypocrite, catspaw, brazen, judas._ [_all seated._] paramount. my lords and gentlemen, it seems opposition to our measures are making hasty strides; the discontented faction, the supporters and encouragers of rebellion, and whole hearts are tainted therewith, seem bent, if possible, on the destruction of britain, and their own aggrandisement. are not the daily papers filled with treasonable resolves of american congresses and committees, extracts of letters, and other infamous pieces and scurrilous pamphlets, circulating with unusual industry throughout the kingdom, by the enemies of britain, thereby poisoning the minds of our liege subjects with their detestable tenets?--and did you not this day see the procession, and that vile miscreant lord patriot at their head, going to st. james's with their remonstrance, in such state and parade as manifestly tended to provoke, challenge and defy majesty itself, and the powers of government? and yet nothing done to stop their pernicious effects.--surely, my lords and gentlemen, you must agree with me, that it is now become highly expedient that an immediate stop should be put to such unwarrantable and dangerous proceedings, by the most vigorous and coercive measures. mocklaw. i entirely agree with your lordship, and was ever firmly of opinion, that licentiousness of every kind (particularly that of the press) is dangerous to the state; the rabble should be kept in awe by examples of severity, and a proper respect should be enforced to superiors. i have sufficiently shewn my dislike to the freedom of the press, by the examples i have frequently made (tho' too favourable) of several printers, and others, who had greatly trespassed, and if they still persist, other measures should be taken with them, which the laws will point out; and as to lord patriot, he's a fellow that has been outlaw'd, scandal-proof, little to be got by meddling with him; i would advise to let him alone for the present, and humble america first. mr. brazen. i am very clear in it, please your lordship; there are numbers of men in this country who are ever studying how to perplex and entangle the state, constantly thwarting government, in ev'ry laudable undertaking; this clamorous faction must be curbed, must be subdued and crush'd--our thunder must go forth, america must be conquered. i am for blood and fire to crush the rising glories of america--they boast of her strength; she must be conquered, if half of germany is called to our assistance. mr. poltron. i entirely agree with you, mr. brazen; my advice is, that lord boston and admiral tombstone be immediately despatch'd to boston, with two or three regiments (tho' one would be more than sufficient) and a few ships to shut up their ports, disannul their charter, stop their trade, and the pusillanimous beggars, those scoundrel rascals, whose predominant passion is fear, would immediately give up, on the first landing of the regulars, and fly before 'em like a hare before the hounds; that this would be the case, i pawn my honour to your lordships, nay, i'll sacrifice my life: my lords, i have moreover the testimony of general amherst and colonel grant to back my assertion; besides, here's mr. judas, let him speak. lord hypocrite. if this is the same colonel grant that was at fort duquesne, the same that ran away from the french and indians, the same that was rescued by colonel washington, i have no idea of his honour or testimony. lord poltron. he's a gentleman, my lord hypocrite, of undoubted veracity. lord hypocrite. you might as well have said courage too, i have exceptions against both; and as to general amherst's assertion that he could drive all america with five thousand men, he must have been joking, as he is quite of a diff'rent opinion now. lord catspaw. what is your opinion of your countrymen, mr. judas, with respect to their courage? judas. the same that i have ever told you, my lord; as to true courage they have none, i know 'em well--they have a plenty of a kind of enthusiastic zeal, which they substitute in the room of it; i am very certain they would never face the regulars, tho' with the advantage of ten to one. lord hypocrite. all this, and a great deal more, would never convince me of the general cowardice of the americans--but of the cowardice of grant i've been long convinced, by numbers of letters formerly from america--i'm for doing the business effectually; don't let us be too sanguine, trust to stories told by every sycophant, and hurry heels over head to be laugh'd at; the americans are bold, stubborn, and sour; it will require foreign assistance to subdue 'em. lord catspaw. these four americans, ignorant brutes, unbroke and wild, must be tamed; they'll soon be humble if punish'd; but if disregarded, grow fierce.--barbarous nations must be held by fear, rein'd and spurr'd hard, chain'd to the oar, and bow'd to due control, till they look grim with blood; let's first humble america, and bring them under our feet; the olive-branch has been held out, and they have rejected it; it now becomes us to use the iron rod to break their disobedience; and should we lack it, foreign assistance is at hand. lord hypocrite. all this i grant, but i'm for sending a force sufficient to crush 'em at once, and not with too much precipitation; i am first for giving it a colour of impartiality, forbearance and religion.--lay it before parliament; we have then law on our side, and endeavour to gain over some or all of the methodist teachers, and in particular my very good friend mr. wesley, their bishop, and the worthy mr. clapum, which task i would undertake; it will then have the sanction of religion, make it less suspected, and give it a better grace. lord catspaw. i should choose it to be done by consent of parliament; we stand then on firmer ground; there's no doubt they'll grant ev'ry thing your lordship proposes upon my motion: but to tell the truth, i'd rather be in purgatory so long, than to run the gauntlet of the bold irishman's tongue. mocklaw. aye, aye, don't part with the law while it's in our favour, or we can have it by asking for--and as to the bold irishman, don't be brow-beaten, you must summon all your brass, and put on a rugged highwayman's face like his; i expect some work of that kind too, but the devil himself sha'n't browbeat me. paramount. i am glad to find, my lords and gentlemen, you all see the necessity of sending over troops and ships; i intend my lord catspaw shall lay it before parliament, and am very certain they'll pass any acts i can desire. i thank you, lord hypocrite, for your kind offer, and accept of it; my lord of suffolk is negotiating the same business with the rest of my lords the bishops, and will succeed; so that it will carry the appearance of law, of religion, and will be sufficiently grac'd; i'll warrant you no one shall have cause to complain of its wanting grace. and now, my lords and gentlemen, as it's so late, and we have gone through all the business at this time proposed, you are at your liberty to withdraw. [_exeunt._ paramount [_solus_]. the fate of england and america is now fixed, irrevocably fixed; the storm is ready to burst; the low'ring clouds portend their fate my glory, their fall my triumph--but i must haste to be gone, the ceremonies await my presence; deeds of darkness must be done by night, and, like the silent mole's work, under ground: _now rushing forth in sober twilight gray, like prowling wolf, who ranges for his prey._ [_exit._ act ii. scene i. lord wisdom, lord religion, lord justice. lord wisdom. i much lament, my lords, the present unhappy situation of my country; where e'er i turn mine eyes, to europe, asia, africa, or america, the prospect appears the same--look up to the throne, and behold your king, if i may now call him by that soft title--where is the wisdom, the justice, the religion, that once adorn'd that throne, and shed the benign influence of their bright rays thro' the four quarters of the globe? alas! they're flown! mark his forlorn looks--his countenance dejected, a sullen greatness fixed on his brow, as if it veil'd in blood some awful purpose, his eyes flaming and sanguinary; how i bewail you, for your predecessor's sake! long, long have i been an old, and i trust a faithful, servant in the family--can i then restrain one tear? no, 'tis impossible! view that arch-dragon, that old fiend, paramount, that rebel in grain, whispering in his ear. view his wretched ministers hovering round him, to accomplish their accursed purpose, and accelerate his destruction. view the whole herd of administration (i know 'em well) and tell me if the world can furnish a viler set of miscreants? view both houses of parliament, and count the number of tyrants, jacobites, tories, placemen, pensioners, sycophants, and panders. view the constitution, is she not disrob'd and dismantled? is she not become like a virgin deflower'd? view our fleets and armies commanded by bloody, murdering butchers! view britain herself as a sheep without a shepherd! and lastly view america, for her virtue bleeding and for her liberty weltering in her blood! lord religion. such hath, and ever will be the fate of kings, who only listen to the voice of pleasure, thrown in their way by the sirens of administration, which never fail to swallow them up like quicksand--like a serpent, who charms and fascinates, bewitches and enchants with his eye the unwary bird; witness the fatal catastrophe of rehoboam, who rejected the counsel of the wise and experienced, and gave up all to the advice and guidance of young, unskilful and wicked counsellors. had he listen'd to you, my lord, had he followed your advice, all, all would have gone well--under your auspicious administration britain flourished, but ever since has been on the decline and patriotism, like religion, scarcely now more than a sounding brass or a tinkling cymbal. lord wisdom. my counsel has been rejected--my conciliatory plan thrown under the table, and treated with contempt; the experience of gray hairs called the superannuated notions of old age--my bodily infirmities--my tottering frame--my crazy carcase, worn out in the service of my country, and even my very crutches, have been made the subject of their ridicule. lord justice. gratitude, like religion and patriotism, are about taking their flight, and the law of the land stands on tip-toe; the constitution, that admirable fabric, that work of ages, the envy of the world, is deflower'd indeed, and made to commit a rape upon her own body, by the avaricious frowns of her own father, who is bound to protect her, not to destroy.--her pillars are thrown down, her capitals broke, her pedestals demolish'd, and her foundation nearly destroy'd.--lord paramount and his wretched adviser mocklaw baffle all our efforts.--the statutes of the land superseded by royal proclamations and dispensing powers, &c., &c., the bloody knife to be held to the throats of the americans, and force them to submit to slav'ry.--administration have commenced bloody tyrants, and those that should protect the subject are become their executioners; yet will i dispute with them inch by inch, while there's a statute book left in the land. come forth, thou grand deceiver! i challenge thee to come forth! lord wisdom. our friends must bestir themselves once more, perhaps we may yet turn the scale.--if the voice of religion, wisdom and justice should fail, let us sound the trumpet of liberty and patriotism, that will conquer them in america, i know; let us try to storm them here with the united whole, and if by a base majority they still carry their point, we can nevertheless wash our hands and be clean. lord religion. from the pulpit, in the house of god, have i spoken aloud, i have lifted up my voice like a trumpet. o britain, how art thou fallen! hear now, o house of britain, is it a small thing for you to weary man, but will you weary your god also? in the house of lords have i borne my testimony: hear now, o ye princes, and i will yet declare in britain, and shew forth in america, i will not cease till i bring about (if possible) unity, peace and concord. lord wisdom. much to be wished for; but alas! i fear it's now too late; i foresee the tendency and consequence of those diabolical measures that have been pursued with unrelenting fury. britain will ruin her trade, waste her wealth, her strength, her credit and her importance in the scale of europe. when a british king proves ungrateful and haughty, and strives to be independent of his people (who are his sole support), the people will in their turn likewise strive to be independent of him and his myrmidons, and will be free; they will erect the anfractuous standard of independency, and thousands and tens of thousands will flock to it, and solace themselves under its shade.--they has often been told of this, but affected to despise it; they know not america's strength, they are ignorant of it; fed by the flatt'ry of every sycophant tale, imagine themselves almighty, and able to subdue the whole world. america will be lost to britain forever, and will prove her downfall. america is wise, and will shake off the galling yoke before it be rivetted on them; they will be drove to it, and who can blame them? who can blame a galley-slave for making his escape?--britain will miscarry in her vile projects, her knight errant, her don quixote schemes in america: america will resist; they are not easily to be subdued (nay, 'tis impossible); britain will find it a harder task than to conquer france and spain united, and will cost 'em more blood and treasure than a twice seven years' war with those european powers; they will stand out till britons are tired. britain will invite her with kind promises and open arms; america will reject them; america will triumph, rejoice and flourish, and become the glory of the earth; britain will languidly hold down her head, and become first a prey to a vile pretender, and then be subject to the ravagers of europe. i love the americans, because they love liberty. liberty flourishes in the wilds of america. i honour the plant, i revere the tree, and would cherish its branches. let us, my friends, join hands with them, follow their example, and endeavour to support expiring liberty in britain; whilst i have a tongue to speak, i will support her wherever found; while i have crutches to crawl with, i will try to find her out, and with the voice of an archangel will demand for a sacrifice to the nation those miscreants who have wickedly and wantonly been the ruin of their country. o liberty! o my country! lord religion. o religion! o virtue! whither art thou fleeing? o thou defender of the faith? o ye mighty lords and commons! o ye deluded bishops, ye learned props of our unerring church, who preach up vengeance, force and fire, instead of peace! be wise in time, lest the americans be driven to work out their own salvation without fear or trembling. [_exeunt._ scene ii. lord patriot, bold irishman, colonel. bold irishman. that brazen lawyer,[7] that lord chancellor, that wou'd be, held forth surprisingly last night, he beat the drum in your ears, brother soldier. colonel. i think he did; he beat a tatoo for us all. lord patriot. no politicians, but lawyer politicians, it seems will go down; if we believe him, we must all turn lawyers now, and prate away the liberties of the nation. colonel. aye, first we must learn to rail at the clamourous faction, disappointed politicians--ever restless--ever plotting--constantly thwarting government, in laudable and blameable purposes.--inconsiderable party--inconsistent in their own politics--hostile to all government, soured by disappointment, and urged by want--proceeding to unjustifiable lengths--and then sound the magnanimity of a british senate, animated by the sacred fire caught from a high-spirited people-bold irishman. and the devil knows what beside--magnanimity and sacred fire, indeed!--very magnanimous sounds, but pompous nothings! why did he not tell us where was the magnanimity of the british senate at the time of the dispute about falkland's island? what sort of fire animated them then?--where was the high spirit of the people?--strange sort of fire, and strange sort of spirit, to give up to our inveterate enemies, the spaniards, our property unasked for, and cut our best friends and brethren, the americans' throats, for defending theirs against lawless tyranny; their sacred fire became then all fume, and the strength of their boasted spirits evaporated into invisible effluvium; the giant then sunk sure enough spontaneously into a dwarf; and now, it seems, the dwarf having been feeding upon smoky fire and evaporated spirits, is endeavouring to swell himself into a giant again, like the frog in the fable, till he bursts himself in silent thunder--but let the mighty philistine, the goliath paramount, and his oracle mocklaw, with their thunder bellowed from the brazen mortar-piece of a turn-coat lawyer, have a care of the little american david! lord patriot. aye, indeed! america will prove a second sampson to 'em; they may put out his eyes for a while, but he'll pull their house down about their ears for all that. mr. brazen seem'd surpris'd at the thought of relinquishing america, and bawl'd out with the vociferation of an old miser that had been robb'd--relinquish america! relinquish america! forbid it heavens! but let him and his masters take great care, or america will save 'em the trouble, and relinquish britain. colonel. or i'm much mistaken, brazen says, establish first your superiority, and then talk of negotiating. lord patriot. that doctrine suits 'em best; just like a cowardly pickpocket, or a bloody highwayman, knock a man down first, and then tell him stand and deliver. colonel. a just comparison, and excellent simile, by my soul! but i'm surpris'd he did not include the clergy among the number of professions unfit (as he said) to be politicians. bold irishman. did you ever know a lawyer to be concerned with religion, unless he got a fee by it? he'll take care and steer clear of that; if it don't come in his way, he'll never break his neck over a church bible, i warrant you--mammon is his god--judge jeffereys is his priest--star-chamber doctrine is his creed--fire, flames and faggot, blood, murder, halters and thund'ring cannon are the ceremonies of his church--and lies, misrepresentations, deceit, hypocrisy and dissimulation are the articles of his religion. lord patriot. you make him a monster, indeed. bold irishman. not half so bad as he is, my lord; he's following close to the heels of that profound sage, that oracle, mocklaw, his tutor: i can compare the whole herd of them to nothing else but to the swine we read of running headlong down the hill, paramount their devil, mocklaw the evil spirit, and brazen their driver. colonel. and thus they'll drive liberty from out the land; but when a brave people, like the americans, from their infancy us'd to liberty (not as a gift, but who inherit it as a birth-right, but not as a mess of pottage, to be bought by, or sold to, ev'ry hungry glutton of a minister) find attempts made to reduce them to slavery, they generally take some desperate successful measure for their deliverance. i should not be at all surpris'd to hear of independency proclaim'd throughout their land, of britain's armies beat, their fleets burnt, sunk, or otherwise destroy'd. the same principle which mr. brazen speaks of, that inspires british soldiers to fight, namely the ferment of youthful blood, the high spirit of the people, a love of glory, and a sense of national honour, will inspire the americans to withstand them; to which i may add, liberty and property.--but what is national honour? why, national pride.--what is national glory? why, national nonsense, when put in competition with liberty and property. lord patriot. of britain i fear liberty has taken its farewell, the aspiring wings of tyranny hath long hovered over, and the over-shadowing influence of bribery hath eclips'd its rays and dark'ned its lustre; the huge paramount, that temporal deity, that golden calf, finds servile wretches enough so base as to bow down, worship and adore his gilded horns;--let 'em e'en if they will:--but as for me, tho' i should stand alone, i would spurn the brute, were he forty-five[8] times greater than he is; i'll administer, ere long, such an emetic to him, as shall make the monster disgorge the forty millions yet unaccounted for, and never shall it be said, that patriot ever feared or truckled to him, or kept a silent tongue when it should speak. bold irishman. there i'll shake hands with you, and my tongue shall echo in their ears, make their arched ceiling speak, the treasury bench crack, and the great chair of their great speaker tremble, and never will i cease lashing them, while lashing is good, or hope remains; and when the voice of poor liberty can no longer be heard in britain or hibernia, let's give caledonia a kick with our heels, and away with the goddess to the american shore, crown her, and defy the grim king of tyranny, at his peril, to set his foot there.--here let him stay, and wallow in sackcloth and ashes, like a beast as he is, and, nebuchadnezzar-like, eat grass and thistles. [_exeunt._ _see paramount, upon his awful throne, striving to make each freeman's purse his own! while lords and commons most as one agree, to grace his head with crown of tyranny. they spurn the laws,--force constitution locks, to seize each subject's coffer, chest and box; send justice packing, as tho' too pure unmix'd, and hug the tyrant, as if by law he's fix'd._ footnotes: [7] see wedderburne's speech. [8] alluding to north-briton, number forty-five. act iii. scene i. _in boston._ selectman, citizen. selectman. at length, it seems, the bloody flag is hung out, the ministry and parliament, ever studious in mischief, and bent on our destruction, have ordered troops and ships of war to shut our ports, and starve us into submission. citizen. and compel us to be slaves; i have heard so. it is a fashionable way to requite us for our loyalty, for the present we made them of louisburg, for our protection at duquesne, for the assistance we gave them at quebec, martinico, guadaloupe and the havannah. blast their councils, spurn their ingratitude! soul of pepperel! whither art thou fled? selectman. they seem to be guided by some secret demon; this stopping our ports and depriving us of all trade is cruel, calculated to starve and beggar thousands of families, more spiteful than politic, more to their own disadvantage than ours: but we can resolve to do without trade; it will be the means of banishing luxury, which has ting'd the simplicity and spotless innocence of our once happy asylum. citizen. we thank heaven, we have the necessaries of life in abundance, even to an exuberant plenty; and how oft have our hospitable tables fed numbers of those ungrateful monsters, who would now, if they could, famish us? selectman. no doubt, as we abound in those temporal blessings, it has tempted them to pick our pockets by violence, in hopes of treasures more to their minds. citizen. in that these thirsters after gold and human blood will be disappointed. no perus or mexicos here they'll find; but the demon you speak of, tho' he acts in secret, is notoriously known. lord paramount is that demon, that bird of prey, that ministerial cormorant, that waits to devour, and who first thought to disturb the repose of america; a wretch, no friend to mankind, who acts thro' envy and avarice, like satan, who 'scap'd from hell to disturb the regions of paradise; after ransacking britain and hibernia for gold, the growth of hell, to feed his luxury, now waits to rifle the bowels of america. selectman. may he prove more unsuccessful than satan; blind politics, rank infatuation, madness detestable, the concomitants of arbitrary power! they can never think to succeed; but should they conquer, they'll find that he who overcometh by force and blood, hath overcome but half his foe. capt. preston's massacre is too recent in our memories; and if a few troops dar'd to commit such hellish unprovok'd barbarities, what may we not expect from legions arm'd with vengeance, whose leaders harbour principles repugnant to freedom, and possess'd with more than diabolical notions? surely our friends will oppose them with all the power heaven has given them. citizen. nothing more certain; each citizen and each individual inhabitant of america are bound by the ties of nature; the laws of god and man justify such a procedure; passive obedience for passive slaves, and non-resistance for servile wretches who know not, neither deserve, the sweets of liberty. as for me and my house, thank god, such detestable doctrine never did, nor ever shall, enter over my threshold. selectman. would all america were so zealous as you.--the appointment of a general continental congress was a judicious measure, and will prove the salvation of this new world, where counsel mature, wisdom and strength united; it will prove a barrier, a bulwark, against the encroachments of arbitrary power. citizen. i much approve of the choice of a congress; america is young, she will be to it like a tender nursing mother, she will give it the paps of virtue to suck, cherish it with the milk of liberty, and fatten it on the cream of patriotism; she will train it up in its youth, and teach it to shun the poison of british voluptuousness, and instruct it to keep better company. let us, my friend, support her all in our power, and set on foot an immediate association; they will form an intrenchment, too strong for ministerial tyranny to o'erleap. selectman. i am determined so to do, it may prevent the farther effusion of blood. scene ii. _enter a minister._ minister. my friends, i yet will hail you good morrow, tho' i know not how long we may be indulg'd that liberty to each other; doleful tidings i have to tell. selectman. with sorrow we have heard it, good morrow, sir. minister. wou'd to god it may prove false, and that it may vanish like the dew of the morning. citizen. beyond a doubt, sir, it's too true. minister. perhaps, my friends, you have not heard all. selectman. we have heard too much, of the troops and ships coming over, we suppose you mean; we have not heard more, if more there be. minister. then worse i have to tell, tidings which will raise the blood of the patriot, and put your virtue to the proof, will kindle such an ardent love of liberty in your breasts, as time will not be able to exterminate-citizen. pray, let us hear it, i'm all on fire. selectman. i'm impatient to know it, welcome or unwelcome. minister. such as it is, take it; your charter is annihilated; you are all, all declared rebels; your estates are to be confiscated; your patrimony to be given to those who never labour'd for it; popery to be established in the room of the true catholic faith; the old south, and other houses of our god, converted perhaps into nunneries, inquisitions, barracks and common jails, where you will perish with want and famine, or suffer an ignominious death; your wives, children, dearest relations and friends forever separated from you in this world, without the prospect of receiving any comfort or consolation from them, or the least hope of affording any to them. selectman. perish the thought! citizen. i've heard enough!--to arms! my dear friends, to arms! and death or freedom be our motto! minister. a noble resolution! posterity will crown the urn of the patriot who consecrates his talents to virtue and freedom; his name shall not be forgot; his reputation shall bloom with unfading verdure, while the name of the tyrant, like his vile body, shall moulder in the dust. put your trust in the lord of hosts, he is your strong tower, he is your helper and defense, he will guide and strengthen the arm of flesh, and scatter your enemies like chaff. selectman. let us not hesitate. citizen. not a single moment;--'tis like to prove a mortal strife, a never-ending contest. minister. delays may be dangerous.--go and awake your brethren that sleep;--rouse them up from their lethargy and supineness, and join, with confidence, temporal with spiritual weapons. perhaps they be now landing, and this moment, this very moment, may be the last of your liberty. prepare yourselves--be ready--stand fast--ye know not the day nor the hour. may the ruler of all send us liberty and life. adieu! my friends. [_exeunt._ scene iii. _in a street in boston._ _frequent town-meetings and consultations amongst the inhabitants;--lord boston arrives with the forces and ships;--lands and fortifies boston._ _whig and tory._ whig. i have said and done all that man could say or do.--'tis wrong, i insist upon it, and time will show it, to suffer them to take possession of castle william and fortify boston neck. tory. i cannot see, good sir, of what advantage it will be to them;--they've only a mind, i suppose, to keep their soldiers from being inactive, which may prejudice their health. whig. i wish it may prove so, i would very gladly confess your superior knowledge in military manoeuvres; but till then, suffer me to tell you, it's a stroke the most fatal to us,--no less, sir, but to cut off the communication between the town and country, making prisoners of us all by degrees, and give 'em an opportunity of making excursions, and in a short time subdue us without resistance. tory. i think your fears are groundless. whig. sir, my reason is not to be trifled with. do you not see or hear ev'ry day of insults and provocations to the peaceable inhabitants? this is only a prelude. can men of spirit bear forever with such usage? i know not what business they have here at all. tory. i suppose they're come to protect us. whig. damn such protectors, such cut-throat villains; protect us? from what? from whom?-tory. nay, sir, i know not their business;--let us yet bear with them till we know the success of the petition from the congress;--if unfavourable, then it will be our time. whig. then, i fear, it will be too late; all that time we lose, and they gain ground; i have no notion of trusting to the success of petitions, waiting twelve months for no answer at all. our assemblies have petitioned often, and as often in vain; 't would be a miracle in these days to hear of an american petition being granted; their omnipotences, their demi-godships (as they think themselves) no doubt think it too great a favour done us to throw our petitions under their table, much less vouchsafe to read them. tory. you go too far;--the power of king, lords and commons is uncontroulable. whig. with respect to tyrannising they would make it so, if they could, i know, but there's a good deal to be said and done first; we have more than half the bargain to make. tory. sure you would not go to dispute by arms with great-britain. whig. sure i would not suffer you to pick my pocket, sir. tory. if i did, the law is open for you-whig. i have but a poor opinion of law, when the devil sits judge. tory. what would you do then, sir, if i was to pick your pocket? whig. break your head, sir-tory. sure you don't mean as you say, sir-whig. i surely do--try me, sir-tory. excuse me, sir, i am not of your mind, i would avoid every thing that has the appearance of rashness.--great-britain's power, sir-whig. great-britain's power, sir, is too much magnified, 't will soon grow weak, by endeavouring to make slaves of american freemen; we are not africans yet, neither bond-slaves.--you would avoid and discourage every thing that has the appearance of patriotism, you mean.-tory. who? me, sir? whig. yes, you, sir;--you go slyly pimping, spying and sneaking about, cajoling the ignorant, and insinuating bugbear notions of great-britain's mighty power into weak people's ears, that we may tamely give all up, and you be rewarded, perhaps, with the office of judge of the admiralty, or continental hangman, for ought i know. tory. who? me, sir? whig. aye, you, sir;--and let me tell you, sir, you've been long suspected-tory. of what, sir? whig. for a rank tory, sir. tory. what mean you, sir? whig. i repeat it again--suspected to be an enemy to your country. tory. by whom, sir? can you show me an instance? whig. from your present discourse i suspect you--and from your connections and artful behaviour all suspect you. tory. can you give me a proof? whig. not a point blank proof, as to my own knowledge; you're so much of a jesuit, you have put it out of my power;--but strong circumstances by information, such as amount to a proof in the present case, sir, i can furnish you with. tory. sir, you may be mistaken. whig. 'tis not possible, my informant knows you too well. tory. who is your informant, sir? whig. a gentleman, sir; and if you'll give yourself the trouble to walk with me, i'll soon produce him. tory. another time; i cannot stay now;--'tis dinner time. whig. that's the time to find him. tory. i cannot stay now. whig. we'll call at your house then. tory. i dine abroad, sir. whig. be gone, you scoundrel! i'll watch your waters; 'tis time to clear the land of such infernal vermin. [_exeunt both different ways._ scene iv. _in boston, while the regulars were flying from lexington._ _lord boston surrounded by his guards and a few officers._ lord boston. if colonel smith succeeds in his embassy, and i think there's no doubt of it, i shall have the pleasure this ev'ning, i expect, of having my friends hancock and adams's good company; i'll make each of them a present of a pair of handsome iron ruffles, and major provost shall provide a suitable entertainment for them in his apartment. officer. sure they'll not be so unpolite as to refuse your excellency's kind invitation. lord boston. shou'd they, colonel smith and major pitcairn have my orders to make use of all their rhetoric and the persuasive eloquence of british thunder. _enter a messenger in haste._ messenger. i bring your excellency unwelcome tidings-lord boston. for heaven's sake! from what quarter? messenger. from lexington plains. lord boston. 'tis impossible! messenger. too true, sir. lord boston. say--what is it? speak what you know. messenger. colonel smith is defeated, and fast retreating. lord boston. good god!--what does he say? mercy on me! messenger. they're flying before the enemy. lord boston. britons turn their backs before the rebels!--the rebels put britons to flight?--said you not so? messenger. they are routed, sir;--they are flying this instant;--the provincials are numerous, and hourly gaining strength;--they have nearly surrounded our troops. a reinforcement, sir--a timely succour may save the shatter'd remnant speedily! speedily, sir! or they're irretrievably lost! lord boston. good god! what does he say? can it be possible? messenger. lose no time, sir. lord boston. what can i do?--oh dear! officer. draw off a detachment--form a brigade; prepare part of the train; send for lord percy; let the drums beat to arms. lord boston. aye, do, captain; you know how, better than i. (_exit officer._) did the rebels dare to fire on the king's troops? had they the courage? guards, keep round me. messenger. they're like lions; they have killed many of our bravest officers and men; and if not checked instantly, will totally surround them, and make the whole prisoners. this is no time to parley, sir. lord boston. no, indeed; what will become of me? _enter earl percy._ earl percy. your orders, sir. lord boston. haste, my good percy, immediately take command of the brigade of reinforcement, and fly to the assistance of poor smith!--lose no time, lest they be all cut off, and the rebels improve their advantage, and be upon us; and god knows what quarter they'll give.--haste, my noble earl!--speedily!--speedily!--where's my guard? earl percy. i'm gone, sir. [_exeunt percy and officers--drums beating to arms._ lord boston. what means this flutt'ring round my heart? this unusual chilness? is it fear? no, it cannot be, it must proceed from my great anxiety, my perturbation of mind for the fate of my countrymen. a drowsiness hangs o'er my eyelids;--fain would i repose myself a short time;--but i must not;--i must wait;--i'll to the top of yon eminence,--there i shall be safer. here i cannot stay;--there i may behold something favourable to calm this tumult in my breast.--but, alas! i fear--guards, attend me. [_exeunt lord boston and guards._ scene v. _lord boston and guards on a hill in boston, that overlooks charlestown._ lord boston. clouds of dust and smoke intercept my sight; i cannot see; i hear the noise of cannon--percy's cannon--grant him success! officer of guard. methinks, sir, i see british colours waving. lord boston. some ray of hope.--have they got so near?--captain, keep a good lookout; tell me every thing you see. my eyes are wondrous dim. officer. the two brigades have join'd--now admiral tombstone bellows his lower tier on the provincials. how does your excellency? lord boston. right;--more hope still.--i'm bravely to what i was. which way do our forces tend? officer. i can distinguish nothing for a certainty now; such smoke and dust! lord boston. god grant percy courage! officer. his ancestors were brave, sir. lord boston. aye, that's no rule--no rule, captain; so were mine.--a heavy firing now.--the rebels must be very numerous-officer. they're like caterpillars; as numerous as the locusts of egypt. lord boston. look out, captain, god help you, look out. officer. i do, sir. lord boston. what do you see now? hark! what dreadful noise! one of the guard. [_aside._] how damn'd afraid he is. another of the guard. [_aside._] he's one of your chimney corner generals--an old granny. officer. if i mistake not, our troops are fast retreating; their fire slackens; the noise increases. lord boston. oh, captain, don't say so! officer. 'tis true, sir, they're running--the enemy shout victory. lord boston. upon your honour?--say-officer. upon my honour, sir, they're flying t'wards charlestown. percy's beat;--i'm afraid he's lost his artillery. lord boston. then 'tis all over--the day is lost--what more can we do? officer. we may, with the few troops left in boston, yet afford them some succour, and cover their retreat across the water; 'tis impossible to do more. lord boston. go instantly; i'll wait your return. try your utmost to prevent the rebels from crossing. success attend you, my dear captain, god prosper you! [_exit officer._] alas! alas! my glory's gone; my honour's stain'd. my dear guards, don't leave me, and you shall have plenty of porter and sour-crout. scene vi. _roger and dick, two shepherds near lexington, after the defeat and flight of the regulars._ roger. whilst early looking, dick, ere the sun was seen to tinge the brow of the mountain, for my flock of sheep, nor dreaming of approaching evil, suddenly mine eyes beheld from yon hill a cloud of dust arise at a small distance; the intermediate space were thick set with laurels, willows, evergreens, and bushes of various kinds, the growth of wild nature, and which hid the danger from my eyes, thinking perchance my flock had thither stray'd; i descended, and straight onward went; but, dick, judge you my thoughts at such a disappointment: instead of my innocent flock of sheep, i found myself almost encircled by a herd of ravenous british wolves. dick. dangerous must have been your situation, roger, whatever were your thoughts. roger. i soon discovered my mistake; finding a hostile appearance, i instantly turn'd myself about, and fled to alarm the shepherds. dick. did they pursue you? roger. they did; but having the start, and being acquainted with the by-ways, i presently got clear of their voracious jaws. dick. a lucky escape, indeed, roger; and what route did they take after that? roger. onwards, t'wards lexington, devouring geese, cattle and swine, with fury and rage, which, no doubt, was increased by their disappointment; and what may appear strange to you dick (tho' no more strange than true), is, they seem'd to be possessed of a kind of brutish music, growling something like our favourite tune yankee doodle (perhaps in ridicule), till it were almost threadbare, seeming vastly pleased (monkey-like) with their mimickry, as tho' it provoked us much. dick. nature, roger, has furnish'd some brute animals with voices, or, more properly speaking, with organs of sound that nearly resemble the human. i have heard of crocodiles weeping like a child, to decoy the unwary traveller, who is no sooner within their reach, but they seize and devour instantly. roger. very true, dick, i have read of the same; and these wolves, being of the canine breed, and having the properties of blood-hounds, no doubt are possess'd of a more acute sense of smelling, more reason, instinct, sagacity, or what shall i call it? than all other brutes. it might have been a piece of cunning of theirs, peculiar to them, to make themselves pass for shepherds, and decoy our flocks; for, as you know, dick, all our shepherds both play and sing yankee doodle, our sheep and lambs are as well acquainted with that tune as ourselves, and always make up to us whene'er they hear the sound. dick. yes, roger; and now you put me in mind of it i'll tell you of something surprising in my turn: i have an old ram and an old ewe, that, whenever they sing yankee doodle together, a skilful musician can scarcely distinguish it from the bass and tenor of an organ. roger. surprising indeed, dick, nor do i in the least doubt it; and why not, as well as balaam's ass, speak? and i might add, many other asses, now-a-days; and yet, how might that music be improved by a judicious disposition of its various parts, by the addition of a proper number of sheep and young lambs; 't would then likewise resemble the counter, counter tenor, treble, and finest pipes of an organ, and might be truly called nature's organ; methinks, dick, i could forever sit and hear such music, _where all the parts in complication roll, and with its charming music feast the soul!_ dick. delightful, indeed; i'll attempt it with what little skill i have in music; we may then defy these wolves to imitate it, and thereby save our flocks: i am well convinced, roger, these wolves intended it rather as a decoy than by way of ridicule, because they live by cunning and deception; besides, they could never mean to ridicule a piece of music, a tune, of which such brutes cannot be supposed to be judges, and, which is allowed by the best masters of music to be a composition of the most sublime kind, and would have done honour to a handel or a correllius. well, go on, roger, i long to hear the whole. roger. when they came to lexington, where a flock of our innocent sheep and young lambs, as usual, were feeding and sporting on the plain, these dogs of violence and rapine with haughty stride advanc'd, and berated them in a new and unheard of language to us. dick. i suppose learn'd at their own fam'd universities-roger. no doubt; they had teachers among them--two old wolves their leaders, not unlike in features to smith and pitcairn, as striving to outvie each other in the very dregs of brutal eloquence, and more than billingsgate jargon, howl'd in their ears such a peal of new-fangled execrations, and hell-invented oratory, till that day unheard in new-england, as struck the whole flock with horror, and made them for a while stand aghast, as tho' all the wolves in the forest had broke loose upon them. dick. oh, shocking!--roger, go on. roger. not content with this, their murdering leaders, with premeditated malice, keen appetite, and without provocation, gave the howl for the onset, when instantly the whole herd, as if the devil had entered into them, ran violently down the hill, and fixed their talons and jaws upon them, and as quick as lightning eight innocent young lambs fell a sacrifice to their fury, and victims to their rapacity; the very houses of our god were no longer a sanctuary; many they tore to pieces, and some at the very foot of the altar; others were dragged out as in a wanton, gamesome mood. dick. barbarity inexpressible! more than savage cruelty! i hope you'll make their master pay for 'em; there is a law of this province, roger, which obliges the owner of such dogs to pay for the mischief they do. roger. i know it, dick; he shall pay, never fear, and that handsomely too; he has paid part of it already. dick. who is their master, roger? roger. one lord paramount; they call him a free-booter; a fellow who pretends to be proprietor of all america, and says he has a deed for it, and chief ranger of all the flocks, and pretends to have a patent for it; has been a long time in the practice of killing and stealing sheep in england and ireland, and had like to have been hang'd for it there, but was reprieved by the means of his friend _george_--i forgot his other name--not grenville--not george the second--but another george-dick. it's no matter, he'll be hang'd yet; he has sent his dogs to a wrong place, and lugg'd the wrong sow by the ear; he should have sent them to newfoundland, or kamchatka, there's no sheep there--but never mind, go on, roger. roger. nor was their voracious appetites satiated there; they rush'd into the town of concord, and proceeded to devour every thing that lay in their way; and those brute devils, like sampson's foxes (and as tho' they were men), thrice attempted with firebrands to destroy our corn, our town-house and habitations. dick. heavens! could not all this provoke you? roger. it did; rage prompted us at length, and found us arms 'gainst such hellish mischief to oppose. dick. oh, would i had been there! roger. our numbers increasing, and arm'd with revenge, we in our turn play'd the man; they, unus'd to wounds, with hideous yelling soon betook themselves to a precipitate and confused flight, nor did we give o'er the chase, till phoebus grew drowsy, bade us desist, and wished us a good night. dick. of some part of their hasty retreat i was a joyful spectator, i saw their tongues lolling out of their mouths, and heard them pant like hunted wolves indeed. roger. did you not hear how their mirth was turn'd into mourning? their fury into astonishment? how soon they quitted their howling yankee doodle, and chang'd their notes to bellowing? how nimbly (yet against their will) they betook themselves to dancing? and he was then the bravest dog that beat time the swiftest, and footed yankee doodle the nimblest. dick. well pleased, roger, was i with the chase, and glorious sport it was: i oft perceiv'd them tumbling o'er each other heels over head; nor did one dare stay to help his brother--but, with bloody breech, made the best of his way--nor ever stopped till they were got safe within their lurking-holes-roger. from whence they have not the courage to peep out, unless four to one, except (like a skunk) forc'd by famine. dick. may this be the fate of all those prowling sheep-stealers, it behooves the shepherds to double the watch, to take uncommon precaution and care of their tender flocks, more especially as this is like to be an uncommon severe winter, by the appearance of wolves, so early in the season--but, hark!--roger, methinks i hear the sound of melody warbling thro' the grove--let's sit a while, and partake of it unseen. roger. with all my heart.--most delightful harmony! this is the first of may; our shepherds and nymphs are celebrating our glorious st. tammany's day; we'll hear the song out, and then join in the frolic, and chorus it o'er and o'er again--this day shall be devoted to joy and festivity. song. [tune. _the hounds are all out, &c._] 1. of _st. george_, or _st. bute_, let the poet laureat sing, of _pharaoh_ or _pluto_ of old, while he rhymes forth their praise, in false, flattering lays, i'll sing of st. tamm'ny the bold, my brave boys. 2. let hibernia's sons boast, make patrick their toast; and scots andrew's fame spread abroad. potatoes and oats, and welch leeks for welch goats, was never st. tammany's food, my brave boys. 3. in freedom's bright cause, tamm'ny pled with applause, and reason'd most justly from nature; for this, this was his song, all, all the day long: liberty's the right of each creature, brave boys. 4. whilst under an oak his great parliament sat, his throne was the crotch of the tree; with solomon's look, without statutes or book, he wisely sent forth his decree, my brave boys. 5. his subjects stood round, not the least noise or sound, whilst freedom blaz'd full in each face: so plain were the laws, and each pleaded his cause; that might _bute_, _north_ and _mansfield_ disgrace, my brave boys. 6. no duties, nor stamps, their blest liberty cramps, a king, tho' no _tyrant_, was he; he did oft'times declare, nay, sometimes wou'd swear, the least of his subjects were free, my brave boys. 7. he, as king of the woods, of the rivers and floods, had a right all beasts to controul; yet, content with a few, to give nature her due: so gen'rous was tammany's soul! my brave boys. 8. in the morn he arose, and a-hunting he goes, bold nimrod his second was he. for his breakfast he'd take a large venison steak, and despis'd your slip-slops and tea, my brave boys. 9. while all in a row, with squaw, dog and bow, vermilion adorning his face, with feathery head he rang'd the woods wide: _st. george_ sure had never such grace, my brave boys? 10. his jetty black hair, such as buckskin saints wear, perfumed with bear's grease well smear'd, which illum'd the saint's face, and ran down apace, like the oil from aaron's old beard, my brave boys. 11. the strong nervous deer, with amazing career, in swiftness he'd fairly run down; and, like sampson, wou'd tear wolf, lion or bear. ne'er was such a saint as our own, my brave boys. 12. when he'd run down a stag, he behind him wou'd lag; for, so noble a soul had he! he'd stop, tho' he lost it, tradition reports it, to give him fresh chance to get free, my brave boys. 13. with a mighty strong arm, and a masculine bow, his arrow he drew to the head, and as sure as he shot, it was ever his lot, his prey it fell instantly dead, my brave boys. 14. his table he spread where the venison bled, be thankful, he used to say; he'd laugh and he'd sing, tho' a saint and a king, and sumptuously dine on his prey, my brave boys. 15. then over the hills, o'er the mountains and rills he'd caper, such was his delight; and ne'er in his days, indian history says, did lack a good supper at night, my brave boys. 16. on an old stump he sat, without cap or hat. when supper was ready to eat, _snap_, his dog, he stood by, and cast a sheep's eye for ven'son, the king of all meat, my brave boys. 17. like isaac of old, and both cast in one mould, tho' a wigwam was tamm'ny's cottage, he lov'd sav'ry meat, such that patriarchs eat, of ven'son and squirrel made pottage, brave boys. 18. when fourscore years old, as i've oft'times been told, to doubt it, sure, would not be right, with a pipe in his jaw, he'd buss his old squaw, and get a young saint ev'ry night, my brave boys. 19. as old age came on, he grew blind, deaf and dumb, tho' his sport, 'twere hard to keep from it, quite tired of life, bid adieu to his wife, and blazed like the tail of a comet, brave boys. 20. what country on earth, then, did ever give birth to such a magnanimous saint? his acts far excel all that history tell, and language too feeble to paint, my brave boys. 21. now, to finish my song, a full flowing bowl i'll quaff, and sing all the long day, and with punch and wine paint my cheeks for my saint, and hail ev'ry first of sweet _may_, my brave boys. dick. what a seraphic voice! how it enlivens my soul! come away, away, roger, the moments are precious. [_exeunt dick and roger._ scene vii. _in a chamber, near boston, the morning after the battle of bunkers-hill._ clarissa. how lovely is this new-born day!--the sun rises with uncommon radiance after the most gloomy night my wearied eyes ever knew.--the voice of slumber was not heard--the angel of sleep was fled--and the awful whispers of solemnity and silence prevented my eye-lids from closing.--no wonder--the terrors and ideas of yesterday--such a scene of war--of tumult--hurry and hubbub--of horror and destruction--the direful noise of conflict--the dismal hissing of iron shot in volleys flying--such bellowing of mortars--such thund'ring of cannon--such roaring of musketry--and such clashing of swords and bayonets--such cries of the wounded--and such streams of blood--such a noise and crush of houses, steeples, and whole streets of desolate charlestown falling--pillars of fire, and the convulsed vortex of fiery flakes, rolling in flaming wreaths in the air, in dreadful combustion, seemed as tho' the elements and whole earth were envelop'd in one general, eternal conflagration and total ruin, and intermingled with black smoke, ascending, on the wings of mourning, up to heaven, seemed piteously to implore the almighty interposition to put a stop to such devastation, lest the whole earth should be unpeopled in the unnatural conflict--too, too much for female heroism to dwell upon--but what are all those to the terrors that filled my affrighted imagination the last night?--dreams--fancies--evil bodings--shadows, phantoms and ghastly visions continually hovering around my pillow, goading and harrowing my soul with the most terrific appearances, not imaginary, but real--am i awake?--where are the british murderers?--where's my husband?--my son?--my brother?--something more than human tells me all is not well: if they are among the slain, 'tis impossible.--i--oh! [_she cries._] _enter a neighbour_ [_a spectator of the battle_]. neighbour. madam, grieve not so much. clarissa. am i wont to grieve without a cause? wou'd to god i did;--mock me not--what voice is that? methinks i know it--some angel sent to comfort me?--welcome then. [_she turns about._] oh, my neighbour, is it you? my friend, i have need of comfort. hast thou any for me?--say--will you not speak? where's my husband?--my son?--my brother? hast thou seen them since the battle? oh! bring me not unwelcome tidings! [_cries._] neighbour. [_aside. what shall i say?_] madam, i beheld them yesterday from an eminence. clarissa. upon that very eminence was i. what then?-neighbour. i saw the brave man warren, your son and brother. clarissa. what? o ye gods!--speak on friend--stop--what saw ye? neighbour. in the midst of the tempest of war-clarissa. where are they now?--that i saw too--what is all this? neighbour. madam, hear me-clarissa. then say on--yet--oh, his looks!--i fear! neighbour. when general putnam bid the vanguard open their front to the-clarissa. oh, trifle not with me--dear neighbour!--where shall i find them?--say-neighbour. [_aside. heavens! must i tell her!_] madam, be patient--right and left, that all may see who hate us, we are prepar'd for them-clarissa. what then?--can you find 'em?-neighbour. i saw warren and the other two heroes firm as roxbury stand the shock of the enemy's fiercest attacks, and twice put to flight their boasted phalanx.-clarissa. all that i saw, and more; say--wou'd they not come to me, were they well?-neighbour. madam, hear me-clarissa. oh! he will not speak. neighbour. the enemy return'd to the charge, and stumbling o'er the dead and wounded bodies of their friends, warren received them with indissoluble firmness, and notwithstanding their battalious aspect, in the midst of the battle, tho' surrounded with foes on ev'ry side-clarissa. oh, my neighbour!-neighbour. madam--his nervous arm, like a giant refresh'd with wine, hurl'd destruction where'er he came, breathing heroic ardour to advent'rous deeds, and long time in even scale the battle hung, till at last death turn'd pale and affrighted at the carnage--they ran-clarissa. who ran? neighbour. the enemy, madam, gave way-clarissa. warren never ran--yet--oh! i wou'd he had--i fear--[_cries._] neighbour. i say not so, madam. clarissa. what say ye then? he was no coward, neighbour-neighbour. brave to the last. [_aside. i forgot myself._] clarissa. what said you? o heavens! brave to the last! those words--why do you keep me thus?--cruel-neighbour. [_aside. she will know it._] i say, madam, by some mistaken orders on our side, the enemy rallied and return'd to the charge with fresh numbers, and your husband, son, and brother--madam-clarissa. stop!--o ye powers!--what?--say no more--yet let me hear--keep me not thus--tell me, i charge thee-neighbour. [_aside. i can hold no longer, she must know it._] forgive me, madam--i saw them fall--and michael, the archangel, who vanquish'd satan, is not more immortal than they. [_aside. who can relate such woes without a tear?_], clarissa. oh! i've heard enough--too--too much [_cries._] yet--if thou hast worse to tell--say on--nought worse can be--o ye gods!--cruel--cruel-thrice cruel--cou'd ye not leave me one--[_she faints, and is caught by her friend, and placed in a chair; he rings the bell, the family come in, and endeavour to bring her to._] neighbour. with surprising fortitude she heard the melancholy relation, until i came to the last close--she then gave me a mournful look, lifted up her eyes, and immediately sunk motionless into my arms. woman. poor soul!--no wonder--how i sympathize with her in her distress--my tender bosom can scarcely bear the sight! a dreadful loss! a most shocking scene it was, that brothers should with brothers war, and in intestine fierce opposition meet, to seek the blood of each other, like dogs for a bare bone, who so oft in generous friendship and commerce join'd, in festivals of love and joy unanimous as the sons of one kind and indulgent father, and separately would freely in a good cause spend their blood and sacrifice their lives for him. neighbour. a terrible black day it was, and ever will be remembered by new-england, when that vile briton (unworthy the name of a briton), lord boston (curse the name!), whose horrid murders stain american soil with blood; perish his name! a fratricide! 'twas he who fir'd charlestown, and spread desolation, fire, flames and smoke in ev'ry corner--he was the wretch, that waster of the world, that licens'd robber, that blood-stain'd insulter of a free people, who bears the name of lord boston, but from henceforth shall be called cain, that pillag'd the ruins, and dragg'd and murder'd the infant, the aged and infirm--(but look, she recovers.) clarissa. o ye angels! ye cherubims and seraphims! waft their souls to bliss, bathe their wounds with angelic balsam, and crown them with immortality. a faithful, loving and beloved husband, a promising and filial son, a tender and affectionate brother: alas! what a loss!--whom have i now to comfort me?--what have i left, but the voice of lamentation: [_she weeps._] ill-fated bullets--these tears shall sustain me--yes, ye dear friends! how gladly wou'd i follow you--but alas! i must still endure tribulation and inquietudes, from which you are now exempt; i cannot cease to weep, ye brave men, i will mourn your fall--weep on--flow, mine eyes, and wash away their blood, till the fountain of sorrow is dried up--but, oh! it never--never will--my sympathetic soul shall dwell on your bosoms, and floods of tears shall water your graves; and since all other comfort is deny'd me, deprive me not of the only consolation left me of meditating on your virtues and dear memories, who fell in defense of liberty and your country--ye brave men--ye more than friends--ye martyrs to liberty!--this, this is all i ask, till sorrow overwhelms me.--i breathe my last; and ye yourselves, your own bright spirits, come and waft me to your peaceful abode, where the voice of lamentation is not heard, neither shall we know any more what it is to separate. _eager the patriot meets his desperate foe with full intent to give the fatal blow; the cause he fights for animates him high, his wife, his children and his liberty: for these he conquers, or more bravely dies, and yields himself a willing sacrifice._ [_exeunt._ act iv. scene i. _near norfolk, in virginia, on board a man-of-war, lord kidnapper, in the state-room; a boat appears rowing towards the ship._ _sailor and boatswain._ sailor. boatswain! boatswain. holla. sailor. damn my eyes, mr. boatswain, but here's a black flag of truce coming on board. boatswain. sure enough--where are they from? sailor. from hell, i suppose--for they're as black as so many devils. boatswain. very well--no matter--they're recruits for the kidnapper. sailor. we shall be all of a colour by and by--damn me-boatswain. i'll go and inform his lordship and his pair of doxies of it; i suppose by this time they have trim'd their sails, and he's done heaving the log. [_exit boatswain._ scene ii. _near the state-room._ boatswain. where's his lordship? servant. he's in the state-room. boatswain. it's time for him to turn out; tell him i want to speak to him. servant. i dare not do it, boatswain; it's more than my life is worth. boatswain. damn your squeamish stomach, go directly, or i'll go myself. servant. for god's sake! boatswain-boatswain. damn your eyes, you pimping son of a bitch, go this instant, or i'll stick my knife in your gammons. servant. o lord! boatswain. [_servant goes._] boatswain [_solus_]. what the devil--keep a pimp guard here, better station the son of a bitch at the mast head, to keep a look out there, lest admiral hopkins be upon us. _enter kidnapper._ kidnapper. what's your will, boatswain? boatswain. i beg your lordship's pardon [_aside. but you can soon fetch up leeway, and spread the water sail again._], please your honour, here's a boat full of fine recruits along side for you. kidnapper. recruits, boatswain? you mean soldiers from augustine, i imagine; what reg'mentals have they on? boatswain. mourning, please your honour, and as black as our tarpawling. kidnapper. ha, ha, well well, take 'em on board, boatswain, i'll be on deck presently. boatswain. with submission to your honour, d' ye see, [_scratching his head._] i think we have gallows-looking dogs enough on board already--the scrapings of newgate, and the refuse of tyburn, and when the wind blows aft, damn 'em, they stink like polecats--but d' ye see, as your honour pleases, with submission, if it's lord paramount's orders, why it must be so, i suppose--but i've done my duty, d' ye see-kidnapper. ha, ha, the work must be done, boatswain, no matter by whom. boatswain. why, aye, that's true, please your honour, any port in a storm--if a man is to be hang'd, or have his throat cut, d' ye see--who are so fit to do it as his own slaves? especially as they're to have their freedoms for it; nobody can blame 'em, nor your honour neither, for you get them for half price, or nothing at all, d' ye see me, and that will help to lessen poor owld england's taxes, and when you have done with 'em here, and they get their brains knock'd out, d' ye see, your honour can sell them in the west-indies, and that will be something in your honour's pocket, d' ye see--well, ev'ry man to his trade--but, damn my impudence for all, i see your honour knows all about it--d' ye see. [_exit boatswain._ scene iii. _lord kidnapper returns to his state-room; the boatswain comes on deck and pipes._ all hands ahoy--hand a rope, some of you tories, forward there, for his worship's reg'ment of black guards to come aboard. _enter negroes._ boatswain. your humble servant, gentlemen, i suppose you want to see lord kidnapper?--clear the gangway there of them tyburn tulips. please to walk aft, brother soldiers, that's the fittest birth for you, the kidnapper's in the state-room, he'll hoist his sheet-anchor presently, he'll be up in a jiffin--as soon as he has made fast the end of his small rope athwart jenny bluegarter and kate common's stern posts. first sailor. damn my eyes, but i suppose, messmate, we must bundle out of our hammocks this cold weather, to make room for these black regulars to stow in, tumble upon deck, and choose a soft berth among the snow? second sailor. blast 'em, if they come within a cable's length of my hammock, i'll kick 'em to hell through one of the gun ports. boatswain. come, come, brothers, don't be angry, i suppose we shall soon be in a warmer latitude--the kidnapper seems as fond of these black regulars (as you call 'em, jack) as he is of the brace of whores below; but as they come in so damn'd slow, i'll put him in the humour of sending part of the fleet this winter to the coast of guinea, and beat up for volunteers, there he'll get recruits enough for a hogshead or two of new-england rum, and a few owld pipe-shanks, and save poor owld-england the trouble and expense of clothing them in the bargain. first sailor. aye, boatswain, any voyage, so it's a warm one--if it's to hell itself--for i'm sure the devil must be better off than we, if we are to stay here this winter. second sailor. any voyage, so it's to the southward, rather than stay here at lazy anchor--no fire, nothing to eat or drink, but suck our frosty fists like bears, unless we turn sheep-stealers again, and get our brains knock'd out. eigh, master cook, you're a gentleman now--nothing to do--grown so proud, you won't speak to poor folks, i suppose? cook. the devil may cook for 'em for me--if i had any thing to cook--a parcel of frozen half-starv'd dogs. i should never be able to keep 'em out of the cook room, or their noses out of the slush-tub. boatswain. damn your old smoky jaws, you're better off than any man aboard, your trouble will be nothing,--for i suppose they'll be disbursted in different messes among the tories, and it's only putting on the big pot, cockey. ha, ha, ha. cook. what signifies, mr. boatswain, the big pot or the little pot, if there's nothing to cook? no fire, coal or wood to cook with? blast my eyes, mr. boatswain, if i disgrease myself so much, i have had the honour, damn me (tho' i say it that shou'dn't say it) to be chief cook of a seventy-four gun ship, on board of which was lord abel-marl and admiral poke-cock. boatswain. damn the liars--old singe-the-devil--you chief cook of a seventy-four gun ship, eigh? you the devil, you're as proud as hell, for all you look as old as matheg'lum, hand a pair of silk stockings for our cook here, d' ye see--lash a handspike athwart his arse, get a ladle full of slush and a handful of brimstone for his hair, and step one of you tories there for the devil's barber to come and shave and dress him. ha, ha, ha. cook. no, mr. boatswain, it's not pride--but look 'e (as i said before), i'll not disgrease my station, i'll throw up my commission, before i'll stand cook for a parcel of scape gallows, convict tory dogs and run-away negroes. boatswain. what's that you say? take care, old frosty face--what? do you accuse his worship of turning kidnapper, and harbouring run-away negroes?--softly, or you'll be taken up for a whig, and get a handsome coat of slush and hog's feathers for a christmas-box, cockey: throw up your commission, eigh? throw up the pot-halliards, you mean, old piss-to-windward? ha, ha, ha. cook. i tell you, mr. boatswain--i-boatswain. come, come, give us a chaw of tobacco, cook--blast your eyes, don't take any pride in what i say--i'm only joking, d' ye see---cook. well, but mr. boatswain---boatswain. come, avast, belay the lanyards of your jaws, and let's have no more of it, d' ye see. [_boatswain pipes._] make fast that boat along side there. [_exeunt ev'ry man to his station._ scene iv. _lord kidnapper comes up on the quarter-deck._ kidnapper. well, my brave blacks, are you come to list? cudjo. eas, massa lord, you preazee. kidnapper. how many are there of you? cudjo. twenty-two, massa. kidnapper. very well, did you all run away from your masters? cudjo. eas, massa lord, eb'ry one, me too. kidnapper. that's clever; they have no right to make you slaves, i wish all the negroes wou'd do the same, i'll make 'em free--what part did you come from? cudjo. disse brack man, disse one, disse one, disse one, disse one, come from hamton, disse one, disse one, disse one, come from nawfok, me come from nawfok too. kidnapper. very well, what was your master's name? cudjo. me massa name cunney tomsee. kidnapper. colonel thompson--eigh? cudjo. eas, massa, cunney tomsee. kidnapper. well then i'll make you a major--and what's your name? cudjo. me massa cawra me cudjo. kidnapper. cudjo?--very good--was you ever christened, cudjo? cudjo. no massa, me no crissen. kidnapper. well, then i'll christen you--you shall be called major cudjo thompson, and if you behave well, i'll soon make you a greater man than your master, and if i find the rest of you behave well, i'll make you all officers, and after you have serv'd lord paramount a while, you shall have money in your pockets, good clothes on your backs, and be as free as them white men there. [_pointing forward to a parcel of tories._] cudjo. tankee, massa, gaw bresse, massa kidnap. sailor. [_aside._] what a damn'd big mouth that cudjo has--as large as our main hatch-way---cook. [_aside._] aye, he's come to a wrong place to make a good use of it--it might stand some little chance at a lord mayor's feast. kidnapper. now go forward, give 'em something to eat and drink there. [_aside._] poor devils, they look half starved and naked like ourselves. cook. [_aside._] i don't know where the devil they'll get it: the sight of that fellow's mouth is enough to breed a famine on board, if there was not one already. sailor. aye, he'd tumble plenty down his damn'd guts and swallow it, like jones swallow'd the whale. kidnapper. to-morrow you shall have guns like them white men--can you shoot some of them rebels ashore, major cudjo? cudjo. eas, massa, me try. kidnapper. wou'd you shoot your old master, the colonel, if you could see him? cudjo. eas, massa, you terra me, me shoot him down dead. kidnapper. that's a brave fellow--damn 'em--down with them all--shoot all the damn'd rebels. serjeant. [_aside._] brave fellows indeed! kidnapper. serjeant! serjeant. i wait your lordship's commands. kidnapper. serjeant, to-morrow begin to teach those black recruits the exercise, and when they have learn'd sufficiently well to load and fire, then incorporate them among the regulars and the other whites on board; we shall in a few days have some work for 'em, i expect--be as expeditious as possible. [_aside to him._] set a guard over them every night, and take their arms from them, for who knows but they may cut our throats. serjeant. very true, my lord, i shall take particular care. [_exit kidnapper; serjeant and negroes walk forward._ scene v. serjeant. damn 'em, i'd rather see half their weight in beef. boatswain. aye, curse their stomachs, or mutton either; then our cook wou'dn't be so damn'd lazy as he is, strutting about the deck like a nobleman, receiving paramount's pay for nothing. serjeant. walk faster, damn your black heads. i suppose, boatswain, when this hell-cat reg'ment's complete, they'll be reviewed in hyde park?---boatswain. aye, blast my eyes, and our chaplain with his dirty black gown, or our cook, shall be their general, and review 'em, for he talks of throwing up his pot-halliards commission, in hopes of it. serjeant. ha, ha, ha.---cook. i'd see the devil have 'em first.--- [_exeunt serjeant, &c._ scene vi. _in the cabin._ _lord kidnapper, captain squires, and chaplain._ kidnapper. these blacks are no small acquisition, them and the tories we have on board will strengthen us vastly; the thoughts of emancipation will make 'em brave, and the encouragement given them by my proclamation, will greatly intimidate the rebels--internal enemies are worse than open foes.---chaplain. very true, my lord; david prayed that he might be preserved from secret enemies. kidnapper. aye, so i've heard, but i look upon this to be a grand manoeuvre in politics; this is making dog eat dog--thief catch thief--the servant against his master--rebel against rebel--what think you of that, parson? chaplain. a house divided thus against itself cannot stand, according to scripture--my lord, your observation is truly scriptural. kidnapper. scripture? poh, poh--i've nothing to do with scripture--i mean politically, parson. chaplain. i know it very well; sure, my lord, i understand you perfectly. kidnapper. faith that's all i care for; if we can stand our ground this winter, and burn all their towns that are accessible to our ships, and colonel connolly succeeds in his plan, there's not the least doubt but we shall have supplies from england very early in the spring, which i have wrote for; then, in conjunction with connolly, we shall be able to make a descent where we please, and drive the rebels like hogs into a pen. chaplain. and then gather them (as the scriptures say) as a hen gathereth her chickens. kidnapper. true, mr. scripture. captain squires. very good, but you must take care of the hawks. kidnapper. what do you mean by the hawks, captain? captain squires. i mean the shirt-men, the rifle-men, my lord. kidnapper. aye, damn 'em, hawks indeed; they are cursed dogs; a man is never safe where they are, but i'll take care to be out of their reach, let others take their chance, for i see they have no respect to persons--i suppose they wou'd shoot at me, if i were within their reach. chaplain. undoubtedly, they would be more fond of you than of a wild turkey; a parcel of ignorant, unmannerly rascals, they pay no more respect to a lord than they wou'd to a devil. kidnapper. the scoundrels are grown so damn'd impudent too, that one can scarcely get a roasting pig now-a-days, but i'll be even with some of 'em by and by. chaplain. i hope we shall get something good for our christmas dinner--so much abstinence and involuntary mortification, cannot be good for the soul--a war in the body corporal is of more dangerous consequence than a civil war to the state, or heresy and schism to the church. kidnapper. very true, parson--very true--now i like your doctrine--a full belly is better than an empty sermon; preach that doctrine;--stick to that text, and you'll not fail of making converts. chaplain. the wisest of men said, there is nothing better, than that a man should enjoy that which he hath, namely, eat, drink, and be merry, if he can. kidnapper. you're very right--solomon was no fool, they say--[_he sings._] _give me a charming lass, twangdillo cries, i know no pleasure, but love's sweet joys._ chaplain. [_sings._] _give me the bottle, says the red face sot, for a whore i'd not give six-pence, not a groat._ yet two is better than one, my lord, for the scriptures further say, if one be alone, how can there be heat? you seem to be converted to that belief, for you have a brace of them, as the boatswain says. kidnapper. ha, ha. it's a pity but you were a bishop, you have the scriptures so pat--now i'll go and take a short nap, meanwhile; captain, if any thing new happens, pray order my servant to wake me. captain squires. i will, my lord. [_exit kidnapper._ chaplain. and you and i'll crack a bottle, captain; (bring a bottle, boy!) 'tis bad enough to perish by famine, but ten thousand times worse to be chok'd for want of moisture. his lordship and two more make three; and you and i and the bottle make three more, and a three-fold cord is not easily broken; so we're even with him. captain squires. with all my heart.--boy, bear a hand! tom. coming, sir. chaplain. tom, tom!--make haste, you scoundrel!--fetch two bottles. i think we can manage it. _enter tom with the bottles._ chaplain. that's right, tom.--now bring the glasses, and shut the door after you. [_exit tom._ scene vii. _in boston. a council of war after the battle of bunker's-hill._ lord boston, admiral tombstone, elbow room, mr. caper, general clinton, earl percy. lord boston. i fully expected, with the help of the last reinforcement you brought me over, and the advice and assistance of three accomplish'd and experienc'd generals, i should have been able to have subdued the rebels, and gain'd immortal laurels to myself--have return'd to old england like a roman consul, with a score or two of the rebel generals, colonels and majors, to have grac'd my triumph. elbow room. you have been vastly disappointed, sir--you must not look for laurels (unless wild ones) nor expect triumphs (unless sham ones) from your own victories or conquests in america. lord boston. and yet, not more disappointed than you, sir--witness your thrasonical speeches on your first landing, provided you had but elbow room--and mr. caper too, to bring over monsieur rigadoon, the dancing-master, and signor rosin, the fiddler forsooth; he thought, no doubt, to have country danc'd the rebels out of their liberty with some of his new cuts--with his soft music to have fascinated their wives and daughters, and with some of 'em, no doubt, to have taken the tour of america, with his reg'ment of fine, sleek, prancing horses, that have been feeding this six months on codfish tails; he thought to have grown fat with feasting, dancing, and drinking tea with the ladies, instead of being the skeleton he now appears to be--not to mention any thing of his letter, wherein he laments tom's absence; for[9] "had tom been with him (he says) he wou'd have been out of danger, and quite secure from the enemy's shot." percy. i think, gentlemen, we're even with you now; you have had your mirth and frolic with us, for dancing "yankee doodle," as you called it, from lexington.--i find you have had a severer dance, a brave sweat at bunker's hill, and have been obliged to pay the fiddler in the bargain. clinton. however, gentlemen, i approve (at proper seasons) of a little joking, yet i can by no means think (as we have had such bad success with our crackers) that this is a proper time to throw your squibs. lord boston. i grant you, sir, this is a very improper time for joking; for my part, i was only speaking as to my own thoughts, when mr. elbow room made remarks, which he might as well have spared. elbow room. i took you, sir, as meaning a reflection upon us for our late great loss, and particularly to myself, for expressing some surprise on our first landing, that you should suffer a parcel of ignorant peasants to drive you before 'em like sheep from lexington; and i must own i was a little chagrin'd at your seeming so unconcern'd at such an affair as this (which had nearly prov'd our ruin), by your innuendoes and ironical talk of accomplish'd generals, roman consuls and triumphs. lord boston. my mentioning accomplish'd generals, surely, sir, was rather a compliment to you. elbow room. when irony pass current for compliments, and we take it so, i shall have no objection to it. mr. caper. the affair of lexington, my lord boston, at which you were so much affrighted (if i am rightly inform'd), was because you then stood on your own bottom, this of bunker's hill you seem secretly to rejoice at, only because you have three accomplish'd and experienc'd generals to share the disgrace with you, besides the brave admiral tombstone--you talk of dancing and fiddling, and yet you do neither, as i see. lord boston. and pray, sir, what did you do with the commission, the post, the duke of grafton gave you, in lieu of your losses at preston election, and the expenses of your trial at the king's bench for a riot, which had emptied your pockets?--why you sold it--you sold it, sir--to raise cash to gamble with.---admiral tombstone. damn it, don't let us kick up a dust among ourselves, to be laugh'd at fore and aft--this is a hell of a council of war--though i believe it will turn out one before we've done--a scolding and quarrelling like a parcel of damn'd butter whores--i never heard two whores yet scold and quarrel, but they got to fighting at last. clinton. pray, gentlemen, drop this discourse, consider the honour of england is at stake, and our own safety depends upon this day's consultation. lord boston. 'tis not for argument's sake--but the dignity of my station requires others should give up first. elbow room. sir, i have done, lest you should also accuse me of obstructing the proceedings of the council of war. mr. caper. for the same reason i drop it now. lord boston. well, gentlemen, what are we met here for? admiral tombstone. who the devil shou'd know, if you don't?--damn it, didn't you send for us? lord boston. our late great loss of men has tore up the foundation of our plan, and render'd all further attempts impracticable--'t will be a long time ere we can expect any more reinforcements--and if they should arrive, i'm doubtful of their success. clinton. the provincials are vastly strong, and seem no novices in the art of war; 'tis true we gain'd the hill at last, but of what advantage is it to us?--none--the loss of 1400 as brave men as britain can boast of, is a melancholy consideration, and must make our most sanguinary friends in england abate of their vigour. elbow room. i never saw or read of any battle equal to it--never was more martial courage display'd, and the provincials, to do the dogs justice, fought like heroes, fought indeed more like devils than men; such carnage and destruction not exceeded by blenheim, minden, fontenoy, ramillies, dettingen, the battle of the boyne, and the late affair of the spaniards and algerines--a mere cock-fight to it--no laurels there. mr. caper. no, nor triumphs neither--i regret in particular the number of brave officers that fell that day, many of whom were of the first families in england. admiral tombstone. aye, a damn'd affair indeed--many powder'd beaus--petit maitres--fops--fribbles--skip jacks--macaronies--jack puddings--noblemen's bastards and whores' sons fell that day--and my poor marines stood no more chance with 'em than a cat in hell without claws. lord boston. it can't be help'd, admiral; what is to be done next? admiral tombstone. done?--why, what the devil have you done? nothing yet, but eat paramount's beef, and steal a few yankee sheep--and that, it seems, is now become a damn'd lousy, beggarly trade too, for you hav'n't left yourselves a mouthful to eat. [_aside._] "_bold at the council board, but cautious in the field, he shunn'd the sword._" lord boston. but what can we do, admiral? admiral tombstone. do?--why, suck your paws--that's all you're like to get. [_aside._] but avast, i must bowse taught there, or we shall get to loggerheads soon, we're such damn'd fighting fellows. lord boston. we must act on the defensive this winter, till reinforcements arrive. admiral tombstone. defensive? aye, aye--if we can defend our bellies from hunger, and prevent a mutiny and civil war among the small guts there this winter, we shall make a glorious campaign of it, indeed--it will read well in the american chronicles. lord boston. i expect to be recalled this winter, when i shall lay the case before lord paramount, and let him know your deplorable situation. admiral tombstone. aye, do--and lay it behind him too; you've got the weather-gage of us this tack, messmate; but i wish you a good voyage for all--and don't forget to tell him, the poor worms are starving too, having nothing to eat, but half starv'd dead soldiers and the ships' bottoms. [_aside._] a cunning old fox, he's gnaw'd his way handsomely out of the boston cage--but he'll never be a _wolf_, for all that. mr. caper. i shall desire to be recalled too--i've not been us'd to such fare--and not the least diversion or entertainment of any sort going forward here--i neither can nor will put up with it. admiral tombstone. i think we're all a parcel of damn'd boobies for coming three thousand miles upon a wild-goose chase--to perish with cold--starve with hunger--get our brains knock'd out, or be hang'd for sheep-stealing and robbing hen-roosts. lord boston. i think, admiral, you're always grumbling--never satisfied. admiral tombstone. satisfied? i see no appearance of it--we have been here these twelve hours, scolding upon empty stomachs--you may call it a council of war (and so it is indeed, a war with the guts) or what you will--but i call it a council of famine. lord boston. as it's so late, gentlemen, we'll adjourn the council of war till to-morrow at nine o'clock--i hope you'll all attend, and come to a conclusion. admiral tombstone. and i hope you'll then conclude to favour us with one of them fine turkeys you're keeping for your sea store [_aside._] or that fine, fat, black pig you or some of your guard stole out of the poor negroe's pen. as it's near christmas, and you're going to make your exit--you know the old custom among the sailors--pave your way first--let us have one good dinner before we part, and leave us half a dozen pipes of mr. hancock's wine to drink your health, and a good voyage, and don't let us part with dry lips. _such foolish councils, with no wisdom fraught, must end in wordy words, and come to nought; just like st. james's, where they bluster, scold, they nothing know--yet they despise being told._ [_exeunt._ footnotes: [9] see burgoyne's letter. act v. scene i. _at montreal._ _general prescot and officer._ general prescot. so it seems indeed, one misfortune seldom comes alone.--the rebels, after the taking of ticonderoga and chamblee, as i just now learn by a savage, marched immediately to besiege st. john's, and are now before that place, closely investing it, and no doubt intend paying us a visit soon. officer. say you so? then 'tis time to look about us. gen. prescot. they'll find us prepar'd, i'll warrant 'em, to give 'em such a reception as they little dream of--a parcel of yankee dogs. officer. their success, no doubt, has elated them, and given 'em hopes of conquering all canada soon, if that's their intent. gen. prescot. no doubt it is--but i'll check their career a little.---_enter scouting officer, with colonel allen, and other prisoners._ scouting officer. sir, i make bold to present you with a few prisoners--they are a scouting detachment from the army besieging st. john's. gen. prescot. prisoners? rebels, i suppose, and scarcely worth hanging. col. allen. sir, you suppose wrong--you mean scarcely worth your while to attempt. gen. prescot. pray, who are you, sir? col. allen. a man, sir, and who had the honour, till now, to command those brave men, whom you call rebels. gen. prescot. what is your name? if i may be so bold? col. allen. allen. gen. prescot. allen? col. allen. yes, allen. gen. prescot. are you that allen, that colonel allen (as they call him) that dar'd to take ticonderoga? col. allen. the same--the very man. gen. prescot. then rebels you are, and as such i shall treat you, for daring to oppose lord paramount's troops, and the laws of the land. col. allen. prisoners we are, 'tis true--but we despise the name of a rebel--with more propriety that name is applicable to your master--'tis he who attempts to destroy the laws of the land, not us--we mean to support them, and defend our property against paramount's and parliamentary tyranny. gen. prescot. to answer you were a poorness of spirit i despise; when rebels dare accuse, power that replies, forgets to punish; i am not to argue that point with you: and let me tell you, sir, whoever you are, it now ill becomes you thus to talk--you're my prisoner--your life is in my hands, and you shall suffer immediately--guards! take them away. col. allen. cruel insult!--pardon these brave men!--what they have done has been by my orders--i am the only guilty person (if guilt there be), let me alone suffer for them all. [_opening his breast._] here! take your revenge--why do you hesitate?--will you not strike a breast that ne'er will flinch from your pointed bayonet? gen. prescot. provoke me not--remember you're my prisoners. col. allen. our souls are free!--strike, cowards, strike!--i scorn to beg my life. gen. prescot. guards! away with them--i'll reserve you for a more ignominious death--your fate is fix'd--away with them. col. allen. [_going off._] be glutted, ye thirsters after human blood--come, see me suffer--mark my eye, and scorn me, if my expiring soul confesses fear--come, see and be taught virtue, and to die as a patriot for the wrongs of my country. [_exeunt prisoners and guards._ scene ii. _a dungeon._ col. allen. what! ye infernal monsters! murder us in the dark?--what place is this?--who reigns king of these gloomy mansions?--you might favour us at least with one spark of light--ye cannot see to do your business here. officer. 'tis our orders. col. allen. ye dear, ye brave, wretched friends!--now would i die for ye all--ye share a death i wou'd gladly excuse you from--'tis not death i fear--this is only bodily death--but to die noteless in the silent dark, is to die scorn'd, and shame our suff'ring country--we fall undignify'd by villains' hands--a sacrifice to britain's outcast blood-hounds--this, this shakes the soul!--come then, ye murderers, since it must be so--do your business speedily--farewell, my friends! to die with you is now my noblest claim since to die for you was a choice deny'd--what are ye about?--stand off, ye wretches! officer. i am order'd to lay you in irons. [_they seize him._] you must submit. col. allen. what, do you mean to torture us to death with chains, racks and gibbets? rather despatch us immediately--ye executioners, ye inquisitors, does this cruelty proceed from the lenity i shewed to the prisoners i took?--did it offend you that i treated them with friendship, generosity, honour and humanity?--if it did, our suff'rings will redound more to our honour, and our fall be the more glorious--but remember, this fall will prove your own one day--wretches! i fear you not, do your worst; and while i here lay suff'ring and chain'd on my back to the damp floor, i'll yet pray for your conversion. officer. excuse us, we have only obey'd our order. col. allen. then i forgive you; but pray execute them. _oh! my lost friends! 'tis liberty, not breath, gives the brave life. shun slav'ry more than death. he who spurns fear, and dares disdain to be, mocks chains and wrongs--and is forever free; while the base coward, never safe, tho' low, creeps but to suff'rings, and lives on for woe!_ [_exeunt guards._ scene iii. _in the camp at cambridge._ _general washington, general lee, and general putnam._ general washington. our accounts from the northward, so far, are very favourable; ticonderoga, chamblee, st. john's and montreal our troops are already in possession of--and colonel arnold, having penetrated canada, after suff'ring much thro' cold, fatigue and want of provisions, is now before quebec, and general montgomery, i understand, is in full march to join him; see these letters. [_they read._ gen. lee. the brave, the intrepid arnold, with his handful of fearless troops, have dar'd beyond the strength of mortals--their courage smil'd at doubts, and resolutely march'd on, clamb'ring (to all but themselves) insurmountable precipices, whose tops, covered with ice and snow, lay hid in the clouds, and dragging baggage, provisions, ammunition and artillery along with them, by main strength, in the dead of winter, over such stupendous and amazing heights, seems almost unparallelled in history!--'tis true, hannibal's march over the alps comes the nearest to it--it was a surprising undertaking, but when compar'd to this, appears but as a party of pleasure, an agreeable walk, a sabbath day's journey. gen. putnam. posterity will stand amazed, and be astonish'd at the heroes of this new world, that the spirit of patriotism should blaze to such a height, and eclipse all others, should outbrave fatigue, danger, pain, peril, famine and even death itself, to serve their country; that they should march, at this inclement season, thro' long and dreary deserts, thro' the remotest wilds, covered with swamps and standing lakes, beset with trees, bushes and briars, impervious to the cheering rays of the sun, where are no traces or vestiges of human footsteps, wild, untrodden paths, that strike terror into the fiercest of the brute creation. _no bird of song to cheer the gloomy desert! no animals of gentle love's enliven!_ gen. lee. let britons do the like--no--they dare not attempt it--let 'em call forth the hanoverian, the hessian, the hardy ruffian, or, if they will, the wild cossacks and kalmucks of tartary, and they would tremble at the thought! and who but americans dare undertake it? the wond'ring moon and stars stood aloof, and turn'd pale at the sight! gen. washington. i rejoice to hear the canadians received them kindly, after their fatigue furnish'd them with the necessaries of life, and otherways treated them very humanely--and the savages, whose hair stood on end, and look'd and listen'd with horror and astonishment at the relation of the fatigues and perils they underwent, commiserated them, and afforded all the succour in their power. gen. lee. the friendship of the canadians and savages, or even their neutrality alone, are favourable circumstances that cannot fail to hearten our men; and the junction of general montgomery will inspire 'em with fresh ardour. gen. putnam. heavens prosper 'em! _enter officer and express._ officer. sir, here's an express. express. i have letters to your excellency. gen. washington. from whence? express. from canada, sir. gen. washington. from the army? express. from the headquarters, sir. gen. washington. i hope matters go well there.--had general montgomery join'd colonel arnold when you left it? express. he had, sir--these letters are from both those gentlemen. [_gives him the letters._ gen. washington. very well. you may now withdraw and refresh yourself, unless you've further to say--i'll dispatch you shortly. express. nothing further, sir. [_exeunt officer and express._ gen. washington. [_opens and reads the letter to generals lee and putnam._] i am well pleased with their contents--all but the behaviour of the haughty carleton--to fire upon a flag of truce, hitherto unprecedented, even amongst savages or algerines--his cruelty to the prisoners is cowardly, and personal ill treatment of general montgomery is unbecoming a general--a soldier--and beneath a gentleman--and leaves an indelible mark of brutality--i hope general montgomery, however, will not follow his example. gen. lee. i hope so too, sir--if it can be avoided; it's a disgrace to the soldier, and a scandal to the gentleman--so long as i've been a soldier, my experience has not furnish'd me with a like instance. gen. putnam. i see no reason why he shou'dn't be paid in his own coin.--if a man bruises my heel, i'll break his head--i cannot see the reason or propriety of bearing with their insults--does he not know it's in our power to retaliate fourfold? gen. lee. let's be good natur'd, general--let us see a little more of it first---gen. putnam. i think we have seen enough of it already for this twelve-months past. methinks the behaviour of lord boston, the ill treatment of poor allen, to be thrown into a loathsome dungeon like a murderer, be loaded with irons, and transported like a convict, would sufficiently rouse us to a just retaliation--that imperious red coat, carleton, should be taught good manners--i hope to see him ere long in our college at cambridge---gen. lee. i doubt; he'll be too cunning, and play truant--he has no notion of learning american manners; ev'ry dog must have his day (as the saying is); it may be our time by and by--the event of war is uncertain---gen. putnam. very true, sir; but don't let us be laugh'd at forever. _enter an officer in haste._ officer. sir, a messenger this moment from quebec waits to be admitted. gen. washington. let him enter. [_exit officer._ _enter messenger._ gen. washington. what news bring you? messenger. i am sorry, sir, to be the bearer of an unpleasing tale---gen. washington. bad news have you?--have you letters? messenger. none, sir--i came off at a moment's warning--my message is verbal. gen. washington. then relate what you know. messenger. after the arrival and junction of general montgomery's troops with colonel arnold's, carleton was summoned to surrender; he disdaining any answer, fir'd on the flag of truce---gen. washington. that we have heard--go on. messenger. the general finding no breach could be effected in any reasonable time, their walls being vastly strong, and his cannon rather light, determined to attempt it by storm--the enemy were apprized of it--however, he passed the first barrier, and was attempting the second, where he was unfortunately killed, with several other brave officers---gen. washington. is general montgomery killed? messenger. he is certainly, sir. gen. washington. i am sorry for it--a brave man--i could wish him a better fate!---gen. lee. i lament the loss of him--a resolute soldier---gen. putnam. pity such bravery should prove unsuccessful, such merit unrewarded;--but the irreversible decree of providence!--who can gainsay?--we may lament the loss of a friend, but 'tis irreligious to murmur at pre-ordination. what happ'ned afterwards? messenger. the officer next in command, finding their attacks at that time unsuccessful, retired in good order. gen. washington. what became of colonel arnold? messenger. colonel arnold, at the head of about three hundred and fifty brave troops, and captain lamb's company of artillery, having in the mean time passed through st. rocques, attacked a battery, and carried it, tho' well defended, with the loss of some men-gen. putnam. i hope they proved more successful. gen. lee. aye, let us hear. messenger. the colonel about this time received a wound in his leg, and was obliged to crawl as well as he cou'd to the hospital, thro' the fire of the enemy, and within fifty yards of the walls, but, thro' providence, escap'd any further damage.---gen. putnam. aye, providential indeed! gen. washington. is he dangerously wounded? messenger. i am told not, sir. gen. washington. i am glad of it.--what follow'd? messenger. his brave troops pushed on to the second barrier, and took possession of it. gen. washington. very good--proceed. messenger. a party of the enemy then sallying out from the palace-gate, attacked them in the rear, whom they fought with incredible bravery for three hours, and deeds of eternal fame were done; but being surrounded on all sides, and overpowered by numbers, were at last obliged to submit themselves as prisoners of war. gen. putnam. heav'ns! could any thing prove more unlucky? such brave fellows deserve better treatment than they'll get (i'm afraid) from the inhuman carleton. gen. lee. such is the fortune of war, and the vicissitudes attending a military life; to-day conquerors, to-morrow prisoners. gen. washington. he dares not treat them ill--only as prisoners. did you learn how those brave fellows were treated? messenger. it was currently reported in the camp they were treated very humanely. gen. washington. a change for the better. gen. putnam. produc'd by fear, no doubt from general montgomery's letter--but no matter from what cause. gen. lee. how far did the remainder of the army retire? messenger. about two miles from the city, where they are posted very advantageously, continuing the blockade, and waiting for reinforcements. gen. lee. did the enemy shew any peculiar marks of distinction to the corpse of general montgomery? messenger. he was interred in quebec, with ev'ry possible mark of distinction. gen. washington. what day did the affair happen on? messenger. on the last day of the year. gen. washington. a remarkable day! when was the general interred? messenger. the second of january. gen. lee. what number of men in the whole attack was killed? did you learn? messenger. about sixty killed and wounded. gen. washington. have you any thing further to communicate? messenger. nothing, sir, but to inform you they are all in good spirits, and desire reinforcements, and heavy artillery may be sent them as soon as possible. gen. washington. that be our business--with all despatch. you may for the present withdraw. serjeant! _enter serjeant._ serjeant. i wait your order, sir. gen. washington. see that the messenger and his horse want for nothing. serjeant. i shall, sir. [_exeunt serjeant and messenger._ scene iv. gen. washington. i'll despatch an express to the congress. this repulse, if i mistake not (or victory, as carleton may call it), will stand 'em but in little stead--'t will be only a temporary reprieve--we'll reinforce our friends, let the consequence be what it may--quebec must fall, and the lofty strong walls and brazen gates (the shield of cowards) must tumble by an artificial earthquake; should they continue in their obstinacy, we'll arm our friends with missive thunders in their hands, and stream death on them swifter than the winds. gen. lee. i lament the loss of the valiant montgomery and his brave officers and soldiers (at this time more especially) 'tis the fortune of war, 'tis unavoidable; yet, i doubt not, out of their ashes will arise new heroes. gen. putnam. who can die a more glorious, a more honourable death than in their country's cause?--let it redouble our ardour, and kindle a noble emulation in our breasts--let each american be determined to conquer or die in a righteous cause. gen. washington. i have drawn my sword, and never will i sheathe it, till america is free, or i'm no more. gen. lee. peace is despaired of, and who can think of submission? the last petition from the congress, like the former, has been disregarded; they prayed but for liberty, peace and safety, and their omnipotent authoritative supreme-ships will grant them neither: war, then, war open and understood, must be resolved on; this, this will humble their pride, will bring their tyrant noses to the ground, teach 'em humility, and force them to hearken to reason when 'tis too late. my noble general, i join you. [_drawing his sword._] i'll away with the scabbard, and sheathe my sword in the bosom of tyranny. gen. putnam. have you not read the speech, where frowning revenge and sounds of awful dread for disgrace at lexington and loss at bunker's hill echo forth? not smiling peace, or pity, tame his sullen soul; but, pharaoh-like, on the wings of tyranny he rides and forfeits happiness to feast revenge, till the waters of the red sea of blood deluge the tyrant, with his mixed host of vile cut-throats, murderers, and bloody butchers. gen. washington. yet, finding they cannot conquer us, gladly would they make it up by a voluntary free-will offering of a million of money in bribes, rather than be obliged to relish the thoughts of sacrificing their cursed pride and false honour, they sending over to amuse us (to put us off our guard) a score or two of commissioners with sham negotiations in great state, to endeavour to effect, by bribery, deception and chicanery, what they cannot accomplish by force. perish such wretches!--detested be their schemes!--perish such monsters!--a reproach to human understanding--their vaunted boasts and threats will vanish like smoke, and be no more than like snow falling on the moist ground, melt in silence, and waste away--blasted, forever blasted be the hand of the villainous traitor that receives their gold upon such terms--may he become leprous, like naaman, the syrian, yea, rather like gehazi, the servant of elisha, that it may stick to him for ever. gen. putnam. i join you both, and swear by all the heroes of new-england, that this arm, tho' fourscore and four [_drawing his sword._], still nervous and strong, shall wield this sword to the last in the support of liberty and my country, revenge the insult offer'd to the immortal montgomery, and brutal treatment of the brave allen. _o liberty! thou sunshine of the heart! thou smile of nature, and thou soul of art! without thy aid no human hope cou'd grow, and all we cou'd enjoy were turn'd to woe._ [_exeunt._ the epilogue. spoken by mr. freeman. since tyrants reign, and lust and lux'ry rule; since kings turn neroes--statesmen play the fool; since parli'ment in cursed league combine, to sport with rights that's sacred and divine; destroying towns with direful conflagration, and murder subjects without provocation! these are but part of evils we could name, not to their glory, but eternal shame. petitions--waste paper--great pharaoh cries, nor care a rush for your remonstrances. each jacobite, and ev'ry pimping tory, waits for your wealth, to raise his future glory: or pensions sure, must ev'ry rascal have, who strove his might, to make freeman a slave. since this the case, to whom for succour cry? to god, our swords, and sons of liberty! cast off the idol god!--kings are but vain! let justice rule, and independence reign. are ye not men? pray who made men, but god? yet men make kings--to tremble at their nod! what nonsense this--let's wrong with right oppose, since nought will do, but sound, impartial blows. let's act in earnest, not with vain pretence, } adopt the language of sound common sense, } and with one voice proclaim independence. } convince your foes you will defend your right, that blows and knocks is all they will get by 't. let tyrants see that you are well prepar'd, by proclamations, sword, nor speeches scar'd; that liberty freeborn breathe in each soul! one god-like union animate the whole! _end of the first campaign._ transcribers' notes general: inconsistent hyphenation of eye(-)lids preserved as in original general: inconsistent punctuation of bunker(')s-hill preserved as in original general: variable punctuation after roman numerals (e.g. iv.) preserved as in original page 290: , added after judas page 293: "confident" as in original page 305: "they has often been told" as in original page 314: . added after "time to find him the faithful shepherdess the works of francis beaumont and john fletcher (vol. 2 of 10) _actus primus. scena prima._ _enter_ clorin _a shepherdess, having buried her love in an arbour._ hail, holy earth, whose cold arms do imbrace the truest man that ever fed his flocks by the fat plains of fruitful _thessaly_, thus i salute thy grave, thus do i pay my early vows, and tribute of mine eyes to thy still loved ashes; thus i free my self from all insuing heats and fires of love: all sports, delights and jolly games that shepherds hold full dear, thus put i off. now no more shall these smooth brows be begirt with youthful coronals, and lead the dance; no more the company of fresh fair maids and wanton shepherds be to me delightful, nor the shrill pleasing sound of merry pipes under some shady dell, when the cool wind plays on the leaves: all be far away, since thou art far away; by whose dear side how often have i sat crown'd with fresh flowers for summers queen, whil'st every shepherds boy puts on his lusty green, with gaudy hook, and hanging scrip of finest cordevan. but thou art gone, and these are gone with thee, and all are dead but thy dear memorie; that shall out-live thee, and shall ever spring whilest there are pipes, or jolly shepherds sing. and here will i in honour of thy love, dwell by thy grave, forgeting all those joys, that former times made precious to mine eyes, only remembring what my youth did gain in the dark, hidden vertuous use of herbs: that will i practise, and as freely give all my endeavours, as i gain'd them free. of all green wounds i know the remedies in men or cattel, be they stung with snakes, or charm'd with powerful words of wicked art, or be they love-sick, or through too much heat grown wild or lunatick, their eyes or ears thickned with misty filme of dulling rheum, these i can cure, such secret vertue lies in herbs applyed by a virgins hand: my meat shall be what these wild woods afford, berries, and chesnuts, plantanes, on whose cheeks, the sun sits smiling, and the lofty fruit pull'd from the fair head of the staight grown pine; on these i'le feed with free content and rest, when night shall blind the world, by thy side blest. _enter a_ satyr. _satyr._ through yon same bending plain that flings his arms down to the main, and through these thick woods have i run, whose bottom never kist the sun since the lusty spring began, all to please my master _pan,_ have i trotted without rest to get him fruit; for at a feast he entertains this coming night his paramour, the _syrinx_ bright: but behold a fairer sight! [_he stands amazed._ by that heavenly form of thine, brightest fair thou art divine, sprung from great immortal race of the gods, for in thy face shines more awful majesty, than dull weak mortalitie dare with misty eyes behold, and live: therefore on this mold lowly do i bend my knee, in worship of thy deitie; deign it goddess from my hand, to receive what e're this land from her fertil womb doth send of her choice fruits: and but lend belief to that the satyre tells, fairer by the famous wells, to this present day ne're grew, never better nor more true. here be grapes whose lusty bloud is the learned poets good, sweeter yet did never crown the head of _bacchus_, nuts more brown than the squirrels teeth that crack them; deign o fairest fair to take them. for these black ey'd _driope_ hath oftentimes commanded me, with my clasped knee to clime; see how well the lusty time hath deckt their rising cheeks in red, such as on your lips is spred, here be berries for a queen, some be red, some be green, these are of that luscious meat, the great god _pan_ himself doth eat: all these, and what the woods can yield, the hanging mountain or the field, i freely offer, and ere long will bring you more, more sweet and strong, till when humbly leave i take, lest the great _pan_ do awake, that sleeping lies in a deep glade, under a broad beeches shade, i must go, i must run swifter than the fiery sun. [_exit_. _clo_. and all my fears go with thee. what greatness or what private hidden power, is there in me to draw submission from this rude man, and beast? sure i am mortal: the daughter of a shepherd, he was mortal: and she that bore me mortal: prick my hand and it will bleed: a feaver shakes me, and the self same wind that makes the young lambs shrink, makes me a cold: my fear says i am mortal: yet i have heard (my mother told it me) and now i do believe it, if i keep my virgin flower uncropt, pure, chaste, and fair, no goblin, wood-god, fairy, elfe, or fiend, satyr or other power that haunts the groves, shall hurt my body, or by vain illusion draw me to wander after idle fires; or voyces calling me in dead of night, to make me follow, and so tole me on through mire and standing pools, to find my ruine: else why should this rough thing, who never knew manners, nor smooth humanity, whose heats are rougher than himself, and more mishapen, thus mildly kneel to me? sure there is a power in that great name of virgin, that binds fast all rude uncivil bloods, all appetites that break their confines: then strong chastity be thou my strongest guard, for here i'le dwell in opposition against fate and hell. _enter an old_ shepherd, _with him four couple of_ shepherds _and_ shepherdesses. _old shep_. now we have done this holy festival in honour of our great god, and his rites perform'd, prepare your selves for chaste and uncorrupted fires: that as the priest, with powerful hand shall sprinkle on [your] brows his pure and holy water, ye may be from all hot flames of lust, and loose thoughts free. kneel shepherds, kneel, here comes the priest of _pan_. _enter_ priest. _priest_. shepherds, thus i purge away, whatsoever this great day, or the past hours gave not good, to corrupt your maiden blood: from the high rebellious heat of the grapes, and strength of meat; from the wanton quick desires, they do kindle by their fires, i do wash you with this water, be you pure and fair hereafter. from your liver and your veins, thus i take away the stains. all your thoughts be smooth and fair, be ye fresh and free as air. never more let lustful heat through your purged conduits beat, or a plighted troth be broken, or a wanton verse be spoken in a shepherdesses ear; go your wayes, ye are all clear. [_they rise and sing in praise of_ pan. the song. _sing his praises that doth keep our flocks from harm,_ pan _the father of our sheep, and arm in arm tread we softly in a round, whilest the hollow neighbouring ground fills the musick with her sound._ pan, _o great god_ pan, _to thee thus do we sing: thou that keep'st us chaste and free as the young spring, ever be thy honour spoke, from that place the morn is broke, to that place day doth unyoke._ [_exeunt omnes but_ perigot _and_ amoret. _peri_. stay gentle _amoret_, thou fair brow'd maid, thy shepherd prays thee stay, that holds thee dear, equal with his souls good. _amo_. speak; i give thee freedom shepherd, and thy tongue be still the same it ever was; as free from ill, as he whose conversation never knew the court or city be thou ever true. _peri_. when i fall off from my affection, or mingle my clean thoughts with foul desires, first let our great god cease to keep my flocks, that being left alone without a guard, the wolf, or winters rage, summers great heat, and want of water, rots; or what to us of ill is yet unknown, full speedily, and in their general ruine let me feel. _amo_. i pray thee gentle shepherd wish not so, i do believe thee: 'tis as hard for me to think thee false, and harder than for thee to hold me foul. _peri_. o you are fairer far than the chaste blushing morn, or that fair star that guides the wandring sea-men through the deep, straighter than straightest pine upon the steep head of an aged mountain, and more white than the new milk we strip before day-light from the full fraighted bags of our fair flocks: your hair more beauteous than those hanging locks of young _apollo_. _amo_. shepherd be not lost, y'are sail'd too far already from the coast of our discourse. _peri_. did you not tell me once i should not love alone, i should not lose those many passions, vows, and holy oaths, i've sent to heaven? did you not give your hand, even that fair hand in hostage? do not then give back again those sweets to other men, you your self vow'd were mine. _amo_. shepherd, so far as maidens modesty may give assurance, i am once more thine, once more i give my hand; be ever free from that great foe to faith, foul jealousie. _peri_. i take it as my best good, and desire for stronger confirmation of our love, to meet this happy night in that fair grove, where all true shepherds have rewarded been for their long service: say sweet, shall it hold? _amo_. dear friend, you must not blame me if i make a doubt of what the silent night may do, coupled with this dayes heat to move your bloud: maids must be fearful; sure you have not been wash'd white enough; for yet i see a stain stick in your liver, go and purge again. _peri_. o do not wrong my honest simple truth, my self and my affections are as pure as those chaste flames that burn before the shrine of the great _dian_: only my intent to draw you thither, was to plight our troths, with enterchange of mutual chaste embraces, and ceremonious tying of our selves: for to that holy wood is consecrate a vertuous well, about whose flowry banks, the nimble-footed fairies dance their rounds, by the pale moon-shine, dipping oftentimes their stolen children, so to make them free from dying flesh, and dull mortalitie; by this fair fount hath many a shepherd sworn, and given away his freedom, many a troth been plight, which neither envy, nor old time could ever break, with many a chaste kiss given, in hope of coming happiness; by this fresh fountain many a blushing maid hath crown'd the head of her long loved shepherd with gaudy flowers, whilest he happy sung layes of his love and dear captivitie; there grows all herbs fit to cool looser flames our sensual parts provoke, chiding our bloods, and quenching by their power those hidden sparks that else would break out, and provoke our sense to open fires, so vertuous is that place: then gentle shepherdess, believe and grant, in troth it fits not with that face to scant your faithful shepherd of those chaste desires he ever aim'd at, and-_amo_. thou hast prevail'd, farewel, this coming night shall crown thy chast hopes with long wish'd delight. _peri_. our great god _pan_ reward thee for that good thou hast given thy poor shepherd: fairest bud of maiden vertues, when i leave to be the true admirer of thy chastitie, let me deserve the hot polluted name of the wild woodman, or affect: some dame, whose often prostitution hath begot more foul diseases, than ever yet the hot sun bred through his burnings, whilst the dog pursues the raging lion, throwing fog, and deadly vapour from his angry breath, filling the lower world with plague and death. [_ex._ am. _enter_ amaryllis. _ama_. shepherd, may i desire to be believ'd, what i shall blushing tell? _peri_. fair maid, you may. _am_. then softly thus, i love thee, _perigot_, and would be gladder to be lov'd again, than the cold earth is in his frozen arms to clip the wanton spring: nay do not start, nor wonder that i woo thee, thou that art the prime of our young grooms, even the top of all our lusty shepherds! what dull eye that never was acquainted with desire, hath seen thee wrastle, run, or cast the stone with nimble strength and fair delivery, and hath not sparkled fire, and speedily sent secret heat to all the neighbouring veins? who ever heard thee sing, that brought again that freedom back, was lent unto thy voice; then do not blame me (shepherd) if i be one to be numbred in this companie, since none that ever saw thee yet, were free. _peri_. fair shepherdess, much pity i can lend to your complaints: but sure i shall not love: all that is mine, my self, and my best hopes are given already; do not love him then that cannot love again: on other men bestow those heats more free, that may return you fire for fire, and in one flame equal burn. _ama_. shall i rewarded be so slenderly for my affection, most unkind of men! if i were old, or had agreed with art to give another nature to my cheeks, or were i common mistress to the love of every swain, or could i with such ease call back my love, as many a wanton doth; thou might'st refuse me, shepherd; but to thee i am only fixt and set, let it not be a sport, thou gentle shepherd to abuse the love of silly maid. _peri_. fair soul, ye use these words to little end: for know, i may better call back that time was yesterday, or stay the coming night, than bring my love home to my self again, or recreant prove. i will no longer hold you with delays, this present night i have appointed been to meet that chaste fair (that enjoys my soul) in yonder grove, there to make up our loves. be not deceiv'd no longer, chuse again, these neighbouring plains have many a comely swain, fresher, and freer far than i e'r was, bestow that love on them, and let me pass. farewel, be happy in a better choice. [_exit_. _ama_. cruel, thou hast struck me deader with thy voice than if the angry heavens with their quick flames had shot me through: i must not leave to love, i cannot, no i must enjoy thee, boy, though the great dangers 'twixt my hopes and that be infinite: there is a shepherd dwells down by the moor, whose life hath ever shown more sullen discontent than _saturns_ brow, when he sits frowning on the births of men: one that doth wear himself away in loneness; and never joys unless it be in breaking the holy plighted troths of mutual souls: one that lusts after [every] several beauty, but never yet was known to love or like, were the face fairer, or more full of truth, than _phoebe_ in her fulness, or the youth of smooth _lyaeus_; whose nigh starved flocks are always scabby, and infect all sheep they feed withal; whose lambs are ever last, and dye before their waining, and whose dog looks like his master, lean, and full of scurf, not caring for the pipe or whistle: this man may (if he be well wrought) do a deed of wonder, forcing me passage to my long desires: and here he comes, as fitly to my purpose, as my quick thoughts could wish for. _enter_ shepherd. _shep_. fresh beauty, let me not be thought uncivil, thus to be partner of your loneness: 'twas my love (that ever working passion) drew me to this place to seek some remedy for my sick soul: be not unkind and fair, for such the mighty cupid in his doom hath sworn to be aveng'd on; then give room to my consuming fires, that so i may enjoy my long desires, and so allay those flames that else would burn my life away. _ama_. shepherd, were i but sure thy heart were sound as thy words seem to be, means might be found to cure thee of thy long pains; for to me that heavy youth-consuming miserie the love-sick soul endures, never was pleasing; i could be well content with the quick easing of thee, and thy hot fires, might it procure thy faith and farther service to be sure. _shep_. name but that great work, danger, or what can be compass'd by the wit or art of man, and if i fail in my performance, may i never more kneel to the rising day. _ama_. then thus i try thee, shepherd, this same night, that now comes stealing on, a gentle pair have promis'd equal love, and do appoint to make yon wood the place where hands and hearts are to be ty'd for ever: break their meeting and their strong faith, and i am ever thine. _shep_. tell me their names, and if i do not move (by my great power) the centre of their love from his fixt being, let me never more warm me by those fair eyes i thus adore. _ama_. come, as we go, i'll tell thee what they are, and give thee fit directions for thy work. [_exeunt._ _enter_ cloe. _cloe_. how have i wrong'd the times, or men, that thus after this holy feast i pass unknown and unsaluted? 'twas not wont to be thus frozen with the younger companie of jolly shepherds; 'twas not then held good, for lusty grooms to mix their quicker blood with that dull humour, most unfit to be the friend of man, cold and dull chastitie. sure i am held not fair, or am too old, or else not free enough, or from my fold drive not a flock sufficient great, to gain the greedy eyes of wealth-alluring swain: yet if i may believe what others say, my face has soil enough; nor can they lay justly too strict a coyness to my charge; my flocks are many, and the downs as large they feed upon: then let it ever be their coldness, not my virgin modestie makes me complain. _enter_ thenot. _the_. was ever man but i thus truly taken with uncertainty? where shall that man be found that loves a mind made up in constancy, and dare not find his love rewarded? here let all men know a wretch that lives to love his mistress so. _clo_. shepherd, i pray thee stay, where hast thou been? or whither go'st thou? here be woods as green as any, air likewise as fresh and sweet, as where smooth _zephyrus_ plays on the fleet face of the curled streams, with flowers as many as the young spring gives, and as choise as any; here be all new delights, cool streams and wells, arbors o'rgrown with woodbinds, caves, and dells, chase where thou wilt, whilst i sit by, and sing, or gather rushes to make many a ring for thy long fingers; tell thee tales of love, how the pale _phoebe_ hunting in a grove, first saw the boy _endymion_, from whose eyes she took eternal fire that never dyes; how she convey'd him softly in a sleep, his temples bound with poppy to the steep head of old _latmus_, where she stoops each night, gilding the mountain with her brothers light, to kiss her sweetest. _the_. far from me are these hot flashes, bred from wanton heat and ease; i have forgot what love and loving meant: rhimes, songs, and merry rounds, that oft are sent to the soft ears of maids, are strange to me; only i live t' admire a chastitie, that neither pleasing age, smooth tongue, or gold, could ever break upon, so pure a mold is that her mind was cast in; 'tis to her i only am reserv'd; she is my form i stir by, breath and move, 'tis she and only she can make me happy, or give miserie. _clo_. good shepherd, may a stranger crave to know to whom this dear observance you do ow? _the_. you may, and by her vertue learn to square and level out your life; for to be fair and nothing vertuous, only fits the eye of gaudy youth, and swelling vanitie. then know, she's call'd the virgin of the grove, she that hath long since bury'd her chaste love, and now lives by his grave, for whose dear soul she hath vow'd her self into the holy roll of strict virginity; 'tis her i so admire, not any looser blood, or new desire. _clo_. farewel poor swain, thou art not for my bend, i must have quicker souls, whose works may tend to some free action: give me him dare love at first encounter, and as soon dare prove. the song. _come shepherds, come, come away without delay whilst the gentle time dot[h] stay. green woods are dumb, and will never tell to any those dear kisses, and those many sweet embraces that are given dainty pleasures that would even raise in coldest age a fire, and give virgin blood desire, then if ever, now or never, come and have it, think not i, dare deny, if you crave it._ _enter_ daphnis. here comes another: better be my speed, thou god of blood: but certain, if i read not false, this is that modest shepherd, he that only dare salute, but ne'r could be brought to kiss any, hold discourse, or sing, whisper, or boldly ask that wished thing we all are born for; one that makes loving faces, and could be well content to covet graces, were they not got by boldness; in this thing my hopes are frozen; and but fate doth bring him hither, i would sooner chuse a man made out of snow, and freer use an eunuch to my ends: but since he's here, thus i attempt him. thou of men most dear, welcome to her, that only for thy sake, hath been content to live: here boldly take my hand in pledg, this hand, that never yet was given away to any: and but sit down on this rushy bank, whilst i go pull fresh blossoms from the boughs, or quickly cull the choicest delicates from yonder mead, to make thee chains, or chaplets, or to spread under our fainting bodies, when delight shall lock up all our senses. how the sight of those smooth rising cheeks renew the story of young _adonis_, when in pride and glory he lay infolded 'twixt the beating arms of willing _venus_: methinks stronger charms dwell in those speaking eyes, and on that brow more sweetness than the painters can allow to their best pieces: not _narcissus_, he that wept himself away in memorie of his own beauty, nor _silvanus_ boy, nor the twice ravish'd maid, for whom old _troy_ fell by the hand of _pirrhus_, may to thee be otherwise compar'd, than some dead tree to a young fruitful olive. _daph_. i can love, but i am loth to say so, lest i prove too soon unhappy. _clo_. happy thou would'st say, my dearest _daphnis_, blush not, if the day to thee and thy soft heats be enemie, then take the coming night, fair youth 'tis free to all the world, shepherd, i'll meet thee then when darkness hath shut up the eyes of men, in yonder grove: speak, shall our meeting hold? indeed you are too bashful, be more bold, and tell me i. _daph_. i'm content to say so, and would be glad to meet, might i but pray so much from your fairness, that you would be true. _clo_. shepherd, thou hast thy wish. _daph_. fresh maid, adieu: yet one word more, since you have drawn me on to come this night, fear not to meet alone that man that will not offer to be ill, though your bright self would ask it, for his fill of this worlds goodness: do not fear him then, but keep your 'pointed time; let other men set up their bloods to sale, mine shall be ever fair as the soul it carries, and unchast never. [_exit_. _clo_. yet am i poorer than i was before. is it not strange, among so many a score of lusty bloods, i should pick out these things whose veins like a dull river far from springs, is still the same, slow, heavy, and unfit for stream or motion, though the strong winds hit with their continual power upon his sides? o happy be your names that have been brides, and tasted those rare sweets for which i pine: and far more heavy be thy grief and time, thou lazie swain, that maist relieve my needs, than his, upon whose liver alwayes feeds a hungry vultur. _enter_ alexis. _ale_. can such beauty be safe in his own guard, and not draw the eye of him that passeth on, to greedy gaze, or covetous desire, whilst in a maze the better part contemplates, giving rein and wished freedom to the labouring vein? fairest and whitest, may i crave to know the cause of your retirement, why ye goe thus all alone? methinks the downs are sweeter, and the young company of swains far meeter, than those forsaken and untroden places. give not your self to loneness, and those graces hid from the eyes of men, that were intended to live amongst us swains. _cloe._ thou art befriended, shepherd, in all my life i have not seen a man in whom greater contents have been than thou thy self art: i could tell thee more, were there but any hope left to restore my freedom lost. o lend me all thy red, thou shamefast morning, when from _tithons_ bed thou risest ever maiden. _alex. _if for me, thou sweetest of all sweets, these flashes be, speak and be satisfied. o guide her tongue, my better angel; force my name among her modest thoughts, that the first word may be-_cloe._ _alexis_, when the sun shall kiss the sea, taking his rest by the white _thetis_ side, meet in the holy wood, where i'le abide thy coming, shepherd. _alex._ if i stay behind, an everlasting dulness, and the wind, that as he passeth by shuts up the stream of _rhine_ or _volga_, whilst the suns hot beam beats back again, seise me, and let me turn to coldness more than ice: oh how i burn and rise in youth and fire! i dare not stay. _cloe._ my name shall be your word. _alex._ fly, fly thou day. [_exit._ _cloe._ my grief is great if both these boyes should fail: he that will use all winds must shift his sail. [_exit._ _actus secundus. scena prima._ _enter an old_ shepherd, _with a bell ringing, and the priest of pan following._ _priest._ o shepherds all, and maidens fair, fold your flocks up, for the air 'gins to thicken, and the sun already his great course hath run. see the dew-drops how they kiss every little flower that is: hanging on their velvet heads, like a rope of crystal beads. see the heavy clouds low falling, and bright _hesperus_ down calling the dead night from under ground, at whose rising mists unsound, damps, and vapours fly apace, hovering o're the wanton face of these pastures, where they come, striking dead both bud and bloom; therefore from such danger lock every one his loved flock, and let your dogs lye loose without, lest the wolf come as a scout from the mountain, and e're day bear a lamb or kid away, or the crafty theevish fox, break upon your simple flocks: to secure your selves from these, be not too secure in ease; let one eye his watches keep, whilst the t'other eye doth sleep; so you shall good shepherds prove, and for ever hold the love of our great god. sweetest slumbers and soft silence fall in numbers on your eye-lids: so farewel, thus i end my evenings knel. [_exeunt._ _enter_ clorin, _the_ shepherdess, _sorting of herbs, and telling the natures of them._ _clor._ now let me know what my best art hath done, helpt by the great power of the vertuous moon in her full light; o you sons of earth, you only brood, unto whose happy birth vertue was given, holding more of nature than man her first born and most perfect creature, let me adore you; you that only can help or kill nature, drawing out that span of life and breath even to the end of time; you that these hands did crop, long before prime of day; give me your names, and next your hidden power. this is the _clote_ bearing a yellow flower, and this black horehound, both are very good for sheep or shepherd, bitten by a wooddogs venom'd tooth; these ramuns branches are, which stuck in entries, or about the bar that holds the door fast, kill all inchantments, charms, were they _medeas_ verses that doe harms to men or cattel; these for frenzy be a speedy and a soveraign remedie, the bitter wormwood, sage, and marigold, such sympathy with mans good they do hold; this tormentil, whose vertue is to part all deadly killing poyson from the heart; and here _narcissus_ roots for swellings be: yellow _lysimacus_, to give sweet rest to the faint shepherd, killing where it comes all busie gnats, and every fly that hums: for leprosie, darnel, and sellondine, with calamint, whose vertues do refine the blood of man, making it free and fair as the first hour it breath'd, or the best air. here other two, but your rebellious use is not for me, whose goodness is abuse; therefore foul standergrass, from me and mine i banish thee, with lustful turpentine, you that intice the veins and stir the heat to civil mutiny, scaling the seat our reason moves in, and deluding it with dreams and wanton fancies, till the fit of burning lust be quencht; by appetite, robbing the soul of blessedness and light: and thou light _varvin_ too, thou must go after, provoking easie souls to mirth and laughter; no more shall i dip thee in water now, and sprinkle every post, and every bough with thy well pleasing juyce, to make the grooms swell with high mirth, as with joy all the rooms. _enter_ thenot. _the_. this is the cabin where the best of all her sex, that ever breath'd, or ever shall give heat or happiness to the shepherds side, doth only to her worthy self abide. thou blessed star, i thank thee for thy light, thou by whose power the darkness of sad night is banisht from the earth, in whose dull place thy chaster beams play on the heavy face of all the world, making the blue sea smile, to see how cunningly thou dost beguile thy brother of his brightness, giving day again from _chaos_, whiter than that way that leads to _joves_ high court, and chaster far than chastity it self, yon blessed star that nightly shines: thou, all the constancie that in all women was, or e're shall be, from whose fair eye-balls flyes that holy fire, that poets stile the mother of desire, infusing into every gentle brest a soul of greater price, and far more blest than that quick power, which gives a difference, 'twixt man and creatures of a lower sense. _clor_. shepherd, how cam'st thou hither to this place? no way is troden, all the verdant grass the spring shot up, stands yet unbruised here of any foot, only the dapled deer far from the feared sound of crooked horn dwels in this fastness. _th_. chaster than the morn, i have not wandred, or by strong illusion into this vertuous place have made intrusion: but hither am i come (believe me fair) to seek you out, of whose great good the air is full, and strongly labours, whilst the sound breaks against heaven, and drives into a stound the amazed shepherd, that such vertue can be resident in lesser than a man. _clor_. if any art i have, or hidden skill may cure thee of disease or festred ill, whose grief or greenness to anothers eye may seem impossible of remedy, i dare yet undertake it. _the_. 'tis no pain i suffer through disease, no beating vein conveyes infection dangerous to the heart, no part impostum'd to be cur'd by art, this body holds; and yet a feller grief than ever skilfull hand did give relief dwells on my soul, and may be heal'd by you, fair beauteous virgin. _clor_. then shepherd, let me sue to know thy grief; that man yet never knew the way to health, that durst not shew his sore. _then_. then fairest, know, i love you. _c[l]or_. swain, no more, thou hast abus'd the strictness of this place, and offred sacrilegious foul disgrace to the sweet rest of these interred bones, for fear of whose ascending, fly at once, thou and thy idle passions, that the sight of death and speedy vengeance may not fright thy very soul with horror. _then_. let me not (thou all perfection) merit such a blot for my true zealous faith. _clor_. dar'st thou abide to see this holy earth at once divide and give her body up? for sure it will, if thou pursu'st with wanton flames to fill this hallowed place; therefore repent and goe, whilst i with praise appease his ghost below, that else would tell thee what it were to be a rival in that vertuous love that he imbraces yet. _then_. 'tis not the white or red inhabits in your cheek that thus can wed my mind to adoration; nor your eye, though it be full and fair, your forehead high, and smooth as _pelops_ shoulder; not the smile lies watching in those dimples to beguile the easie soul, your hands and fingers long with veins inamel'd richly, nor your tongue, though it spoke sweeter than _arions_ harp, your hair wove into many a curious warp, able in endless errour to infold the wandring soul, nor the true perfect mould of all your body, which as pure doth show in maiden whiteness as the alpsian snow. all these, were but your constancie away, would please me less than a black stormy day the wretched seaman toyling through the deep. but whilst this honour'd strictness you dare keep, though all the plagues that e're begotten were in the great womb of air, were setled here, in opposition, i would, like the tree, shake off those drops of weakness, and be free even in the arm of danger. _clor_. wouldst thou have me raise again (fond man) from silent grave, those sparks that long agoe were buried here, with my dead friends cold ashes? _then_. dearest dear, i dare not ask it, nor you must not grant; stand strongly to your vow, and do not faint: remember how he lov'd ye, and be still the same opinion speaks ye; let not will, and that great god of women, appetite, set up your blood again; do not invite desire and fancie from their long exile, to set them once more in a pleasing smile: be like a rock made firmly up 'gainst all the power of angry heaven, or the strong fall of _neptunes_ battery; if ye yield, i die to all affection; 'tis that loyaltie ye tie unto this grave i so admire; and yet there's something else i would desire, if you would hear me, but withall deny. o _pan_, what an uncertain destiny hangs over all my hopes! i will retire, for if i longer stay, this double fire will lick my life up. _clor_. doe, let time wear out what art and nature cannot bring about. _then_. farewel thou soul of vertue, and be blest for ever, whilst that here i wretched rest thus to my self; yet grant me leave to dwell in kenning of this arbor; yon same dell o'retopt with morning cypress and sad yew shall be my cabin, where i'le early rew, before the sun hath kist this dew away, the hard uncertain chance which fate doth lay upon this head. _clor_. the gods give quick release and happy cure unto thy hard disease. [_exeunt_. _enter_ sullen shepherd. _sullen_. i do not love this wench that i should meet, for ne'r did my unconstant eye yet greet that beauty, were it sweeter or more fair, than the new blossoms, when the morning air blows gently on the[m], or the breaking light, when many maiden blushes to our sight shoot from his early face: were all these set in some neat form before me, 'twould not get the least love from me; some desire it might, or present burning: all to me in sight are equal, be they fair, or black, or brown, virgin, or careless wanton, i can crown my appetite with any; swear as oft and weep, as any, melt my words as soft into a maiden[s] ears, and tell how long my heart has been her servant, and how strong my passions are: call her unkind and cruel, offer her all i have to gain the jewel maidens so highly prize: then loath, and fly: this do i hold a blessed destiny. _enter_ amaryllis. _amar_. hail shepherd, _pan_ bless both thy flock and thee, for being mindful of thy word to me. _sul_. welcom fair shepherdess, thy loving swain gives thee the self same wishes back again, who till this present hour ne're knew that eye, could make me cross mine arms, or daily dye with fresh consumings: boldly tell me then, how shall we part their faithful loves, and when? shall i bely him to her, shall i swear his faith is false, and he loves every where? i'le say he mockt her th' other day to you, which will by your confirming shew as true, for he is of so pure an honesty, to think (because he will not) none will lye: or else to him i'le slander _amoret_, and say, she but seems chaste; i'le swear she met me 'mongst the shady sycamores last night and loosely offred up her flame and spright into my bosom, made a wanton bed of leaves and many flowers, where she spread her willing body to be prest by me; there have i carv'd her name on many a tree, together with mine own; to make this show more full of seeming, _hobinall_ you know, son to the aged shepherd of the glen, him i have sorted out of many men, to say he found us at our private sport, and rouz'd us 'fore our time by his resort: this to confirm, i have promis'd to the boy many a pretty knack, and many a toy, as gins to catch him birds, with bow and bolt, to shoot at nimble squirrels in the holt; a pair of painted buskins, and a lamb, soft as his own locks, or the down of swan; this i have done to win ye, which doth give me double pleasure. discord makes me live. _amar_. lov'd swain, i thank ye, these tricks might prevail with other rustick shepherds, but will fail even once to stir, much more to overthrow his fixed love from judgement, who doth know your nature, my end, and his chosens merit; therefore some stranger way must force his spirit, which i have found: give second, and my love is everlasting thine. _sul_. try me and prove. _amar_. these happy pair of lovers meet straightway, soon as they fold their flocks up with the day, in the thick grove bordering upon yon hill, in whose hard side nature hath carv'd a well, and but that matchless spring which poets know, was ne're the like to this: by it doth grow about the sides, all herbs which witches use, all simples good for medicine or abuse, all sweets that crown the happy nuptial day, with all their colours, there the month of _may_ is ever dwelling, all is young and green, there's not a grass on which was ever seen the falling _autumn_, or cold winters hand, so full of heat and vertue is the land, about this fountain, which doth slowly break below yon mountains foot, into a creek that waters all the vally, giving fish of many sorts, to fill the shepherds dish. this holy well, my grandam that is dead, right wise in charms, hath often to me said, hath power to change the form of any creature, being thrice dipt o're the head, into what feature, or shape 'twould please the letter down to crave, who must pronounce this charm too, which she gave me on her death-bed; told me what, and how, i should apply unto the patients brow, that would be chang'd, casting them thrice asleep, before i trusted them into this deep. all this she shew'd me, and did charge me prove this secret of her art, if crost in love. i'le this attempt; now shepherd, i have here all her prescriptions, and i will not fear to be my self dipt: come, my temples bind with these sad herbs, and when i sleep you find, as you do speak your charm, thrice down me let, and bid the water raise me _amoret_; which being done, leave me to my affair, and e're the day shall quite it self out-wear, i will return unto my shepherds arm, dip me again, and then repeat this charm, and pluck me up my self, whom freely take, and the hotst fire of thine affection slake. _sul._ and if i fit thee not, then fit not me: i long the truth of this wells power to see. [_exeunt._ _enter daphnis._ _daph._ here will i stay, for this the covert is where i appointed _cloe_; do not miss, thou bright-ey'd virgin, come, o come my fair, be not abus'd with fear, nor let cold care of honour stay thee from the shepherds arm, who would as hard be won to offer harm to thy chast thoughts, as whiteness from the day, or yon great round to move another way. my language shall be honest, full of truth, my flames as smooth and spotless as my youth: i will not entertain that wandring thought, whose easie current may at length be brought to a loose vastness. _alexis within._ cloe! _daph._ 'tis her voyce, and i must answer, _cloe_! oh the choice of dear embraces, chast and holy strains our hands shall give! i charge you all my veins through which the blood and spirit take their way, lock up your disobedient heats, and stay those mutinous desires that else would grow to strong rebellion: do not wilder show than blushing modesty may entertain. _alexis within._ cloe! _daph._ there sounds that [blessed] name again, _enter_ alexis. and i will meet it: let me not mistake, this is some shepherd! sure i am awake; what may this riddle mean? i will retire, to give my self more knowledg. _alex._ oh my fire, how thou consum'st me! _cloe,_ answer me, _alexis_, strong _alexis_ , high and free, calls upon _cloe_. see mine arms are full of entertainment, ready for to pull that golden fruit which too too long hath hung tempting the greedy eye: thou stayest too long, i am impatient of these mad delayes; i must not leave unsought these many ways that lead into this center, till i find quench for my burning lust. i come, unkind. [_exit_ alexis. _daph._ can my imagination work me so much ill, that i may credit this for truth, and still believe mine eyes? or shall i firmly hold her yet untainted, and these sights but bold illusion? sure such fancies oft have been sent to abuse true love, and yet are seen, daring to blind the vertuous thought with errour. but be they far from me with their fond terrour: i am resolv'd my _cloe_ yet is true. [cloe _within._ _cloe_, hark, _cloe_: sure this voyce is new, whose shrilness like the sounding of a bell, tells me it is a woman: _cloe_, tell thy blessed name again. _cloe_. [_within_] here. oh what a grief is this to be so near, and not incounter! _enter_ cloe. _clo._ shepherd, we are met, draw close into the covert, lest the wet which falls like lazy mists upon the ground soke through your startups. _daph._ fairest are you found? how have we wandred, that the better part of this good night is perisht? oh my heart! how have i long'd to meet ye, how to kiss those lilly hands, how to receive the bliss that charming tongue gives to the happy ear of him that drinks your language! but i fear i am too much unmanner'd, far too rude, and almost grown lascivious to intrude these hot behaviours; where regard of fame, honour, and modesty, a vertuous name, and such discourse as one fair sister may without offence unto the brother say, should rather have been tendred: but believe, here dwells a better temper; do not grieve then, ever kindest, that my first salute seasons so much of fancy, i am mute henceforth to all discourses, but shall be suiting to your sweet thoughts and modestie. indeed i will not ask a kiss of you, no not to wring your fingers, nor to sue to those blest pair of fixed stars for smiles, all a young lovers cunning, all his wiles, and pretty wanton dyings, shall to me be strangers; only to your chastitie i am devoted ever. _clo_. honest swain, first let me thank you, then return again as much of my love: no thou art too cold, unhappy boy, not tempred to my mold, thy blood falls heavy downward, 'tis not fear to offend in boldness wins, they never wear deserved favours that deny to take when they are offered freely: do i wake to see a man of his youth, years and feature, and such a one as we call goodly creature, thus backward? what a world of precious art were meerly lost, to make him do his part? but i will shake him off, that dares not hold, let men that hope to be belov'd be bold. _daphnis_, i do desire, since we are met so happily, our lives and fortunes set upon one stake, to give assurance now, by interchange of hands and holy vow, never to break again: walk you that way whilest i in zealous meditation stray a little this way: when we both have ended these rites and duties, by the woods befriended, and secrecie of night, retire and find an aged oak, whose hollowness may bind us both within his body, thither go, it stands within yon bottom. _daph_. be it so. [_ex_. daph. _clo_. and i will meet there never more with thee, thou idle shamefastness. _alex. [within] chloe!_ _clo_. 'tis he that dare i hope be bolder. _alex. cloe!_ _clo_. now great _pan_ for _syrinx_ sake bid speed our plow. [_exit_ cloe. _actus tertius. scena prima. _enter_ sullen shepherd _with_ amaryllis _in a sleep._ _sull_. from thy forehead thus i take these herbs, and charge thee not awake till in yonder holy well, thrice with powerful magick spell, fill'd with many a baleful word, thou hast been dipt; thus with my cord of blasted hemp, by moon-light twin'd, i do thy sleepy body bind; i turn thy head into the east, and thy feet into the west, thy left arm to the south put forth, and thy right unto the north: i take thy body from the ground, in this deep and deadly swound, and into this holy spring i let thee slide down by my string. take this maid thou holy pit, to thy bottom, nearer yet, in thy water pure and sweet, by thy leave i dip her feet; thus i let her lower yet, that her ankles may be wet; yet down lower, let her knee in thy waters washed be; there stop: fly away every thing that loves the day. truth that hath but one face, thus i charm thee from this place. snakes that cast your coats for new, camelions that alter hue, hares that yearly sexes change, _proteus_ alt'ring oft and strange, _hecate_ with shapes three, let this maiden changed be, with this holy water wet, to the shape of _amoret_: _cynthia_ work thou with my charm, thus i draw thee free from harm up out of this blessed lake, rise both like her and awake. [_she awakes_. _amar_. speak shepherd, am i _amoret_ to sight? or hast thou mist in any magick rite; for want of which any defect in me, may make our practices discovered be. _sul_. by yonder moon, but that i here do stand, whose breath hath thus transform'd thee, and whose hand let thee down dry, and pluckt thee up thus wet, i should my self take thee for _amoret_; thou art in cloths, in feature, voice and hew so like, that sense cannot distinguish you. _amar_. then this deceit which cannot crossed be, at once shall lose her him, and gain thee me. hither she needs must come by promise made, and sure his nature never was so bad, to bid a virgin meet him in the wood, when night and fear are up, but understood, 'twas his part to come first: being come, i'le say, my constant love made me come first and stay, then will i lead him further to the grove, but stay you here, and if his own true love shall seek him here, set her in some wrong path, which say, her lover lately troden hath; i'le not be far from hence, if need there be, here is another charm, whose power will free the dazeled sense, read by the moons beams clear, and in my own true map make me appear. _enter_ perigot. _sull_. stand close, here's _perigot_, whose constant heart longs to behold her in whose shape thou art. _per_. this is the place (fair _amoret_) the hour is yet scarce come: here every sylvan power delights to be about yon sacred well, which they have blest with many a powerful spell; for never traveller in dead of night, nor strayed beasts have faln in, but when sight hath fail'd them, then their right way they have found by help of them, so holy is the ground: but i will farther seek, lest _amoret_ should be first come, and so stray long unmet. my _amoret, amoret_. [_ex_. amaryllis, perigot. _per_. my love. _amar_. i come my love. [_exit_. _sull_. now she has got her own desires, and i shall gainer be of my long lookt for hopes as well as she. how bright the moon shines here, as if she strove to show her glory in this little grove, _enter_ amoret. to some new loved shepherd. yonder is another _amoret_. where differs this from that? but that she _perigot_ hath met, i should have ta'n this for the counterfeit: herbs, woods, and springs, the power that in you lies, if mortal men could know your properties! _amo_. methinks it is not night, i have no fear, walking this wood, of lions, or the bear, whose names at other times have made me quake, when any shepherdess in her tale spake of some of them, that underneath a wood have torn true lovers that together stood. methinks there are no goblins, and mens talk, that in these woods the nimble fairies walk, are fables; such a strong heart i have got, because i come to meet with _perigot_. my _perigot_! who's that, my _perigot_? _sull_. fair maid. _amo_. ay me, thou art not _perigot_. _sull_. but i can tell ye news of _perigot_: an hour together under yonder tree he sate with wreathed arms and call'd on thee, and said, why _amoret_ stayest thou so long? then starting up, down yonder path he flung, lest thou hadst miss'd thy way: were it day light, he could not yet have born him out of sight. _amor_. thanks, gentle shepherd, and beshrew my stay, that made me fearful i had lost my way: as fast as my weak legs (that cannot be weary with seeking him) will carry me, i'll seek him out; and for thy courtesie pray _pan_ thy love may ever follow thee. [_exit_. _sull_. how bright she was, how lovely did she show! was it not pity to deceive her so? she pluckt her garments up, and tript away, and with her virgin-innocence did pray for me that perjur'd her. whilst she was here, methought the beams of light that did appear were shot from her; methought the moon gave none, but what it had from her: she was alone with me, if then her presence did so move, why did not i essay to win her love? she would not sure have yielded unto me; women love only opportunitie, and not the man; or if she had deny'd, alone, i might have forc'd her to have try'd who had been stronger: o vain fool, to let such blest occasion pass; i'll follow yet, my blood is up, i cannot now forbear. _enter_ alex, _and_ cloe. i come sweet _amoret_: soft who is here? a pair of lovers? he shall yield her me; "now lust is up, alike all women be. _alex_. where shall we rest? but for the love of me, _cloe_, i know ere this would weary be. _clo_. _alexis_, let us rest here, if the place be private, and out of the common trace of every shepherd: for i understood this night a number are about the wood: then let us chuse some place, where out of sight we freely may enjoy our stoln delight. _alex_. then boldly here, where we shall ne're be found, no shepherds way lies here, 'tis hallow'd ground: no maid seeks here her strayed cow, or sheep, fairies, and fawns, and satyrs do it keep: then carelesly rest here, and clip and kiss, and let no fear make us our pleasures miss. _clo_. then lye by me, the sooner we begin, the longer ere the day descry our sin. _sull_. forbear to touch my love, or by yon flame, the greatest power that shepherds dare to name, here where thou sit'st under this holy tree her to dishonour, thou shalt buried be. _alex_. if _pan_ himself, should come out of the lawns, with all his troops of satyrs and of fawns, and bid me leave, i swear by her two eyes, a greater oath than thine, i would not rise. _sull_. then from the cold earth never shalt thou move, but lose at one stroke both thy life and love. _clo_. hold gentle shepherd. _sull_. fairest shepherdess, come you with me, i do not love you less than that fond man, that would have kept you there from me of more desert. _alex_. o yet forbear to take her from me; give me leave to dye by her. [_the satyr enters, he runs one way, and she another_. _sat_. now whilst the moon doth rule the skie, and the stars, whose feeble light give a pale shadow to the night, are up, great _pan_ commanded me to walk this grove about, whilst he in a corner of the wood, where never mortal foot hath stood, keeps dancing, musick, and a feast to entertain a lovely guest, where he gives her many a rose, sweeter than the breath that blows the leaves; grapes, berries of the best, i never saw so great a feast. but to my charge: here must i stay, to see what mortals lose their way, and by a false fire seeming bright, train them in and leave them right. then must i watch if any be forcing of a chastitie: if i find it, then in haste give my wreathed horn a blast, and the fairies all will run, wildly dancing by the moon, and will pinch him to the bone, till his lustful thoughts be gone. _alex_. o death! _sat_. back again about this ground, sure i hear a mortal sound; i bind thee by this powerful spell, by the waters of this well, by the glimmering moon beams bright, speak again, thou mortal wight. _alex_. oh! _sat_. here the foolish mortal lies, sleeping on the ground: arise. the poor wight is almost dead, on the ground his wounds have bled, and his cloaths foul'd with his blood: to my goddess in the wood will i lead him, whose hands pure, will help this mortal wight to cure. _enter_ cloe _again_. _clo_. since i beheld yon shaggy man, my breast doth pant, each bush, methinks, should hide a beast: yet my desire keeps still above my fear, i would fain meet some shepherd, knew i where: for from one cause of fear i am most free, it is impossible to ravish me, i am so willing. here upon this ground i left my love all bloody with his wound; yet till that fearful shape made me be gone, though he were hurt, i furnisht was of one, but now both lost. _alexis_, speak or move, if thou hast any life, thou art yet my love. he's dead, or else is with his little might crept from the bank for fear of that ill spright. then where art thou that struck'st my love? o stay, bring me thy self in change, and then i'll say thou hast some justice, i will make thee trim with flowers and garlands that were meant for him; i'll clip thee round with both mine arms, as fast as i did mean he should have been embrac'd: but thou art fled. what hope is left for me? i'll run to _daphnis_ in the hollow tree, whom i did mean to mock, though hope be small, to make him bold; rather than none at all, i'll try him; his heart, and my behaviour too perhaps may teach him what he ought to do. [_exit_. _enter_ sullen shepherd. _sul_. this was the place, 'twas but my feeble sight, mixt with the horrour of my deed, and night, that shap't these fears, and made me run away, and lose my beauteous hardly gotten prey. speak gentle shepherdess, i am alone, and tender love for love: but she is gone from me, that having struck her lover dead, for silly fear left her alone and fled. and see the wounded body is remov'd by her of whom it was so well belov'd. _enter_ perigot _and_ amaryllis _in the shape of_ amoret. but these fancies must be quite forgot, i must lye close. here comes young _perigot_ with subtile _amaryllis_ in the shape of _amoret_. pray love he may not 'scape. _amar_. beloved _perigot_, shew me some place, where i may rest my limbs, weak with the chace of thee, an hour before thou cam'st at least. _per_. beshrew my tardy steps: here shalt thou rest upon this holy bank, no deadly snake upon this turf her self in folds doth make. here is no poyson for the toad to feed; here boldly spread thy hands, no venom'd weed dares blister them, no slimy snail dare creep over thy face when thou art fast asleep; here never durst the babling cuckow spit, no slough of falling star did ever hit upon this bank: let this thy cabin be, this other set with violets for me. _ama_. thou dost not love me _perigot_. _per_. fair maid, you only love to hear it often said; you do not doubt. _amar_. believe me but i do. _per_. what shall we now begin again to woo? 'tis the best way to make your lover last, to play with him, when you have caught him fast. _amar_. by _pan_ i swear, i loved _perigot_, and by yon moon, i think thou lov'st me not. _per_. by _pan_ i swear, and if i falsely swear, let him not guard my flocks, let foxes tear my earliest lambs, and wolves whilst i do sleep fall on the rest, a rot among my sheep. i love thee better than the careful ewe the new-yean'd lamb that is of her own hew; i dote upon thee more than the young lamb doth on the bag that feeds him from his dam. were there a sort of wolves got in my fold, and one ran after thee, both young and old should be devour'd, and it should be my strife to save thee, whom i love above my life. _ama_. how shall i trust thee when i see thee chuse another bed, and dost my side refuse? _per_. 'twas only that the chast thoughts might be shewn 'twixt thee and me, although we were alone. _ama_. come, _perigot_ will shew his power, that he can make his _amoret_, though she weary be, rise nimbly from her couch, and come to his. here take thy _amoret_, embrace and kiss. _per_. what means my love? _ama_. to do as lovers shou'd, that are to be enjoy'd, not to be woo'd. there's ne'r a shepherdess in all the plain can kiss thee with more art, there's none can feign more wanton tricks. _per_. forbear, dear soul, to trie whether my heart be pure; i'll rather die than nourish one thought to dishonour thee. _amar_. still think'st thou such a thing as chastitie is amongst women? _perigot_ there's none, that with her love is in a wood alone, and would come home a maid; be not abus'd with thy fond first belief, let time be us'd: why dost thou rise? _per_. my true heart thou hast slain. _ama_. faith _perigot_, i'll pluck thee down again. _per_. let go, thou serpent, that into my brest hast with thy cunning div'd; art not in jest? _ama_. sweet love, lye down. _per_. since this i live to see, some bitter north-wind blast my flocks and me. _ama_. you swore you lov'd, yet will not do my will. _per_. o be as thou wert once, i'll love thee still. _ama_. i am, as still i was, and all my kind, though other shows we have poor men to blind. _per_. then here i end all love, and lest my vain belief should ever draw me in again, before thy face that hast my youth misled, i end my life, my blood be on thy head. _ama._ o hold thy hands, thy _amoret_ doth cry. _per._ thou counsel'st well, first _amoret_ shall dye, that is the cause of my eternal smart. [_he runs after her._ _ama._ o hold. _per._ this steel shall pierce thy lustful heart. [_the sullen shepherd steps out and uncharms her._ _sull._ up and down every where, i strew the herbs to purge the air: let your odour drive hence all mists that dazel sence. herbs and springs whose hidden might alters shapes, and mocks the sight, thus i charge you to undo all before i brought ye to: let her flye, let her 'scape, give again her own shape. _enter_ amaryllis _in her own shape._ _amar._ forbear thou gentle swain, thou dost mistake, she whom thou follow'dst fled into the brake, and as i crost thy way, i met thy wrath, the only fear of which near slain me hath. _per._ pardon fair shepherdess, my rage and night were both upon me, and beguil'd my sight; but far be it from me to spill the blood of harmless maids that wander in the wood. [_ex._ ama. _enter_ amoret. _amor._ many a weary step in yonder path poor hopeless _amoret_ twice trodden hath to seek her _perigot_, yet cannot hear his voice; my _perigot_, she loves thee dear that calls. _per._ see yonder where she is, how fair she shows, and yet her breath infefts the air. _amo._ my perigot. _per._ here. _amo._ happy. _per._ hapless first: it lights on thee, the next blow is the worst. _amo._ stay _perigot_, my love, thou art unjust. _peri._ death is the best reward that's due to lust. [_exit_ perigot. _sul._ now shall their love be crost, for being struck, i'le throw her in the fount, lest being took by some night-travaller, whose honest care may help to cure her. shepherdess prepare your self to die. _amo._ no mercy i do crave, thou canst not give a worse blow than i have; tell him that gave me this, who lov'd him too, he struck my soul, and not my body through, tell him when i am dead, my soul shall be at peace, if he but think he injur'd me. _sul._ in this fount be thy grave, thou wert not meant sure for a woman, thou art so innocent. [_flings her into the well_ she cannot scape, for underneath the ground, in a long hollow the clear spring is bound, till on yon side where the morns sun doth look, the strugling water breaks out in a brook. [_exit._ [_the god of the river riseth with_ amoret _in his arms._ _god._ what powerfull charms my streams do bring back again unto their spring, with such force, that i their god, three times striking with my rod, could not keep them in their ranks: my fishes shoot into the banks, there's not one that stayes and feeds, all have hid them in the weeds. here's a mortal almost dead, faln into my river head, hallowed so with many a spell, that till now none ever fell. 'tis a female young and clear, cast in by some ravisher. see upon her breast a wound, on which there is no plaister bound. yet she's warm, her pulses beat, 'tis a sign of life and heat. if thou be'st a virgin pure, i can give a present cure: take a drop into thy wound from my watry locks more round than orient pearl, and far more pure than unchast flesh may endure. see she pants, and from her flesh the warm blood gusheth out afresh. she is an unpolluted maid; i must have this bleeding staid. from my banks i pluck this flower with holy hand, whose vertuous power is at once to heal and draw. the blood returns. i never saw a fairer mortal. now doth break her deadly slumber: virgin, speak. _amo._ who hath restor'd my sense, given me new breath, and brought me back out of the arms of death? _god._ i have heal'd thy wounds. _amo._ ay me! _god._ fear not him that succour'd thee: i am this fountains god; below, my waters to a river grow, and 'twixt two banks with osiers set, that only prosper in the wet, through the meadows do they glide, wheeling still on every side, sometimes winding round about, to find the evenest channel out. and if thou wilt go with me, leaving mortal companie, in the cool streams shalt thou lye, free from harm as well as i: i will give thee for thy food, no fish that useth in the mud, but trout and pike that love to swim where the gravel from the brim through the pure streams may be seen: orient pearl fit for a queen, will i give thy love to win, and a shell to keep them in: not a fish in all my brook that shall disobey thy look, but when thou wilt, come sliding by, and from thy white hand take a fly. and to make thee understand, how i can my waves command, they shall bubble whilst i sing sweeter than the silver spring. _the song. do not fear to put thy feet naked in the river sweet; think not leach, or newt or toad will bite thy foot, when thou hast troad; nor let the water rising high, as thou wad'st in, make thee crie and sob, but ever live with me, and not a wave shall trouble thee._ _amo._ immortal power, that rul'st this holy flood, i know my self unworthy to be woo'd by thee a god: for e're this, but for thee i should have shown my weak mortalitie: besides, by holy oath betwixt us twain, i am betroath'd unto a shepherd swain, whose comely face, i know the gods above may make me leave to see, but not to love. _god._ may he prove to thee as true. fairest virgin, now adieu, i must make my waters fly, lest they leave their channels dry, and beasts that come unto the spring miss their mornings watering, which i would not; for of late all the neighbour people sate on my banks, and from the fold, two white lambs of three weeks old offered to my deitie: for which this year they shall be free from raging floods, that as they pass leave their gravel in the grass: nor shall their meads be overflown, when their grass is newly mown. _amo._ for thy kindness to me shown, never from thy banks be blown any tree, with windy force, cross thy streams, to stop thy course: may no beast that comes to drink, with his horns cast down thy brink; may none that for thy fish do look, cut thy banks to damm thy brook; bare-foot may no neighbour wade in thy cool streams, wife nor maid, when the spawns on stones do lye, to wash their hemp, and spoil the fry. _god._ thanks virgin, i must down again, thy wound will put thee to no pain: wonder not so soon 'tis gone: a holy hand was laid upon. _amo._ and i unhappy born to be, must follow him that flies from me. _actus quartus. scena prima._ _enter_ perigot. _per._ she is untrue, unconstant, and unkind, she's gone, she's gone, blow high thou north-west wind, and raise the sea to mountains, let the trees that dare oppose thy raging fury, leese their firm foundation, creep into the earth, and shake the world, as at the monstrous birth of some new prodigy, whilst i constant stand, holding this trustie boar-spear in my hand, and falling thus upon it. _enter_ amaryllis, _running._ _amar._ stay thy dead-doing hand, thou art too hot against thy self, believe me comely swain, if that thou dyest, not all the showers of rain the heavy clods send down can wash away that foul unmanly guilt, the world will lay upon thee. yet thy love untainted stands: believe me, she is constant, not the sands can be so hardly numbred as she won: i do not trifle, _shepherd_, by the moon, and all those lesser lights our eyes do view, all that i told thee _perigot_, is true: then be a free man, put away despair, and will to dye, smooth gently up that fair dejected forehead: be as when those eyes took the first heat. _per._ alas he double dyes, that would believe, but cannot; 'tis not well ye keep me thus from dying, here to dwell with many worse companions: but oh death, i am not yet inamour'd of this breath so much, but i dare leave it, 'tis not pain in forcing of a wound, nor after gain of many dayes, can hold me from my will: 'tis not my self, but _amoret_, bids kill. _ama._ stay but a little, little, but one hour, and if i do not show thee through the power of herbs and words i have, as dark as night, my self turn'd to thy _amoret_, in sight, her very figure, and the robe she wears, with tawny buskins, and the hook she bears of thine own carving, where your names are set, wrought underneath with many a curious fret, the _prim-rose_ chaplet, taudry-lace and ring, thou gavest her for her singing, with each thing else that she wears about her, let me feel the first fell stroke of that revenging steel. _per._ i am contented, if there be a hope to give it entertainment, for the scope of one poor hour; goe, you shall find me next under yon shady beech, even thus perplext, and thus believing. _ama._ bind before i goe, thy soul by _pan_ unto me, not to doe harm or outragious wrong upon thy life, till my return. _per._ by _pan_, and by the strife he had with _phoebus_ for the mastery, when golden _midas_ judg'd their _minstrelcy_, i will not. [_exeunt._ _enter_ satyr, _with_ alexis, _hurt._ _satyr._ softly gliding as i goe, with this burthen full of woe, through still silence of the night, guided by the gloe-worms light, hither am i come at last, many a thicket have i past not a twig that durst deny me, not a bush that durst descry me, to the little bird that sleeps on the tender spray: nor creeps that hardy worm with pointed tail, but if i be under sail, flying faster than the wind, leaving all the clouds behind, but doth hide her tender head in some hollow tree or bed of seeded nettles: not a hare can be started from his fare, by my footing, nor a wish is more sudden, nor a fish can be found with greater ease, cut the vast unbounded seas, leaving neither print nor sound, than i, when nimbly on the ground, i measure many a league an hour: but behold the happy power, that must ease me of my charge, and by holy hand enlarge the soul of this sad man, that yet lyes fast bound in deadly fit; heaven and great _pan_ succour it! hail thou beauty of the bower, whiter than the paramour of my master, let me crave thy vertuous help to keep from grave this poor mortal that here lyes, waiting when the destinies will cut off his thred of life: view the wound by cruel knife trencht into him. _clor._ what art thou call'st me from my holy rites, and with thy feared name of death affrights my tender ears? speak me thy name and will. _satyr._ i am the _satyr_ that did fill your lap with early fruit, and will, when i hap to gather more, bring ye better and more store: yet i come not empty now, see a blossom from the bow, but beshrew his heart that pull'd it, and his perfect sight that cull'd it from the other springing blooms; for a sweeter youth the grooms cannot show me, nor the downs, nor the many neighbouring towns; low in yonder glade i found him, softly in mine arms i bound him, hither have i brought him sleeping in a trance, his wounds fresh weeping, in remembrance such youth may spring and perish in a day. _clor._ _satyr_, they wrong thee, that do term thee rude, though thou beest outward rough and tawny hu'd, thy manners are as gentle and as fair as his, who brags himself, born only heir to all humanity: let me see the wound: this herb will stay the current being bound fast to the orifice, and this restrain ulcers, and swellings, and such inward pain, as the cold air hath forc'd into the sore: this to draw out such putrifying gore as inward falls. _satyr._ heaven grant it may doe good. _clor._ fairly wipe away the blood: hold him gently till i fling water of a vertuous spring on his temples; turn him twice to the moon beams, pinch him thrice, that the labouring soul may draw from his great eclipse. _satyr._ i saw his eye-lids moving. _clo._ give him breath, all the danger of cold death now is vanisht; with this plaster, and this unction, do i master all the festred ill that may give him grief another day. _satyr._ see he gathers up his spright and begins to hunt for light; now he gapes and breaths again: how the blood runs to the vein, that erst was empty! _alex._ o my heart, my dearest, dearest _cloe_, o the smart runs through my side: i feel some pointed thing pass through my bowels, sharper than the sting of scorpion. pan preserve me, what are you? do not hurt me, i am true to my _cloe_, though she flye, and leave me to thy destiny. there she stands, and will not lend her smooth white hand to help her friend: but i am much mistaken, for that face bears more austerity and modest grace, more reproving and more awe than these eyes yet ever saw in my cloe. oh my pain eagerly renews again. give me your help for his sake you love best. _clor._ shepherd, thou canst not possibly take rest, till thou hast laid aside all hearts desires provoking thought that stir up lusty fires, commerce with wanton eyes, strong blood, and will to execute, these must be purg'd, untill the vein grow whiter; then repent, and pray great _pan_ to keep you from the like decay, and i shall undertake your cure with ease. till when this vertuous plaster will displease your tender sides; give me your hand and rise: help him a little _satyr_, for his thighs yet are feeble. _alex._ sure i have lost much blood. _satyr._ 'tis no matter, 'twas not good. mortal you must leave your wooing, though there be a joy in doing, yet it brings much grief behind it, they best feel it, that do find it. _clor._ come bring him in, i will attend his sore when you are well, take heed you lust no more. _satyr._ shepherd, see what comes of kissing, by my head 'twere better missing. brightest, if there be remaining any service, without feigning i will do it; were i set to catch the nimble wind, or get shadows gliding on the green, or to steal from the great queen of _fayries_, all her beauty, i would do it, so much duty do i owe those precious eyes. _clor._ i thank thee honest _satyr_, if the cryes of any other that be hurt or ill, draw thee unto them, prithee do thy will to bring them hither. _satyr._ i will, and when the weather serves to angle in the brook, i will bring a silver hook, with a line of finest silk, and a rod as white as milk, to deceive the little fish: so i take my leave, and wish, on this bower may ever dwell spring, and summer. _clo_. friend farewel. [_exit_. _enter_ amoret, _seeking her love_. _amor_. this place is ominous, for here i lost my love and almost life, and since have crost all these woods over, never a nook or dell, where any little bird, or beast doth dwell, but i have sought him, never a bending brow of any hill or glade, the wind sings through, nor a green bank, nor shade where shepherds use to sit and riddle, sweetly pipe, or chuse their valentines, that i have mist, to find my love in. _perigot_, oh too unkind, why hast thou fled me? whither art thou gone? how have i wrong'd thee? was my love alone to thee worthy this scorn'd recompence? 'tis well, i am content to feel it: but i tell thee shepherd, and these lusty woods shall hear, forsaken _amoret_ is yet as clear of any stranger fire, as heaven is from foul corruption, or the deep abysse from light and happiness; and thou mayst know all this for truth, and how that fatal blow thou gav'st me, never from desert of mine, fell on my life, but from suspect of thine, or fury more than madness; therefore, here, since i have lost my life, my love, my dear, upon this cursed place, and on this green, that first divorc'd us, shortly shall be seen a sight of so great pity, that each eye shall dayly spend his spring in memory of my untimely fall. _enter_ amaryllis. _amar_. i am not blind, nor is it through the working of my mind, that this shows _amoret_; forsake me all that dwell upon the soul, but what men call wonder, or more than wonder, miracle, for sure so strange as this the oracle never gave answer of, it passeth dreams, or mad-mens fancy, when the many streams of new imaginations rise and fall: 'tis but an hour since these ears heard her call for pity to young _perigot_; whilest he, directed by his fury bloodily lanc't up her brest, which bloodless fell and cold; and if belief may credit what was told, after all this, the melancholy swain took her into his arms being almost slain, and to the bottom of the holy well flung her, for ever with the waves to dwell. 'tis she, the very same, 'tis _amoret_, and living yet, the great powers will not let their vertuous love be crost. maid, wipe away those heavy drops of sorrow, and allay the storm that yet goes high, which not deprest, breaks heart and life, and all before it rest: thy _perigot_-_amor_. where, which is _perigot?_ _amar_. sits there below, lamenting much, god wot, thee [and thy] fortune, go and comfort him, and thou shalt find him underneath a brim of sailing pines that edge yon mountain in. _amo_. i go, i run, heaven grant me i may win his soul again. [_exit_ amoret. _enter_ sullen. _sull_. stay _amaryllis_, stay, ye are too fleet, 'tis two hours yet to day. i have perform'd my promise, let us sit and warm our bloods together till the fit come lively on us. _amar_. friend you are too keen, the morning riseth and we shall be seen, forbear a little. _sull_. i can stay no longer. _amar_. hold _shepherd_ hold, learn not to be a wronger of your word, was not your promise laid, to break their loves first? _sull_. i have done it maid. _amar_. no, they are yet unbroken, met again, and are as hard to part yet as the stain is from the finest lawn. _sull_. i say they are now at this present parted, and so far, that they shall never meet. _amar_. swain 'tis not so, for do but to yon hanging mountain go, and there believe your eyes. _sull_. you do but hold off with delayes and trifles; farewell cold and frozen bashfulness, unfit for men; thus i salute thee virgin. _amar_. and thus then, i bid you follow, catch me if you can. [_exit_. _sull_. and if i stay behind i am no man. [_exit running after her_. _enter_ perigot. _per_. night do not steal away: i woo thee yet to hold a hard hand o're the rusty bit that guides the lazy team: go back again, _bootes_, thou that driv'st thy frozen wain round as a ring, and bring a second night to hide my sorrows from the coming light; let not the eyes of men stare on my face, and read my falling, give me some black place where never sun-beam shot his wholesome light, that i may sit and pour out my sad spright like running water, never to be known after the forced fall and sound is gone. _enter_ amoret _looking for_ perigot. _amo_. this is the bottom: speak if thou be here, my _perigot_, thy _amoret_, thy dear calls on thy loved name. _per_. what art thou [dare] tread these forbidden paths, where death and care dwell on the face of darkness? _amo_. 'tis thy friend, thy _amoret_, come hither to give end to these consumings; look up gentle boy, i have forgot those pains and dear annoy i suffer'd for thy sake, and am content to be thy love again; why hast thou rent those curled locks, where i have often hung riband and damask-roses, and have flung waters distil'd to make thee fresh and gay, sweeter than the nosegayes on a bridal day? why dost thou cross thine arms, and hang thy face down to thy bosom, letting fall apace from those two little heavens upon the ground showers of more price, more orient, and more round than those that hang upon the moons pale brow? cease these complainings, shepherd, i am now the same i ever was, as kind and free, and can forgive before you ask of me. indeed i can and will. _per_. so spoke my fair. o you great working powers of earth and air, water and forming fire, why have you lent your hidden vertues of so ill intent? even such a face, so fair, so bright of hue had _amoret_; such words so smooth and new, came flying from her tongue; such was her eye, and such the pointed sparkle that did flye forth like a bleeding shaft; all is the same, the robe and buskins, painted hook, and frame of all her body. o me, _amoret_! _amo_. shepherd, what means this riddle? who hath set so strong a difference 'twixt my self and me that i am grown another? look and see the ring thou gav'st me, and about my wrist that curious bracelet thou thy self didst twist from those fair tresses: knowst thou _amoret_? hath not some newer love forc'd thee forget thy ancient faith? _per_. still nearer to my love; these be the very words she oft did prove upon my temper, so she still would take wonder into her face, and silent make signs with her head and hand, as who would say, shepherd remember this another day. _amo_. am i not _amaret_? where was i lost? can there be heaven, and time, and men, and most of these unconstant? faith where art thou fled? are all the vows and protestations dead, the hands [held] up, the wishes, and the heart, is there not one remaining, not a part of all these to be found? why then i see men never knew that vertue constancie. _per_. men ever were most blessed, till crass fate brought love and women forth, unfortunate to all that ever tasted of their smiles, whose actions are all double, full of wiles: like to the subtil hare, that 'fore the hounds makes many turnings, leaps and many rounds, this way and that way, to deceive the scent of her pursuers. _amo_. 'tis but to prevent their speedy coming on that seek her fall, the hands of cruel men, more bestial, and of a nature more refusing good than beasts themselves, or fishes of the flood. _per_. thou art all these, and more than nature meant, when she created all, frowns, joys, content; extream fire for an hour, and presently colder than sleepy poyson, or the sea, upon whose face sits a continual frost: your actions ever driven to the most, then down again as low, that none can find the rise or falling of a womans mind. _amo_. can there be any age, or dayes, or time, or tongues of men, guilty so great a crime as wronging simple maid? o _perigot_, thou that wast yesterday without a blot, thou that wast every good, and every thing that men call blessed; thou that wast the spring from whence our looser grooms drew all their best; thou that wast alwayes just, and alwayes blest in faith and promise; thou that hadst the name of vertuous given thee, and made good the same ev'en from thy cradle; thou that wast that all that men delighted in; oh what a fall is this, to have been so, and now to be the only best in wrong and infamie, and i to live to know this! and by me that lov'd thee dearer than mine eyes, or that which we esteem'd our honour, virgin state; dearer than swallows love the early morn, or dogs of chace the sound of merry horn; dearer than thou canst love thy new love, if thou hast another, and far dearer than the last; dearer than thou canst love thy self, though all the self love were within thee that did fall with that coy swain that now is made a flower, for whose dear sake, echo weeps many a shower. and am i thus rewarded for my flame? lov'd worthily to get a wantons name? come thou forsaken willow, wind my head, and noise it to the world my love is dead: i am forsaken, i am cast away. and left for every lazy groom to say, i was unconstant, light, and sooner lost than the quick clouds we see, or the chill frost when the hot sun beats on it. tell me yet, canst thou not love again thy _amoret_? _per_. thou art not worthy of that blessed name, i must not know thee, fling thy wanton flame upon some lighter blood, that may be hot with words and feigned passions: _perigot_ was ever yet unstain'd, and shall not now stoop to the meltings of a borrowed brow. _amo_. then hear me heaven, to whom i call for right, and you fair twinkling stars that crown the night; and hear me woods, and silence of this place, and ye sad hours that move a sullen pace; hear me ye shadows that delight to dwell in horrid darkness, and ye powers of hell, whilst i breath out my last; i am that maid, that yet untainted _amoret_, that plaid the careless prodigal, and gave away my soul to this young man, that now dares say i am a stranger, not the same, more wild; and thus with much belief i was beguil'd. i am that maid, that have delaid, deny'd, and almost scorn'd the loves of all that try'd to win me, but this swain, and yet confess i have been woo'd by many with no less soul of affection, and have often had rings, belts, and cracknels sent me from the lad that feeds his flocks down westward; lambs and doves by young _alexis; daphnis_ sent me gloves, all which i gave to thee: nor these, nor they that sent them did i smile on, or e're lay up to my after-memory. but why do i resolve to grieve, and not to dye? happy had been the stroke thou gav'st, if home; by this time had i found a quiet room where every slave is free, and every brest that living breeds new care, now lies at rest, and thither will poor _amoret_. _per_. thou must. was ever any man so loth to trust his eyes as i? or was there ever yet any so like as this to _amoret_? for whose dear sake, i promise if there be a living soul within thee, thus to free thy body from it. [_he hurts her again_. _amo_. so, this work hath end: farewel and live, be constant to thy friend that loves thee next. _enter_ satyr, perigot _runs off_. _satyr_. see the day begins to break, and the light shoots like a streak of subtil fire, the wind blows cold, whilst the morning doth unfold; now the birds begin to rouse, and the squirril from the boughs leaps to get him nuts and fruit; the early lark that erst was mute, carrols to the rising day many a note and many a lay: therefore here i end my watch, lest the wandring swain should catch harm, or lose himself. _amo_. ah me! _satyr_. speak again what e're thou be, i am ready, speak i say: by the dawning of the day, by the power of night and _pan_, i inforce thee speak again. _amo_. o i am most unhappy. _satyr_. yet more blood! sure these wanton swains are wode. can there be a hand or heart dare commit so vile a part as this murther? by the moon that hid her self when this was done, never was a sweeter face: i will bear her to the place where my goddess keeps; and crave her to give her life, or grave. [_exeunt_. _enter_ clorin. _clor_. here whilst one patient takes his rest secure i steal abroad to doe another cure. pardon thou buryed body of my love, that from thy side i dare so soon remove, i will not prove unconstant, nor will leave thee for an hour alone. when i deceive my first made vow, the wildest of the wood tear me, and o're thy grave let out my blood; i goe by wit to cure a lovers pain which no herb can; being done, i'le come again. [_exit_. _enter_ thenot. _the_. poor shepherd in this shade for ever lye, and seeing thy fair _clorins_ cabin, dye: 0 hapless love, which [being] answer'd, ends; and as a little infant cryes and bends his tender brows, when rowling of his eye he hath espy'd some thing that glisters nigh which he would have, yet give it him, away he throws it straight, and cryes afresh to play with something else: such my affection, set on that which i should loath, if i could get. _enter_ clorin. _clor_. see where he lyes; did ever man but he love any woman for her constancie to her dead lover, which she needs must end before she can allow him for her friend, and he himself must needs the cause destroy, for which he loves, before he can enjoy? poor _shepherd_, heaven grant i at once may free thee from thy pain, and keep my loyaltie: _shepherd_, look up. _the_. thy brightness doth amaze! so _phoebus_ may at noon bid mortals gaze, thy glorious constancie appears so bright, i dare not meet the beams with my weak sight. _clor_. why dost thou pine away thy self for me? _the_. why dost thou keep such spotless constancie? _clor_. thou holy _shepherd_, see what for thy sake _clorin_, thy _clorin_, now dare under take. [_he starts up_. _the_. stay there, thou constant _clorin_, if there be yet any part of woman left in thee, to make thee light: think yet before thou speak. _clor_. see what a holy vow for thee i break. i that already have my fame far spread for being constant to my lover dead. _the_. think yet, dear _clorin_, of your love, how true, if you had dyed, he would have been to you. _clor_. yet all i'le lose for thee. _the_. think but how blest a constant woman is above the rest. _clor_. and offer up my self, here on this ground, to be dispos'd by thee. _the_. why dost thou wound his heart with malice, against woman more, that hated all the sex, but thee before? how much more pleasant had it been to me to dye, than to behold this change in thee? yet, yet, return, let not the woman sway. _clor_. insult not on her now, nor use delay, who for thy sake hath ventur'd all her fame. _the_. thou hast not ventur'd, but bought certain shame, your sexes curse, foul falshood must and shall, i see, once in your lives, light on you all. i hate thee now: yet turn. _clor_. be just to me: shall i at once both lose my fame and thee? _the_. thou hadst no fame, that which thou didst like good, was but thy appetite that sway'd thy blood for that time to the best: for as a blast that through a house comes, usually doth cast things out of order, yet by chance may come, and blow some one thing to his proper room; so did thy appetite, and not thy zeal, sway thee [by] chance to doe some one thing well. yet turn. _clor_. thou dost but try me if i would forsake thy dear imbraces, for my old love's, though he were alive: but do not fear. _the_. i do contemn thee now, and dare come near, and gaze upon thee; for me thinks that grace, austeritie, which sate upon that face is gone, and thou like others: false maid see, this is the gain of foul inconstancie. [_exit_. _clor_. 'tis done, great _pan_ i give thee thanks for it, what art could not have heal'd, is cur'd by wit. _enter_ thenot, _again_. _the_. will ye be constant yet? will ye remove into the cabin to your buried love? _clor_. no let me die, but by thy side remain. _the_. there's none shall know that thou didst ever stain thy worthy strictness, but shall honour'd be, and i will lye again under this tree, and pine and dye for thee with more delight, than i have sorrow now to know the light. _clor_. let me have thee, and i'le be where thou wilt. _the_. thou art of womens race, and full of guilt. farewel all hope of that sex, whilst i thought there was one good, i fear'd to find one naught: but since their minds i all alike espie, henceforth i'le choose as others, by mine eye. _clor_. blest be ye powers that give such quick redress, and for my labours sent so good success. i rather choose, though i a woman be, he should speak ill of all, than die for me. _actus quintus. scena prima_. _enter_ priest, _and old_ shepherd. _priest_. shepherds, rise and shake off sleep, see the blushing morn doth peep through the window, whilst the sun to the mountain tops is run, gilding all the vales below with his rising flames, which grow greater by his climbing still. up ye lazie grooms, and fill bagg and bottle for the field; clasp your cloaks fast, lest they yield to the bitter north-east wind. call the maidens up, and find who lay longest, that she may goe without a friend all day; then reward your dogs, and pray _pan_ to keep you from decay: so unfold and then away. what not a shepherd stirring? sure the grooms have found their beds too easie, or the rooms fill'd with such new delight, and heat, that they have both forgot their hungry sheep, and day; knock, that they may remember what a shame sloath and neglect layes on a shepherds name. _old shep_. it is to little purpose, not a swain this night hath known his lodging here, or lain within these cotes: the woods, or some near town, that is a neighbour to the bordering down, hath drawn them thither, 'bout some lustie sport, or spiced wassel-boul, to which resort all the young men and maids of many a cote, whilst the trim minstrel strikes his merry note. _priest_. god pardon sin, show me the way that leads to any of their haunts. _old shep_. this to the meads, and that down to the woods. _priest_. then this for me; come shepherd let me crave your companie. [_exeunt_. _enter_ clorin, _in her cabin_, alexis, _with her_. _clor_. now your thoughts are almost pure, and your wound begins to cure: strive to banish all that's vain, lest it should break out again. _alex_. eternal thanks to thee, thou holy maid: i find my former wandring thoughts well staid through thy wise precepts, and my outward pain by thy choice herbs is almost gone again: thy sexes vice and vertue are reveal'd at once, for what one hurt, another heal'd. _clor_. may thy grief more appease, relapses are the worst disease. take heed how you in thought offend, so mind and body both will mend. _enter_ satyr, _with_ amoret. _amo_. beest thou the wildest creature of the wood, that bearst me thus away, drown'd in my blood, and dying, know i cannot injur'd be, i am a maid, let that name fight for me. _satyr_. fairest virgin do not fear me, that do thy body bear, not to hurt, but heal'd to be; men are ruder far than we. see fair _goddess_ in the wood, they have let out yet more blood. some savage man hath struck her breast so soft and white, that no wild beast durst ha' toucht asleep, or wake: so sweet, that _adder, newte_, or _snake_, would have lain from arm to arm, on her bosom to be warm all a night, and being hot, gone away and stung her not. quickly clap herbs to her breast; a man sure is a kind of beast. _clor_. with spotless hand, on spotless brest i put these herbs to give thee rest: which till it heal thee, will abide, if both be pure, if not, off slide. see it falls off from the wound, shepherdess thou art not sound, full of lust. _satyr_, who would have thought it, so fair a face? _clor_. why that hath brought it. _amo_. for ought i know or think, these words, my last: yet _pan_ so help me as my thoughts are chast. _clor_. and so may _pan_ bless this my cure, as all my thoughts are just and pure; some uncleanness nigh doth lurk, that will not let my medicines work. _satyr_ search if thou canst find it. _satyr_. here away methinks i wind it, stronger yet: oh here they be, here, here, in a hollow tree, two fond mortals have i found. _clor_. bring them out, they are unsound. _enter_ cloe, _and_ daphnis. _satyr_. by the fingers thus i wring ye, to my _goddess_ thus i bring ye; strife is vain, come gently in, i scented them, they're full of sin. _clor_. hold _satyr_, take this glass, sprinkle over all the place, purge the air from lustfull breath, to save this shepherdess from death, and stand you still whilst i do dress her wound for fear the pain encrease. _sat_. from this glass i throw a drop of crystal water on the top of every grass, on flowers a pair: send a fume and keep the air pure and wholsom, sweet and blest, till this virgins wound be drest. _clor. satyr_, help to bring her in. _sat_. by _pan_, i think she hath no sin, she is so light: lye on these leaves. sleep that mortal sense deceives, crown thine eyes, and ease thy pain, maist thou soon be well again. _clor. satyr_, bring the shepherd near, try him if his mind be clear. _sat_. shepherd come. _daph_. my thoughts are pure. _sat_. the better trial to endure. _clor_. in this flame his finger thrust, which will burn him if he lust; but if not, away will turn, as loth unspotted flesh to burn: see, it gives back, let him go, farewel mortal, keep thee so. _sat_. stay fair _nymph_, flye not so fast, we must try if you be chaste: here's a hand that quakes for fear, sure she will not prove so clear. _clor._ hold her finger to the flame, that will yield her praise or shame. _sat._ to her doom she dares not stand, but plucks away her tender hand, and the taper darting sends his hot beams at her fingers ends: o thou art foul within, and hast a mind, if nothing else, unchaste. _alex._ is not that _cloe?_ 'tis my love, 'tis she! _cloe_, fair _cloe_. _clo._ my alexis. _alex._ he. _clo._ let me embrace thee. _clor._ take her hence, lest her sight disturb his sence. _alex._ take not her, take my life first. _clor._ see, his wound again is burst: keep her near, here in the wood, till i ha' stopt these streams of blood. soon again he ease shall find, if i can but still his mind: this curtain thus i do display, to keep the piercing air away. _enter_ old shepherd, _and_ priest. _priest_. sure they are lost for ever; 'tis in vain to find 'em out with trouble and much pain, that have a ripe desire, and forward will to flye the company of all but ill, what shall be counsel'd now? shall we retire? or constant follow still that first desire we had to find them? _old_. stay a little while; for if the morning mist do not beguile my sight with shadows, sure i see a swain; one of this jolly troop's come back again. _enter_ thenot. _pri._ dost thou not blush young shepherd to be known, thus without care, leaving thy flocks alone, and following what desire and present blood shapes out before thy burning sense, for good, having forgot what tongue hereafter may tell to the world thy falling off, and say thou art regardless both of good and shame, spurning at vertue, and a vertuous name, and like a glorious, desperate man that buys a poyson of much price, by which he dies, dost thou lay out for lust, whose only gain is foul disease, with present age and pain, and then a grave? these be the fruits that grow in such hot veins that only beat to know where they may take most ease, and grow ambitious through their own wanton fire, and pride delicious. _the_. right holy sir, i have not known this night, what the smooth face of mirth was, or the sight of any looseness; musick, joy, and ease, have been to me as bitter drugs to please a stomach lost with weakness, not a game that i am skill'd at throughly; nor a dame, went her tongue smoother than the feet of time, her beauty ever living like the rime our blessed _tityrus_ did sing of yore, no, were she more enticing than the store of fruitful summer, when the loaden tree bids the faint traveller be bold and free, 'twere but to me like thunder 'gainst the bay, whose lightning may enclose but never stay upon his charmed branches; such am i against the catching flames of womans eye. _priest_. then wherefore hast thou wandred? _the_. 'twas a vow that drew me out last night, which i have now strictly perform'd, and homewards go to give fresh pasture to my sheep, that they may live. _pri_. 'tis good to hear ye, shepherd, if the heart in this well sounding musick bear his part. where have you left the rest? _the_. i have not seen, since yesternight we met upon this green to fold our flocks up, any of that train; yet have i walkt these woods round, and have lain all this same night under an aged tree, yet neither wandring shepherd did i see, or shepherdess, or drew into mine ear the sound of living thing, unless it were the nightingale among the thick leav'd spring that sits alone in sorrow, and doth sing whole nights away in mourning, or the owl, or our great enemy that still doth howl against the moons cold beams. _priest_. go and beware of after falling. _the_. father 'tis my care. [_exit_ thenot. _enter_ daphnis. _old_. here comes another stragler, sure i see a shame in this young shepherd. _daphnis_! _daph_. he. _pri_. where hast thou left the rest, that should have been long before this, grazing upon the green their yet imprison'd flocks? _daph_. thou holy man, give me a little breathing till i can be able to unfold what i have seen; such horrour that the like hath never been known to the ear of shepherd: oh my heart labours a double motion to impart so heavy tidings! you all know the bower where the chast _clorin_ lives, by whose great power sick men and cattel have been often cur'd, there lovely _amoret_ that was assur'd to lusty _perigot_, bleeds out her life, forc'd by some iron hand and fatal knife; and by her young _alexis_. _enter_ amaryllis _running from her_ sullen shepherd. _amar_. if there be ever a neighbour brook, or hollow tree, receive my body, close me up from lust that follows at my heels; be ever just, thou god of shepherds, _pan_, for her dear sake that loves the rivers brinks, and still doth shake in cold remembrance of thy quick pursuit: let me be made a reed, and ever mute, nod to the waters fall, whilst every blast sings through my slender leaves that i was chast. _pri_. this is a night of wonder, _amaryll_ be comforted, the holy gods are still revengers of these wrongs. _amar_. thou blessed man, honour'd upon these plains, and lov'd of _pan_, hear me, and save from endless infamie my yet unblasted flower, _virginitie_: by all the garlands that have crown'd that head, by the chaste office, and the marriage bed that still is blest by thee, by all the rights due to our gods; and by those virgin lights that burn before his altar, let me not fall from my former state to gain the blot that never shall be purg'd: i am not now that wanton _amaryllis_: here i vow to heaven, and thee grave father, if i may 'scape this unhappy night, to know the day, to live a virgin, never to endure the tongues, or company of men impure. i hear him come, save me. _pri_. retire a while behind this bush, till we have known that vile abuser of young maidens. _enter_ sullen. _sul_. stay thy pace, most loved _amaryllis_, let the chase grow calm and milder, flye me not so fast, i fear the pointed brambles have unlac'd thy golden buskins; turn again and see thy shepherd follow, that is strong and free, able to give thee all content and ease. i am not bashful, virgin, i can please at first encounter, hug thee in mine arm, and give thee many kisses, soft and warm as those the sun prints on the smiling cheek of plums, or mellow peaches; i am sleek and smooth as _neptune_, when stern _eolus_ locks up his surly winds, and nimbly thus can shew my active youth; why dost thou flye? remember _amaryllis_, it was i that kill'd _alexis_ for thy sake, and set an everlasting hate 'twixt _amoret_ and her beloved _perigot_: 'twas i that drown'd her in the well, where she must lye till time shall leave to be; then turn again, turn with thy open arms, and clip the swain that hath perform'd all this, turn, turn i say: i must not be deluded. _pri_. monster stay, thou that art like a canker to the state thou liv'st and breath'st in, eating with debate through every honest bosome, forcing still the veins of any that may serve thy will, thou that hast offer'd with a sinful hand to seize upon this virgin that doth stand yet trembling here. _sull_. good holiness declare, what had the danger been, if being bare i had embrac'd her, tell me by your art, what coming wonders would that sight impart? _pri_. lust, and a branded soul. _sull_. yet tell me more, hath not our mother nature for her store and great encrease, said it is good and just, and wills that every living creature must beget his like? _pri_. ye are better read than i, i must confess, in blood and lechery. now to the bower, and bring this beast along, where he may suffer penance for his wrong. [_exeunt_. _enter_ perigot _with his hands bloody_. _per_. here will i wash it in this mornings dew, which she on every little grass doth strew in silver drops against the sun's appear: 'tis holy water, and will make me clear. my hands will not be cleans'd. my wronged love, if thy chaste spirit in the air yet move, look mildly down on him that yet doth stand all full of guilt, thy blood upon his hand, and though i struck thee undeservedly, let my revenge on her that injur'd thee make less a fault which i intended not, and let these dew drops wash away my spot. it will not cleanse. o to what sacred flood shall i resort to wash away this blood? amid'st these trees the holy _clorin_ dwells in a low cabin of cut boughs, and heals all wounds; to her i will my self address, and my rash faults repentantly confess; perhaps she'll find a means by art or prayer, to make my hand with chaste blood stained, fair: that done, not far hence underneath some tree, i'll have a little cabin built, since she whom i ador'd is dead, there will i give my self to strictness, and like _clorin_ live. [_exit_. _the curtain is drawn_, clorin _appears sitting in the cabin,_ amoret _sitting on the one side of her_, alexis _and_ cloe _on the other, the_ satyr _standing by._ _clo_. shepherd, once more your blood is staid, take example by this maid, who is heal'd ere you be pure, so hard it is lewd lust to cure. take heed then how you turn your eye on each other lustfully: and shepherdess take heed lest you move his willing eye thereto; let no wring, nor pinch, nor smile of yours his weaker sense beguile. is your love yet true and chaste, and for ever so to last? _alex_. i have forgot all vain desires, all looser thoughts, ill tempred fires, true love i find a pleasant fume, whose moderate heat can ne'r consume. _clo_. and i a new fire feel in me, whose chaste flame is not quencht to be. _clor_. join your hands with modest touch, and for ever keep you such. _enter_ perigot. _per_. yon is her cabin, thus far off i'll stand, and call her forth; for my unhallowed hand i dare not bring so near yon sacred place. _clorin_ come forth, and do a timely grace to a poor swain. _clo_. what art thou that dost call? _clorin_ is ready to do good to all: come near. _peri_. i dare not. _clor. satyr_, see who it is that calls on me. _sat_. there at hand, some swain doth stand, stretching out a bloudy hand. _peri_. come _clorin_, bring thy holy waters clear, to wash my hand. _clo_. what wonders have been here to night? stretch forth thy hand young swain, wash and rub it whilest i rain holy water. _peri_. still you pour, but my hand will never scower. _clor. satyr_, bring him to the bower, we will try the soveraign power of other waters. _satyr_. mortal, sure 'tis the blood of maiden pure that stains thee so. [_the_ satyr _leadeth him to the bower, where he spieth_ amoret, _and kneeling down, she knoweth him_. _peri_. what e're thou be, be'st thou her spright, or some divinitie, that in her shape thinks good to walk this grove, pardon poor _perigot_. _amor_. i am thy love, thy _amoret_, for evermore thy love: strike once more on my naked breast, i'le prove as constant still. o couldst thou love me yet; how soon should i my former griefs forget! _peri_. so over-great with joy, that you live, now i am, that no desire of knowing how doth seize me; hast thou still power to forgive? _amo_. whilest thou hast power to love, or i to live; more welcome now than hadst thou never gone astray from me. _peri_. and when thou lov'st alone and not i, death, or some lingring pain that's worse, light on me. _clor_. now your stain this perhaps will cleanse again; see the blood that erst did stay, with the water drops away. all the powers again are pleas'd, and with this new knot appeas'd. joyn your hands, and rise together, _pan_ be blest that brought you hither. _enter_ priest, _and_ old shephe[rd]. _clor_. go back again what ere thou art, unless smooth maiden thoughts possess thee, do not press this hallowed ground. go _satyr_, take his hand, and give him present trial. _satyr_. mortal stand, till by fire i have made known whether thou be such a one, that mayst freely tread this place. hold thy hand up; never was more untainted flesh than this. fairest, he is full of bliss. _clor_. then boldly speak, why dost thou seek this place? _priest_. first, honour'd virgin, to behold thy face where all good dwells that is: next for to try the truth of late report was given to me: those shepherds that have met with foul mischance, through much neglect, and more ill governance, whether the wounds they have may yet endure the open air, or stay a longer cure. and lastly, what the doom may be shall light upon those guilty wretches, through whose spight all this confusion fell: for to this place, thou holy maiden, have i brought the race of these offenders, who have freely told, both why, and by what means they gave this bold attempt upon their lives. _clor_. fume all the ground, and sprinkle holy water, for unsound and foul infection 'gins to fill the air: it gathers yet more strongly; take a pair of censors fill'd with frankincense and mirrh, together with cold camphyre: quickly stir thee, gentle _satyr_, for the place begins to sweat and labour with the abhorred sins of those offenders; let them not come nigh, for full of itching flame and leprosie their very souls are, that the ground goes back, and shrinks to feel the sullen weight of black and so unheard of venome; hie thee fast thou holy man, and banish from the chast these manlike monsters, let them never more be known upon these downs, but long before the next suns rising, put them from the sight and memory of every honest wight. be quick in expedition, lest the sores of these weak patients break into new gores. [_ex_. priest. _per_. my dear, dear _amoret_, how happy are those blessed pairs, in whom a little jar hath bred an everlasting love, too strong for time, or steel, or envy to do wrong? how do you feel your hurts? alas poor heart, how much i was abus'd; give me the smart for it is justly mine. _amo_. i do believe. it is enough dear friend, leave off to grieve, and let us once more in despight of ill give hands and hearts again. _per_. with better will than e're i went to find in hottest day cool crystal of the fountain, to allay my eager thirst: may this band never break. hear us o heaven. _amo_. be constant. _per_. else _pan_ wreak, with [d]ouble vengeance, my disloyalty; let me not dare to know the company of men, or any more behold those eyes. _amo_. thus shepherd with a kiss all envy dyes. _enter_ priest. _priest_. bright maid, i have perform'd your will, the swain in whom such heat and black rebellions raign hath undergone your sentence, and disgrace: only the maid i have reserv'd, whose face shews much amendment, many a tear doth fall in sorrow of her fault, great fair recal your heavy doom, in hope of better daies, which i dare promise; once again upraise her heavy spirit that near drowned lyes in self consuming care that never dyes. _clor_. i am content to pardon, call her in; the air grows cool again, and doth begin to purge it self, how bright the day doth show after this stormy cloud! go _satyr_, go, and with this taper boldly try her hand, if she be pure and good, and firmly stand to be so still, we have perform'd a work worthy the gods themselves. [_satyr brings_ amaryllis _in_. _satyr_. come forward maiden, do not lurk nor hide your face with grief and shame, now or never get a name that may raise thee, and recure all thy life that was impure: hold your hand unto the flame, if thou beest a perfect dame, or hast truely vow'd to mend, this pale fire will be thy friend. see the taper hurts her not. go thy wayes, let never spot henceforth seize upon thy blood. thank the gods and still be good. _clor_. young shepherdess now ye are brought again to virgin state, be so, and so remain to thy last day, unless the faithful love of some good shepherd force thee to remove; th[e]n labour to be true to him, and live as such a one, that ever strives to give a blessed memory to after time. be famous for your good, not for your crime. now holy man, i offer up again these patients full of health, and free from pain: keep them from after ills, be ever near unto their actions, teach them how to clear the tedious way they pass through, from suspect, keep them from wronging others, or neglect of duty in themselves, correct the bloud with thrifty bits and labour, let the floud, or the next neighbouring spring give remedy to greedy thirst, and travel not the tree that hangs with wanton clusters, [let] not wine, unless in sacrifice, or rites divine, be ever known of shepherd, have a care thou man of holy life. now do not spare their faults through much remissness, nor forget to cherish him, whose many pains and swet hath giv'n increase, and added to the downs. sort all your shepherds from the lazy clowns that feed their heifers in the budded brooms: teach the young maidens strictness, that the grooms may ever fear to tempt their blowing youth; banish all complements, but single truth from every tongue, and every shepherds heart, let them still use perswading, but no art: thus holy _priest_, i wish to thee and these, all the best goods and comforts that may please. _alex_. and all those blessings heaven did ever give, we pray upon this bower may ever live. _priest_. kneel every shepherd, whilest with powerful hand i bless your after labours, and the land you feed your flocks upon. great _pan_ defend you from misfortune, and amend you, keep you from those dangers still, that are followed by your will, give ye means to know at length all your riches, all your strength, cannot keep your foot from falling to lewd lust, that still is calling at your cottage, till his power bring again that golden hour of peace and rest to every soul. may his care of you controul all diseases, sores or pain that in after time may raign either in your flocks or you, give ye all affections new, new desires, and tempers new, that ye may be ever true. now rise and go, and as ye pass away sing to the god of sheep, that happy lay, that honest _dorus_ taught ye, _dorus_, he that was the soul and god of melodie. the song. [_they all sing all ye woods, and trees and bowers, all you vertues and ye powers that inhabit in the lakes, in the pleasant springs or brakes, move your feet to our sound, whilest we greet all this ground, with his honour and his name that defends our flocks from blame. he is great, and he is just, he is ever good, and must thus be honour'd: daffodillies, roses, pinks, and loved lillies, let us fling, whilest we sing, ever holy, ever holy, ever honoured ever young, thus great_ pan _is ever sung. [exeunt. satyr._ thou divinest, fairest, brightest, thou m[o]st powerful maid, and whitest, thou most vertuous and most blessed, eyes of stars, and golden tressed like _apollo_, tell me sweetest what new service now is meetest for the _satyr_? shall i stray in the middle air, and stay the sayling rack, or nimbly take hold by the moon, and gently make sute to the pale queen of night for a beam to give thee light? shall i dive into the sea, and bring thee coral, making way through the rising waves that fall in snowie fleeces; dearest, shall i catch the wanton fawns, or flyes, whose woven wings the summer dyes of many colours? get thee fruit? or steal from heaven old _orpheus_ lute? all these i'le venture for, and more, to do her service all these woods adore. _clor_. no other service, _satyr_, but thy watch about these thickets, lest harmless people catch mischief or sad mischance. _satyr_. holy virgin, i will dance round about these woods as quick as the breaking light, and prick down the lawns, and down the vails faster than the wind-mill sails. so i take my leave, and pray all the comforts of the day, such as _phoebus_ heat doth send on the earth, may still befriend thee, and this arbour. _clo_. and to thee, all thy masters love be free. [_exeunt_. _to my friend master_ john fletcher _upon his faithfull shepherdess._ _i know too well, that, no more than the man that travels through the burning desarts, can when he is beaten with the raging sun, half smothered in the dust, have power to run from a cool river, which himself doth find, e're he be slacked; no more can he whose mind joyes in the muses, hold from that delight, when nature, and his full thoughts bid him write: yet wish i those whom i for friends have known, to sing their thoughts to no ears but their own. why should the man, whose wit ne'r had a stain, upon the publick stage present his [vein,] and make a thousand men in judgment sit, to call in question his undoubted wit, scarce two of which can understand the laws which they should judge by, nor the parties cause? among the rout there is not one that hath in his own censure an explicite faith; one company knowing they judgement lack, ground their belief on the next man in black: others, on him that makes signs, and is mute, some like as he does in the fairest sute, he as his mistress doth, and she by chance: nor want there those, who as the boy doth dance between the acts, will censure the whole play; some if the wax-lights be not new that day; but multitudes there are whose judgement goes headlong according to the actors cloathes. for this, these publick things and i, agree so ill, that but to do a right for thee, i had not been perswaded to have hurl'd these few, ill spoken lines, into the world, both to be read, and censur'd of, by those, whose very reading makes verse senseless prose: such as must spend above an hour, to spell a challenge on a past, to know it well: but since it was thy hap to throw away much wit, for which the people did not pay, because they saw it not, i not dislike this second publication, which may strike their consciences, to see the thing they scorn'd, to be with so much wit and art adorned. besides one vantage more in this i see, tour censurers now must have the qualitie of reading, which i am afraid is more than half your shrewdest judges had before._ fr. beaumont. _to the worthy author_ m'r. jo. fletcher. _the wise, and many headed_ bench, _that sits upon the life, and death of_ playes, _and_ wits, (_composed of_ gamester, captain, knight, knight's man, lady, _or_ pusill, _that wears mask or fan_, velvet, _or_ taffata _cap, rank'd in the dark with the shops_ foreman, _or some such_ brave spark, _that may judge for his_ six-pence_) had, before they saw it half, damn'd thy whole play, and more, their motives were, since it had not to doe with vices, which they look'd for, and came to. i, that am glad, thy innocence was thy guilt, and wish that all the_ muses _blood were spilt in such a_ martyrdome, _to vex their eyes, do crown thy murdred_ poeme: _which shall rise a glorified work to time, when fire, or mothes shall eat, what all these fools admire._ ben. jonson. this dialogue newly added, was spoken by way of prologue to both their majesties, at the first acting of this pastoral at _somerset-house_ on twelfth-night, 1633. priest. _a broiling lamb on_ pans _chief altar lies, my wreath, my censor, virge, and incense by: but i delayed the pretious sacrifice, to shew thee here, a gentle deity._ nymph. _nor was i to thy sacred summons slow, hither i came as swift as th' eagles wing, or threatning shaft from vext_ dianaes _bow, to see this islands god; the worlds best king._ priest. _bless then that queen, that doth his eyes invite and ears, t'obey her scepter, half this night._ nymph. _let's sing such welcomes, as shall make her sway seem easie to him, though it last till day. welcom as peace t'unwalled cities, when famine and sword leave them more graves than men. as spring to birds, or noon-dayes sun to th' old poor mountain muscovite congeal'd with cold. as shore toth' pilot in a safe known coast when's card is broken and his rudder lost. appendix p. 369, l. 2. c] antiochus l. 10. c _omits_] have. l. 12. c _omits] princes. b _misprints] prnices. l. 17. c _gives this line to_ sel. l. 35. a] cel. l. 40. c] i once more next [_instead of_ beg it thus]. p. 370, l. 9. c] sound. l. 10. c] beat through. l. 16. c _adds_] finis. c _omits] prologue _and_ epilogue. p. 371, l. 1. a] and those. l. 6. a _omits_] spoke by the _lieutenant_. the faithful shepherdess. (a) the | faithfull | shepheardesse. by john fletcher. | printed at london for r. bonian | and h. walley, and are to be sold at | the spred eagle over against the | great north dore of s. paules. undated, but probably 1609-10. (b) the same, with slight differences in the commendatory verses and in one or two other sheets. (c) the | faithfull | shepheardesse. | by john fletcher. | the second edition, newly corrected. london, | printed by t.c. for richard meighen, in st dunstanes church-yard in fleet-streete, | 1629. (d) the | faithfull | shepherdesse. | acted at somerset | house before the king and | queene on twelfe night | last, 1633. | and divers times since with great ap-| plause at the private house in blacke-| friers, by his majesties servants. | written by john fletcher. | the third edition, with addition. | london, | printed by a.m. for richard meighen, next | to the middle temple in fleet-| street. 1634. (e) the | faithfull | shepherdesse. | acted at somerset | house, before the king and | queen on twelf night | last, 1633. | and divers times since, with great ap| plause, at the private house in black-| friers, by his majesties servants. | written by john fletcher. | the fourth edition. | london, printed for ga. bedell and tho. collins, at the middle | temple gate in fleet-street. 1656. (f) the | faithfull | shepherdesse. | acted at | somerset-house, | before the king and queen on twelfth night, 1633. | and divers times since, with great | applause, at the private house in | black-friers, by his majesties | servants. | written by john fletcher. | the fifth edition. | london, | printed for g. bedell and t. collins, at the middle | temple-gate in fleet-street, 1665. the verso of the title-page bears the date march 3, 166-4/5. licensed, roger l'estrange. as neither the second folio nor the quartos print any list of the characters it may be as well to give one here. perigot. old shepherd. thenot priest of pan. daphnis. god of the river. alexis. satyr. sullen shepherd. shepherds. clorin. cloe. amoret. shepherdesses. amarillis. scene: thessaly. the following dedicatory verses were omitted from the second folio. _to my lov'd friend m. john fletcher, on his pastorall_. can my approovement (sir) be worth your thankes? whose unkn[o]wne name and muse (in swathing clowtes) is not yet growne to strength, among these rankes to have a roome and beare off the sharpe flowtes of this our pregnant age, that does despise all innocent verse, that lets alone her vice. but i must justifie what privately, i censurd to you: my ambition is (even by my hopes and love to poesie) to live to perfect such a worke, as this, clad in such elegant proprietie of words, including a mortallitie. so sweete and profitable, though each man that heares, (and learning has enough to clap and hisse) arives not too't, so misty it appeares; and to their fi1med reasons, so amisse: but let art looke in truth, she like a mirror, reflects [reflect, c, d] her comfort [consort, d--f], ignorances terror. sits in her owne brow, being made afraid, of her unnaturall complexion, as ougly women (when they are araid by glasses) loath their true reflection, then how can such opinions injure thee, that tremble, at their owne deformitie? opinion, that great foole, makes fooles of all, and (once) i feard her till i met a minde whose grave instructions philosophical), toss'd it [is, f] like dust upon a march strong winde, he shall for ever my example be, and his embraced doctrine grow in me. his soule (and such commend this) that commaund [commands, d, e, f] such art, it should me better satisfie, then if the monster clapt his thousand hands, and drownd the sceane with his confused cry; and if doubts rise, loe their owne names to cleare 'em whilst i am happy but to stand so neere 'em. n. f. these verses are in a, b, c, d, e and f. in a and b they are signed 'n. f.,' in c-f they are signed 'nath. field.' the above text is that of a. to his loving friend m. _jo. fletcher_ concerning his pastorall, being both a poeme and a play: [concerning...play _omitted in_ d, e, f] there are no suerties (good friend) will be taken for workes that vulgar-good-name hath forsaken: a poeme and a play too! why tis like a scholler that's a poet: their names strike their pestilence inward, when they take the aire; and kill out right: one cannot both fates beare. but, as a poet thats no scholler, makes vulgarity his whiffler, and so takes with ease, & state through both sides prease of pageant seers: or as schollers please that are no poets; more then poets learnd; since their art solely, is by soules discerned; the others fals [fall, d, e, f] within the common sence and sheds (like common light) her influence: so, were your play no poeme, but a thing that every cobler to his patch might sing: a rout of nifles (like the multitude) with no one limme [limbe, e, f] of any art indude: like would to like, and praise you: but because, your poeme onely hath by us applause, renews the golden world; and holds through all the holy lawes of homely pastorall; where flowers, and founts, and nimphs, & semi-gods, and all the graces finde their old abods: where forrests flourish but in endlesse verse; and meddowes, nothing fit for purchasers: this iron age that eates it selfe, will never bite at your golden world; that others, ever lov'd as it selfe: then like your booke do you live in ould peace: and that for praise allow. g. chapman these lines are in a, c, d, e and f. the text is that of a. _to that noble and true lover of learning_, sir walter aston knight _of the balls_. sir i must aske your patience, and be trew. this play was never liked, unlesse by few that brought their judgements with um, for of late first the infection, then the common prate of common people, have such customes got either to silence plaies, or like them not. under the last of which this interlude, had falne for ever prest downe by the rude that like a torrent which the moist south feedes, drowne's both before him the ripe corne and weedes. had not the saving sence of better men redeem'd it from corruption: (deere sir then) among the better soules, be you the best in whome, as in a center i take rest, and propper being: from whose equall eye and judgement, nothing growes but puritie: (nor do i flatter) for by all those dead, great in the muses, by _apolloes_ head, he that ads any thing to you; tis done like his that lights a candle to the sunne: then be as you were ever, your selfe still moved by your judement, not by love, or will and when i sing againe as who can tell my next devotion to that holy well, your goodnesse to the muses shall be all, able to make a worke heroyicall. _given to your service_ john fletcher. these lines are in a and b. to the inheritour of all worthines, _sir william scipwith. ode._ if from servile hope or love, i may prove but so happy to be thought for such a one whose greatest ease is to please (worthy sir) i have all i sought for, for no ich of greater name, which some clame by their verses do i show it to the world; nor to protest tis the best these are leane faults in a poet nor to make it serve to feed at my neede nor to gaine acquaintance by it nor to ravish kinde atturnies, in their journies. nor to read it after diet farre from me are all these ames fittest frames to build weakenesse on and pitty onely to your selfe, and such whose true touch makes all good; let me seeme witty. _the admirer of your vertues_, john fletcher. these verses are in a and b. _to the perfect gentleman sir_ robert townesend. if the greatest faults may crave pardon where contrition is (noble sir) i needes must have a long one; for a long amisse if you aske me (how is this) upon my faith ile tell you frankely, you love above my meanes to thanke yee. yet according to my talent as sowre fortune loves to use me a poore shepheard i have sent, in home-spun gray for to excuse me. and may all my hopes refuse me: but when better comes ashore, you shall have better, newer, more. til when, like our desperate debters, or our three pild sweete protesters i must please you in bare letters and so pay my debts; like jesters, yet i oft have seene good feasters, onely for to please the pallet, leave great meat and chuse a sallet. _all yours_ john fletcher: these lines are in a and b. to the reader. if you be not reasonably assurde of your knowledge in this kinde of poeme, lay downe the booke or read this, which i would wish had bene the prologue. it is a pastorall tragic-comedie, which the people seeing when it was plaid, having ever had a singuler guift in defining, concluded to be a play of contry hired shepheards, in gray cloakes, with curtaild dogs in strings, sometimes laughing together, and sometimes killing one another: and misling whitsun ales, creame, wasiel & morris-dances, began to be angry. in their error i would not have you fall, least you incurre their censure. understand therefore a pastorall to be a representation of shepheards and shephearddesses, with their actions and passions, which must be such as may agree with their natures at least not exceeding former fictions, & vulgar traditions: they are not to be adorn'd with any art, but such improper ones as nature is said to bestow, as singing and poetry, or such as experience may teach them, as the vertues of hearbs, & fountaines: the ordinary course of the sun, moone, and starres, and such like. but you are ever to remember shepherds to be such, as all the ancient poets and moderne of understanding have receaved them: that is, the owners of flockes and not hyerlings. a tragie-comedie is not so called in respect of mirth and killing, but in respect it wants deaths, which is inough to make it no tragedie, yet brings some neere it, which is inough to make it no comedie: which must be a representation of familiar people, with such kinde of trouble as no life be questiond, so that a god is as lawfull in this as in a tragedie, and meane people as in a comedie. this much i hope will serve to justifie my poeme, and make you understand it, to teach you more for nothing, i do not know that i am in conscience bound. _john fletcher_. this address is in a and b. unto his worthy friend mr _joseph taylor_ upon his presentment of the _faithfull sheperdesse before the king and queene, at white-hall, on twelfth night_ [f _stops here_] _last_. 1633. when this smooth pastorall was first brought forth, the age twas borne in, did not know it's worth. since by thy cost, and industry reviv'd, it hath a new fame, and new birth atchiv'd. happy in that shee found in her distresse, a friend, as faithfull, as her shepherdesse. for having cur'd her from her courser rents, and deckt her new with fresh habiliments, thou brought'st her to the court, and made [mad'st, f] her be a fitting spectacle for majestie. so have i seene a clowded beauty drest in a rich vesture, shine above the rest. yet did it not receive more honour from the glorious pompe, then thine owne action. expect no satisfaction for the same, poets can render no reward but fame. yet this ile prophesie, when thou shall come into the confines of _elysium_ amidst the quire of muses, and the lists of famous actors, and quicke dramatists, so much admir'd for gesture, and for wit, that there on seats of living marble sit, the blessed consort of that numerous traine, shall rise with an applause to [and, e and f] entertaine thy happy welcome, causing thee sit downe, and with a lawrell-wreath thy temples crowne. and mean time, while this poeme shall be read, _taylor_, thy name shall be eternized. for it is just, that thou, who first did'st give unto this booke a life, by it shouldst live. shack. marmyon. these lines are in d, e and f. the text is that of d. the variations in the dedicatory verses printed in the second folio will be found on p. 523. p. 372, l. 3. a-f] actus primi. l. 13. a and b _omit_] jolly. c _some copies_] merry games. l. 15. a, b and d] brows be girt. p. 373, l. 6. a and b] that i will i. l. 19. f _misprints_] fair heap. p-375, l. 12. a and b] these groves. l. 17. a and b] mires. a and b _omit_] to find my ruine. l. 27. a-f _omit_] him. l. 29. c and d] have gone this. l. 30. a-f] his rights. l. 33. 2nd folio _misprints_] yours. p. 376, l. 10. a-d] livers. p. 377, l. 13. a and b] fall speedily. l. 14. a-d] let me goe. l. 21. a-f] seaman. l. 22. a and b] than the straightest. p. 378, l. 19. a and b] our soules. l. 40. c] the gentle. p. 379, l. 11. a and b] a wild. l. 18. a and b] _enter an other shepheardesse that is in love with perigot_. p. 381, l. 4. 2nd folio _misprints_] ever. l. 11. a, b and f] their weaning. l. 18. a and b] _enter sullen._ f] _enter sullen_ shepherd. l. 19. a, b and f _for shep, (character) read] sul._ l. 37. a-c _omit character] shep_. d-f _print] sull_. p. 382, l. 8. a-f _for shep.] sul_. l. 25. 2nd folio] sufficient, great to. l. 26. f] eye. l. 28. a and b] has foile enough. l. 38. a-f] dares. p. 383, l. 5. a-d _omit_] likewise. c] ayre is fresh. l. 10. a-c] are grown. a-d] woodbines. l. 26. a-d] eare of maid. e and f] eare of maids. l. 27. c and d] i love. l. 29. a] so sure a mold. b-f] so sure the molde. p. 384, l. 7. a-f] whose words. l. 13. 2nd folio] dost, p, 385, l. 2. a-c] hee is here. p. 386, l. 21. a and b] grief and tine. l. 30. a-c] raine. l. 35. a-d] swains more meeter. l. 36. a and b] than these. l. 38. a-d] hide. p. 387, l. 3. a-d] hath been. l. 7. f] _titans_. p. 388, l. 3. a-d] lowde falling. l. 21. a] his walkes keep. l. 32. f _omits_] great. l. 34. a] high birth. l. 36. a] born a most. p. 389, l. 1. a] did lop. l. 2. a] told me. l. 6. a] teeth. l. 8. a _omits_] fast. l. 14. a] formentill. l. 16. a-f] roote. a-d and f] swellings best. l. 31. a] wanton forces. l. 39. a] and with joy. p. 390, l. 1. a] enter shepheard. l. 2. a] _shep_. and so throughout. l. 10. a] make. l. 15. a and c] you blessed. l. 16. a] brightly. l. 19. a] that stiled is the. l. 36. a-c] into a stround. p. 391, l. 1. c] eies. l. 14. c] thy way. l. 16. 2nd folio _misprints_] chor. l. 24. a _omits_] then. (_char_.). l. 30. a] flame. p. 392, l. 4. a] _orions_. l. 5. a-d] woven. l. 6. a-c] unfould. l. 7. a] the errant soul. a-d] not the true. l. 9. a] _alpen_. l. 13. a] you do keep. l. 14. e] that are begotten. l. 30. a-c] for their. l. 31. a and b] to seat them. p. 393, l. 3. a-d] doe, and let. l. 6. a-c _omit_] that here. d _omits_] that. l. 9. a-f] mourning. a-f] ewe. l. 18. a, b and d] for never did. l. 21. 2nd folio _misprints_] then. l. 23. a-d] shootes. l. 26. a and b] and present. l. 31. 2nd folio _misprints_] maiden. l. 35. a-d] highly praise. p. 394, l. 4. c] ne're knit that eye. l. 17. c] her shame. l. 30. a-f] as grinnes. l. 31. a] at conies, squirrels. p. 395, l. 1. a-f] stronger way. l. 26. a and b] dipt over. p. 396, l. 8. a and b _insert before enter daphnis_] actus secundus scena quarta. l. 14. a-d] thy shepherds. l. 19. a and b] my flame. l. 34. 2nd folio _misprints_] blesseds. l. 35. a-f _insert_ enter alexis _after_ l. 36. p. 397, l. 10. a-d] those. l. 16. a and b] hold her. l. 20. a-c] though with. p. 399, l. 2. a-f] these rights. l. 17. a-c] enter the. l. 27. c] the feet. p. 400, l. 21. a-c] _she awaketh_. l. 23. a-f] magick right. l. 27. a and b] thus reformd thee. l. 31. c and d _omit_] that. p. 401, l. 6. a and c] moone beams. l. 7. a-d and f] true shape. l. 13. c] your sacred. l. 24. a, d and f] she hath got. l. 37. a-f] of lyon. a and b] or of bear. p. 402, l. 22. a and b] ile followe, and for this thy care of me. c _omits the line_. l. 27. a-f] with a. p. 403, l. 29. a-e] never thou shalt move. p. 404, l. 33. a and b _read_] _alex._ oh! _sat._ speake againe thou mortall wight. l. 34. a and b _omit_] _sat._ p. 405, l. 3. a-c] beheld you shaggy. l. 17. a and b] o stray. l. 25. a-f] who i did. l. 29. a-c] _enter the_. p. 406, l. 2. a and b] _of a_ amoret. l. 3. a and b] but all these. l. 29. a and b] swear, beloved _perigot_. l. 37. a-d] then that young. p. 407, l. 4. a and b] how should. l. 11. c] take my _amoret_. l. 30. a and b _read_] div'd art, art not. l. 36. f] still as. l. 37. c] though others shows. l. 38. c] and rest my. p. 408, l. 18. a and b _omit_] _in her own shape_. l. 26. a and b _omit_] ama. l. 28. a and b _add_ amoret _after_ path. p. 409, l. 17. a-d] _he flings her_. p. 410, l. 4. a and b] locke. l. 11. f] bank. p. 411, l. 9. a-c] silver string. p. 412, l. 2. e] leave there gravel. l. 20. a-f _add_] exit. l. 22. a and b _add_] _finis actus tertis_. l. 23. a and b _omit_] _actus quartus. scena prima._ l. 34. a and b] perigot _to enter_. amaryllis, _running_. p. 413, l. 2. a-f] heavy clowdes. l. 18. a-c] of his breath. p. 414, l. 35. a-d] happy bower. p. 415, l. 7. a-f] will undo his. l. 10. a-f] holy rights. l. 11. a-d] the feared. l. 22. a and b] the gwomes. l. 35. a and b] thie wound. c] thy wound. p. 416, l. 20. a--d] now a gapes. l. 31. a--f] to this destiny. p. 417, l. 1. a-d] not possible. l. 2. a and b] all heates, desires. l. 3. a-f] thoughts. l. 9. a and b] playsters. p. 418, l. 1. a and b] to deserve the. l. 11. a-c] sought it. l. 13. a-c] or shade. l. 15. a-c] but i. p. 419, l. 7. a and b] imagination. l. 26. 2nd folio _misprints_] thy and. l. 30. a and b _omit_] _exit_ amoret. p. 420, l. 26. a-d] thy lazy. l. 36. a-d] _looking of_ perigot. p. 421, l. 2. a and b omit] art. e, f and 2nd folio] thou darest. l. 12. a-f] ribandes. l. 14. a-c _omit_] the. l. 17. a and b] those too little. l. 28. c] a fact so. l. 30. a and b] came flowing. c] come flying. p. 422, l. 10. a and b] men, most. l. 12. f] thy vows. l. 13. 2nd folio] help. l. 17. a-f] till crosse fate. l. 26. c] seeks. l. 30. a and b _omit_] _per_. p. 423, l. 14. a and b] esteeme. p. 424, l. 11. a and b] denye. l. 18. c] sent my gloves. l. 26. a and b] bread. p. 425, l. 1. a-c] light shutts like. l. 23. a-d] vild. p. 426, l. 5. 2nd folio] beings. p. 427, l. 10. a-c _omit_] to. l. 19. a-c] once loose both my. l. 27. 2nd folio _misprints_] be. l. 36. a and b] inconstance. p. 428, l. 6. a-d] shalt. l. 9. a-d] know thee light. l. 16. a-d] that gave such. l. 19. a and b _add_] _finis actus quartus_. l. 24. a-d] windowes. p. 429, l. 14. a-c] coate. l. 22. a-d _add_] _and amarillis_. l. 31. c] sexes voice and. p. 430, l. 5. a-f] that doth thy. l. 6. a and b] but held to. l. 12. a-f] durst a toucht. l. 22. a-c] will bide. p. 432, l. 33. a-f] mornings. p. 433, l. 39. a and b _omit_] _the_. p. 434, l. 2. c-f] those. l. 3. a and b] this long night. c _omits_] same. l. 5. c] eares. l. 12. f _omits_] and. l. 19. a-c _omit_] thou. p. 435, l. 7. f] i am. l. 16. a-f] thy chaste. l. 18. a-f] god. l. 25. a--d _omit_] to live. a-c] never after to. p. 436, l. 3. a and c] thy smiling. l. 21. a and b] any men may. l. 29. a-c omit] a. l. 33. a and b] willd. c] will. l. 38. a-c _omit_] _exeunt_. p. 437, l. 1. a-f] hand. l. 2. a and b] in the mornings. l. 6. a-f] hand. l. 34. a-d] on these other. p. 438, l. 7. a-d] whose base end is. l. 22. a and b] thers a hand. c] thers at hand. l. 39. a and b] kneeleth. p. 439, l. 7. a-c] sticke once. l. 8. a-c] o canst thou. c] leave me. l. 9. a and c] soon could i. l. 20. a-d] perhaps will cleanse thee once again. l. 24. a-f] are appeas'd. l. 27. 2nd folio] shephered. p. 440, l. 14. a and b] their live. l. 18. a and b _omit_] take a pair. l. 23. 2nd folio] offenders,; p. 441, l. 13. 2nd folio _misprints_] bouble. l. 20. a and b _omit_] and disgrace. l. 35. c] _brings_ amoret _in_. p. 442, l. 23. a-c] wrong in. l. 28. 2nd folio _misprints_] let let. c] wanton lusters. l. 29. a-f] rights. l. 30. a-e] shepheards, l. 39. a-c] complement. p. 443, l. 1. a-c _omit_] still. l. 4. a-c _for alex_.} all. l. 7. a and b] bless you after. l. 34. c] or bancks. p. 444, l. 14. 2nd folio _misprints_] must. l. 16. c] tresses. l. 23. a and b] of the night. l. 24. c] me light. l. 26. a and b] bring the coral. l. 33. a and b] i venter. l. 36. a-c] these thicks. p. 445, l. 9. 2nd folio _misprints_] cle. l. 10. a-f _add_] finis. a and b _add also_] _the pastorall of the faithfull shepheardesse._ p. 446, l. 6. a-d] with the. l. 14. a and c] this vaine. 2nd folio] vain. l. 26. a-f] wants. l. 28. a-c] some like if. a-d _omit_] not. l. 29. a-d] judgments. l. 32. a-c] aright to thee. d] a right to thee. p. 447, l. 8. a and b] much will and. l. 10. a-c _omit_] now. pp. 446-7. the lines by fr. beaumont are contained in a-f. p. 447. the lines by ben jonson are contained in a and c-f. p. 448. the dialogue is contained in d-f. end of vol. ii. the custom of the country. * * * * * persons represented in the play. count clodio, _governour and a dishonourable pursuer of_ zenocia. manuel du sosa, _governour of_ lisbon, _and brother to_ guiomar. arnoldo, _a gentleman contracted to_ zenocia. rutilio, _a merry gentleman brother to_ arnoldo. charino, _father to_ zenocia. duarte, _son to_ guiomar, _a gentleman well qualified but vain glorious_. alonzo, _a young_ portugal _gentleman, enemy to_ duarte. leopold, _a sea captain enamour'd on_ hippolyta. zabulon, _a_ jew, _servant to_ hippolyta. jaques, _servant to_ sulpitia. doctor. chirurgion. officers. guard. page. bravo. knaves, _of the male stewes_. servants. _women._ zenocia, _mistress to_ arnoldo, _and a chaste wife_. guiomar, _a vertuous lady, mother to_ duarte. hippolyta, _a rich lady, wantonly in love with_ arnoldo. sulpitia, _a bawd, mistress of the male stewes_. * * * * * _the scene sometimes_ lisbon, _sometimes_ italy. * * * * * the principal actors were _joseph taylor_. _robert benfeild_. _john lowin_. _william eglestone_. _nicholas toolie_. _richard sharpe_. _john underwood_. _thomas holcomb_. * * * * * _actus primus. scena prima_. _enter_ rutilio, _and_ arnold[o]. _rut._ why do you grieve thus still? _arn._ 'twould melt a marble, and tame a savage man, to feel my fortune. _rut._ what fortune? i have liv'd this thirty years, and run through all these follies you call fortunes, yet never fixt on any good and constant, but what i made myself: why should i grieve then at that i may mould any way? _arn._ you are wide still. _rut._ you love a gentlewoman, a young handsom woman, i have lov'd a thosand, not so few. _arn._ you are dispos'd. _rut._ you hope to marry her; 'tis a lawful calling and prettily esteem'd of, but take heed then, take heed dear brother of a stranger fortune than e're you felt yet; fortune my foe is a friend to it. _arn._ 'tis true i love, dearly, and truly love, a noble, vertuous, and most beauteous maid, and am belov'd again. _rut._ that's too much o' conscience, to love all these would run me out o' my wits. _arn._ prethee give ear, i am to marry her. _rut._ dispatch it then, and i'le go call the piper. _arn._ but o the wicked custom of this country, the barbarous, most inhumane, damned custom. _rut_. 'tis true, to marry is a custom i' the world; for look you brother, wou'd any man stand plucking for the ace of harts, with one pack of cards all dayes on's life? _arn._ you do not or else you purpose not to understand me. _rut._ proceed, i will give ear. _arn._ they have a custom in this most beastly country, out upon't. _rut._ let's hear it first. _arn._ that when a maid is contracted and ready for the tye o'th' church, the governour, he that commands in chief, must have her maiden-head, or ransom it for mony at his pleasure. _rut._ how might a man atchieve that place? a rare custom! an admirable rare custom: and none excepted? _arn._ none, none. _rut._ the rarer still: how could i lay about me, in this rare office? are they born to it, or chosen? _arn._ both equal damnable. _rut._ me thinks both excellent, would i were the next heir. _arn._ to this mad fortune am i now come, my marriage is proclaim'd, and nothing can redeem me from this mischief. _rut._ she's very young. _arn._ yes. _rut._ and fair i dare proclaim her, else mine eyes fail. _arn._ fair as the bud unblasted. _rut._ i cannot blame him then, if 'twere mine own case, i would not go an ace less. _arn._ fye _rutilio_, why do you make your brothers misery your sport and game? _rut._ there is no pastime like it. _arn._ i look'd for your advice, your timely counsel, how to avoid this blow, not to be mockt at, and my afflictions jeer'd. _rut._ i tell thee _arnoldo_, an thou wert my father, as thou art but my brother, my younger brother too, i must be merry. and where there is a wench yet can, a young wench, a handsome wench, and sooner a good turn too, an i were to be hang'd, thus must i handle it. but you shall see sir, i can change this habit to do you any service; advise what you please, and see with what devotion i'le attend it? but yet me thinks, i am taken with this custom, [_enter_ charino _and_ zenocia. and could pretend to th' place. _arn._ draw off a little; here comes my mistress and her father. _rut._ a dainty wench! wou'd i might farm his custom. _char._ my dear daughter, now to bethink your self of new advice will be too late, later this timeless sorrow, no price, nor prayers, can infringe the fate your beauty hath cast on yo[u], my best _zenocia_, be rul'd by me, a fathers care directs ye, look on the count, look chearfully and sweetly; what though he have the power to possess ye, to pluck your maiden honour, and then slight ye by custom unresistible to enjoy you; yet my sweet child, so much your youth and goodness, the beauty of your soul, and saint-like modesty, have won upon his mild mind, so much charm'd him, that all power laid aside, what law allows him, or sudden fires, kindled from those bright eyes, he sues to be your servant, fairly, nobly for ever to be tyed your faithful husband: consider my best child. _zeno._ i have considered. _char._ the blessedness that this breeds too, consider besides your fathers honour, your own peace, the banishment for ever of this custom, this base and barbarous use, for after once he has found the happiness of holy marriage, and what it is to grow up with one beauty, how he will scorn and kick at such an heritage left him by lust and lewd progenitors. all virgins too, shall bless your name, shall saint it, and like so many pilgrims go to your shrine, when time has turn'd your beauty into ashes, fill'd with your pious memory. _zeno._ good father hide not that bitter pill i loath to swallow in such sweet words. _char._ the count's a handsome gentleman, and having him, y'are certain of a fortune, a high and noble fortune to attend you: where if you fling your love upon this stranger this young _arnoldo_, not knowing from what place or honourable strain of blood he is sprung, you venture all your own sweets, and my long cares to nothing, nor are you certain of his faith; why may not that wander as he does, every where? _zen._ no more sir; i must not hear, i dare not hear him wrong'd thus, vertue is never wounded, but i suffer. 'tis an ill office in your age, a poor one, to judge thus weakly: and believe your self too, a weaker, to betray your innocent daughter, to his intemp'rate, rude, and wild embraces, she hates as heaven hates falshood. _rut._ a good wench, she sticks close to you sir. _zeno._ his faith uncertain? the nobleness his vertue springs from, doubted? d'ye doubt it is day now? or when your body's perfect, your stomach's well dispos'd, your pulse's temperate, d'ye doubt you are in health? i tell you father, one hour of this mans goodness, this mans nobleness put in the scale, against the counts whole being, forgive his lusts too, which are half his life, he could no more endure to hold weight with him; _arnoldo's_ very looks, are fair examples; his common and indifferent actions, rules and strong ties of vertue: he has my first love, to him in sacred vow i have given this body, in him my mind inhabits. _rut._ good wench still. _zeno._ and till he fling me off, as undeserving, which i confess i am, of such a blessing, but would be loth to find it so-_arn._ o never; never my happy mistress, never, never, when your poor servant lives but in your favour, one foot i'th' grave the other shall not linger. what sacrifice of thanks, what age of service, what danger, of more dreadful look than death, what willing martyrdom to crown me constant may merit such a goodness, such a sweetness? a love so nobly great, no power can ruine; most blessed maid go on, the gods that gave this, this pure unspotted love, the child of heaven, in their own goodness, must preserve and save it, and raise you a reward beyond our recompence. _zeno._ i ask but you, a pure maid to possess, and then they have crown'd my wishes: if i fall then go seek some better love, mine will debase you. _rut._ a pretty innocent fool; well, governour, though i think well of your custom, and could wish my self for this night in your place, heartily wish it: yet if you play not fair play and above board too, i have a foolish gin here, i say no more; i'le tell you what, and if your honours guts are not inchanted. _arn._ i should now chide you sir, for so declining the goodness and the grace you have ever shew'd me, and your own vertue too, in seeking rashly to violate that love heaven has appointed, to wrest your daughters thoughts, part that affection that both our hearts have tyed, and seek to give it. _rut._ to a wild fellow, that would weary her; a cannibal, that feeds on the heads of maids, then flings their bones and bodies to the devil, would any man of discretion venture such a gristle, to the rude clawes of such a _cat-a-mountain_? you had better tear her between two oaks, a town bull is a meer _stoick_ to this fellow, a grave philosopher, and a _spanish_ jennet, a most vertuous gentleman. _arn._ does this seem handsome sir? _rut._ though i confess any man would desire to have her, and by any means, at any rate too, yet that this common hangman, that hath whipt off the heads of a thousand maids already, that he should glean the harvest, sticks in my stomach: this rogue breaks young wenches to the saddle, and teaches them to stumble ever after; that he should have her? for my brother now that is a handsome young fellow; and well thought on, and will deal tenderly in the business; or for my self that have a reputation, and have studied the conclusions of these causes, and know the perfect manage, i'le tell you old sir, if i should call you wise sir, i should bely you, this thing, you study to betray your child to, this maiden-monger. when you have done your best, and think you have fixt her in the point of honour, who do you think you have tyed her to? a surgeon, i must confess an excellent dissector, one that has cut up more young tender lamb-pies-_char_. what i spake gentlemen, was meer compulsion, no fathers free-will, nor did i touch your person with any edge of spight; or strain your loves with any base, or hir'd perswasions; witness these tears, how well i wisht your fortunes. [_exit._ _rut_. there's some grace in thee yet, you are determined to marry this count, lady. _zen_. marry him _rutilio_? _rut_. marry him, and lye with him i mean. _zen_. you cannot mean that, if you be a true gentleman, you dare not, the brother to this man, and one that loves him; i'le marry the devil first. _rut_. a better choice and lay his horns by, a handsomer bed-fellow, a cooler o' my conscience. _arn_. pray let me ask you; and my dear mistris, be not angry with me for what i shall propound, i am confident, no promise, nor no power, can force your love, i mean in way of marriage, never stir you, nor to forget my faith, no state can wound you. but for this custom, which this wretched country hath wrought into a law, and must be satisfied; where all the pleas of honour are but laught at, and modesty regarded as a may-game, what shall be here considered? power we have none, to make resistance, nor policie to cross it: 'tis held religion too, to pay this duty. _zeno_. i'le dye an _atheist_ then. _arn_. my noblest mistris, not that i wish it so, but say it were so, say you did render up part of your honour, for whilst your will is clear, all cannot perish; say for one night you entertain'd this monster, should i esteem you worse, forc'd to this render? your mind i know is pure, and full as beauteous; after this short eclipse, you would rise again, and shaking off that cloud, spread all your lustre. _zeno_. who made you witty, to undoe your self, sir? or are you loaden, with the love i bring you, and fain would fling that burthen on another? am i grown common in your eyes _arnoldo_? old, or unworthy of your fellowship? d'ye think because a woman, i must err, and therefore rather wish that fall before-hand coloured with custom, not to be resisted? d'ye love as painters doe, only some pieces, some certain handsome touches of your mistris, and let the mind pass by you, unexamined? be not abus'd; with what the maiden vessel is seasoned first, you understand the proverb. _rut_. i am afraid, this thing will make me vertuous. _zeno_. should you lay by the least part of that love y'ave sworn is mine, your youth and faith has given me, to entertain another, nay a fairer, and make the case thus desp'rate, she must dy else; d'ye think i would give way, or count this honest? be not deceiv'd, these eyes should never see you more, this tongue forget to name you, and this heart hate you, as if you were born, my full _antipathie_. _empire_ and more imperious love, alone rule, and admit no rivals: the purest springs when they are courted by lascivious land-floods, their maiden pureness, and their coolness perish. and though they purge again to their first beauty, the sweetness of their taste is clean departed. i must have all or none; and am not worthy longer the noble name of wife, _arnoldo_, than i can bring a whole heart pure and handsom. _arnol_. i never shall deserve you: not to thank you; you are so heavenly good, no man can reach you: i am sorrie i spake so rashly, 'twas but to try you. _rut_. you might have tryed a thousand women so, and 900, fourscore and 19 should ha' followed your counsel. take heed o' clapping spurrs to such free cattell. _arn_. we must bethink us suddenly and constantly, and wisely too, we expect no common danger. _zen_. be most assur'd, i'le dye first. _enter_ clodio, _and_ guard. _rut_. an't come to that once, the devil pick his bones, that dyes a coward, i'le jog along with you, here comes the stallion, how smug he looks upon the imagination of what he hopes to act! pox on your kidneys; how they begin to melt! how big he bears, sure he will leap before us all: what a sweet company of rogues and panders wait upon his lewdness! plague of your chops, you ha' more handsome bitts, than a hundred honester men, and more deserving. how the dogg leers. _clod_. you need not now be jealous, i speak at distance to your wife, but when the priest has done, we shall grow nearer, and more familiar. _rut_. i'le watch you for that trick, baboon, i'le smoke you: the rogue sweats, as if he had eaten grains, he broyles, if i do come to the basting of you. _arno_. your lordship may happily speak this, to fright a stranger, but 'tis not in your honour, to perform it; the custom of this place, if such there be, at best most damnable, may urge you to it, but if you be an honest man you hate it, how ever i will presently prepare to make her mine, and most undoubtedly believe you are abus'd, this custome feign'd too, and what you now pretend, most fair and vertuous. _clod_. go and believe, a good belief does well sir; and you sir, clear the place, but leave her here. _arn_. your lordships pleasure. _clod_. that anon _arnoldo_, this is but talk. _rut_. shall we goe off? _arn_. by any means, i know she has pious thoughts enough to guard her: besides, here's nothing due to him till the tye be done, nor dare he offer. _rut_. now do i long to worry him: pray have a care to the main chance. _zen_. pray sir, fear not. [_exit_ ar. _and_ rut. _clod_. now, what say you to me? _zen_. sir it becomes the modestie, that maids are ever born with, to use few words. _clod_. do you see nothing in me? nothing to catch your eyes, nothing of wonder the common mould of men, come short, and want in? do you read no future fortune for your self here? and what a happiness it may be to you, to have him honour you, all women aim at? to have him love you lady, that man love you, the best, and the most beauteous have run mad for? look and be wise, you have a favour offer'd you i do not every day propound to women; you are a prettie one; and though each hour i am glutted with the sacrifice of beautie, i may be brought, as you may handle it, to cast so good a grace and liking on you. you understand, come kiss me, and be joyfull, i give you leave. _zen_. faith sir, 'twill not shew handsome; our sex is blushing, full of fear, unskil'd too in these alarms. _clod_. learn then and be perfect. _zen_. i do beseech your honour pardon me, and take some skilfull one can hold you play, i am a fool. _clod_. i tell thee maid i love thee, let that word make thee happie, so far love thee, that though i may enjoy thee without ceremony, i will descend so low, to marry thee, me thinks i see the race that shall spring from us, some princes, some great souldiers. _zen_. i am afraid your honour's couzen'd in this calculation; for certain, i shall ne're have a child by you. _clod_. why? _zen_. because i must not think to marry you, i dare not sir, the step betwixt your honour, and my poor humble state. _clod_. i will descend to thee, and buoy thee up. _zen_. i'le sink to th' center first. why would your lordship marry, and confine that pleasure you ever have had freely cast upon you? take heed my lord, this marrying is a mad matter, lighter a pair of shackles will hang on you, and quieter a quartane feaver find you. if you wed me i must enjoy you only, your eyes must be called home, your thoughts in cages, to sing to no ears then but mine; your heart bound, the custom, that your youth was ever nurst in, must be forgot, i shall forget my duty else, and how that will appear-_clod_. wee'l talk of that more. _zen_. besides i tell ye, i am naturally, as all young women are, that shew like handsome, exceeding proud, being commended, monstrous. of an unquiet temper, seldom pleas'd, unless it be with infinite observance, which you were never bred to; once well angred, as every cross in us, provokes that passion, and like a sea, i roule, toss, and chafe a week after. and then all mischief i can think upon, abusing of your bed the least and poorest, i tell you what you'le finde, and in these fitts, this little beauty you are pleased to honour, will be so chang'd, so alter'd to an ugliness, to such a vizard, ten to one, i dye too, take't then upon my death you murder'd me. _clod_. away, away fool, why dost thou proclame these to prevent that in me, thou hast chosen in another? _zen_. him i have chosen, i can rule and master, temper to what i please, you are a great one of a strong will to bend, i dare not venture. be wise my lord, and say you were well counsel'd, take mony for my ransom, and forget me, 'twill be both safe, and noble for your honour, and wheresoever my fortunes shall conduct me, so worthy mentions i shall render of you, so vertuous and so fair. _clod_. you will not marrie me? _zen_. i do beseech your honour, be not angry at what i say, i cannot love ye, dare not; but set a ransom, for the flowr you covet. _clod_. no mony, nor no prayers, shall redeem that, not all the art you have. _zen_. set your own price sir. _clod_. goe to your wedding, never kneel to me, when that's done, you are mine, i will enjoy you: your tears do nothing, i will not lose my custom to cast upon my self an empires fortune. _zen_. my mind shall not pay this custom, cruel man. [_ex_. _clod_. your body will content me: i'le look for you. [_ex_. _enter_ charino, _and servants in blacks. covering the place with blacks_. _char_. strew all your withered flowers, your autumn sweets by the hot sun ravisht of bud and beauty thus round about her bride-bed, hang those blacks there the emblemes of her honour lost; all joy that leads a virgin to receive her lover, keep from this place, all fellow-maids that bless her, and blushing do unloose her zone, keep from her: no merry noise nor lusty songs be heard here, nor full cups crown'd with wine make the rooms giddy, this is no masque of mirth, but murdered honour. sing mournfully that sad epithalamion i gave thee now: and prethee let thy lute weep. song, dance. _enter_ rutilio. _rut_. how now, what livery's this? do you call this a wedding? this is more like a funeral. _char_. it is one, and my poor daughter going to her grave, to his most loath'd embraces that gapes for her. make the earles bed readie, is the marriage done sir? _rut_. yes they are knit; but must this slubberdegullion have her maiden-head now? [_char_.] there's no avoiding it. _rut_. and there's the scaffold where she must lose it. [_char_.] the bed sir. _rut_. no way to wipe his mouldy chaps? _char_. that we know. _rut_. to any honest well-deserving fellow, and 'twere but to a merry cobbler, i could sit still now, i love the game so well; but that this puckfist, this universal rutter--fare ye well sir; and if you have any good prayers, put 'em forward, there may be yet a remedie. _char_. i wish it, [_exit_ rut. and all my best devotions offer to it. _enter_ clodio, _and_ guard. _clod_. now is this tye dispatch'd? _char_. i think it be sir. _clod_. and my bed ready? _char_. there you may quickly find sir, such a loath'd preparation. _clod_. never grumble, nor fling a discontent upon my pleasure, it must and shall be done: give me some wine, and fill it till it leap upon my lips: [_wine_ here's to the foolish maidenhead you wot of, the toy i must take pains for. _char_. i beseech your lordship load not a fathers love. _clod_. pledge it _charino_, or by my life i'le make thee pledge thy last, and be sure she be a maid, a perfect virgin, (i will not have my expectation dull'd) or your old pate goes off. i am hot and fiery, and my bloud beats alarms through my body, and fancie high. you of my guard retire, and let me hear no noise about the lodging but musick and sweet ayres, now fetch your daughter, and bid the coy wench put on all her beauties, all her enticements, out-blush damask roses, and dim the breaking east with her bright crystals. i am all on fire, away. _char_. and i am frozen. [_exit_. _enter_ zenocia _with bow and quiver, an arrow bent_, arnoldo _and_ rutilio _after her, arm'd_. _zen_. come fearless on. _rut_. nay an i budge from thee beat me with durty sticks. _clod_. what masque is this? what pretty fancy to provoke me high? the beauteous huntress, fairer far, and sweeter; diana shewes an ethiop to this beauty protected by two virgin knights. _rut_. that's a lye, a loud one, if you knew as much as i do, the guard's dispers'd. _arn_. fortune i hope invites us. _clod_. i can no longer hold, she pulls my heart from me. _zen_. stand, and stand fixt, move not a foot, nor speak not, for if thou doest, upon this point thy death sits. thou miserable, base, and sordid lecher, thou scum of noble blood, repent and speedily, repent thy thousand thefts, from helpless virgins, their innocence betrayed to thy embraces. _arn_. the base dishonour, that thou doest to strangers, in glorying to abuse the laws of marriage, thy infamy thou hast flung upon thy country, in nourishing this black and barbarous custom. _clod_. my guard. _arn_. one word more, and thou diest. _rut_. one syllable that tends to any thing, but i beseech you, and as y'are gentlemen tender my case, and i'le thrust my javeling down thy throat. thou dog-whelp, thou, pox upon thee, what should i call thee, pompion, thou kiss my lady? thou scour her chamber-pot: thou have a maiden-head? a mottly coat, you great blind fool, farewel and be hang'd to ye, lose no time lady. _arn_. pray take your pleasure sir, and so we'l take our leaves. _zen_. we are determined, dye, before yield. _arn_. honour, and a fair grave. _zen_. before a lustful bed, so for our fortunes. _rut_. _du cat awhee_, good count, cry, prethee cry, o what a wench hast thou lost! cry you great booby. [_exe_. _enter_ charino. _clod_. and is she gone then, am i dishonoured thus, cozened and baffl'd? my guard there, no man answer? my guard i say, sirrah you knew of this plot; where are my guard? i'le have your life you villain, you politick old thief. _char_. heaven send her far enough, _enter guard_. and let me pay the ransom. _guard_. did your honour call us? _clod_. post every way, and presently recover the two strange gentlemen, and the fair lady. _guard_. this day was married sir? _clod_. the same. _guard_. we saw 'em. making with all main speed to th' port. _clod_. away villains. [_exit guard_. recover her, or i shall dye; deal truly, didst not thou know? _char_. by all that's good i did not. if your honour mean their flight, to say i grieve for that, will be to lye; you may handle me as you please. _clod_. be sure, with all the cruelty, with all the rigor, for thou hast rob'd me villain of a treasure. _enter guard_. how now? _guard_. they're all aboard, a bark rode ready for 'em, and now are under sail, and past recovery. _clod_. rig me a ship with all the speed that may be, i will not lose her: thou her most false father, shalt go along; and if i miss her, hear me, a whole day will i study to destroy thee. _char_. i shall be joyful of it; and so you'l find me. [_exeunt omnes_. _actus secundus. scena prima_. _enter_ manuel du sosa, _and_ guiomar. _man_. i hear and see too much of him, and that compels me madam, though unwillingly, to wish i had no uncles part in him, and much i fear, the comfort of a son you will not long enjoy. _gui_. 'tis not my fault, and therefore from his guilt my innocence cannot be tainted, since his fathers death, (peace to his soul) a mothers prayers and care were never wanting, in his education. his child-hood i pass o're, as being brought up under my wing; and growing ripe for study, i overcame the tenderness, and joy i had to look upon him, and provided the choicest masters, and of greatest name of _salamanca_, in all liberal arts. _man_. to train his youth up. i must witness that. _gui_. how there he prospered to the admiration of all that knew him, for a general scholar, being one of note, before he was a man, is still remembred in that _academy_, from thence i sent him to the emperours court, attended like his fathers son, and there maintain'd him, in such bravery and height, as did become a courtier. _man_. 'twas that spoil'd him, my nephew had been happy. the court's a school indeed, in which some few learn vertuous principles, but most forget what ever they brought thither good and honest. trifling is there in practice, serious actions are obsolete and out of use, my nephew had been a happy man, had he ne're known what's there in grace and fashion. _gui_. i have heard yet, that while he liv'd in court, the emperour took notice of his carriage and good parts, the grandees did not scorn his company, and of the greatest ladies he was held a compleat gentleman. _man_. he indeed daunc'd well; a turn o'th' toe, with a lofty trick or two, to argue nimbleness, and a strong back, will go far with a madam: 'tis most true, that he's an excellent scholar, and he knows it; an exact courtier, and he knows that too; he has fought thrice, and come off still with honour, which he forgets not. _gui_. nor have i much reason, to grieve his fortune that way. _man_. you are mistaken, prosperity does search a gentlemans temper, more than his adverse fortune: i have known many, and of rare parts from their success in private duels, rais'd up to such a pride, and so transform'd from what they were, that all that lov'd them truly, wish'd they had fallen in them. i need not write examples, in your son 'tis too apparent; for e're _don duarte_ made tryal of his valour, he indeed was admired for civil courtesie, but now he's swoln so high, out of his own assurance, of what he dares do, that he seeks occasions, unjust occasions, grounded on blind passion, ever to be in quarrels, and this makes him shunn'd of all fair societies. _gui_. would it were in my weak power to help it: i will use with my entreaties th' authority of a mother, as you may of an uncle, and enlarge it with your command, as being a governour to the great king in _lisbon. enter_ duarte _and his page_. _man_. here he comes. we are unseen, observe him. _dua_. boy. _page_. my lord. _dua_. what saith the _spanish_ captain that i struck, to my bold challenge? _page_. he refus'd to read it. _dua_. why didst not leave it there? _page_. i did my lord, but to no purpose, for he seems more willing to sit down with the wrongs, than to repair his honour by the sword; he knows too well, that from your lordship nothing can be got but more blows, and disgraces. _dua_. he's a wretch, a miserable wretch, and all my fury is lost upon him; holds the mask, appointed i'th' honour of _hippolyta_? _page_. 'tis broke off. _dua_. the reason? _page_. this was one, they heard your lordship was by the ladies choice to lead the dance, and therefore they, too well assur'd how far you would outshine 'em, gave it o're and said, they would not serve for foiles to set you off. _dua_. they at their best are such, and ever shall be where i appear. _man_. do you note his modesty? _dua_. but was there nothing else pretended? _page_. yes, young don _alonzo_, the great captains nephew, stood on comparisons. _dua_. with whom? _page_. with you, and openly profess'd that all precedence, his birth and state consider'd, was due to him, nor were your lordship to contend with one so far above you. _dua_. i look down upon him with such contempt and scorn, as on my slave, he's a name only, and all good in him he must derive from his great grandsires ashes, for had not their victorious acts bequeath'd his titles to him, and wrote on his forehead, this is a lord, he had liv'd unobserv'd by any man of mark, and died as one amongst the common route. compare with me? 'tis gyant-like ambition; i know him, and know my self, that man is truly noble, and he may justly call that worth his own, which his deserts have purchas'd, i could wish my birth were more obscure, my friends and kinsmen of lesser power, or that my provident father had been like to that riotous emperour that chose his belly for his only heir; for being of no family then, and poor my vertues wheresoe'r i liv'd, should make that kingdom my inheritance. _gui_. strange self love! _dua_. for if i studied the countries laws, i should so easily sound all their depth, and rise up such a wonder, that the pleaders, that now are in most practice and esteem, should starve for want of clients: if i travell'd, like wise _ulysses_ to see men and manners, i would return in act, more knowing, than _homer_ could fancy him; if a physician, so oft i would restore death-wounded men, that where i liv'd, _galen_ should not be nam'd, and he that joyn'd again the scatter'd limbs of torn _hippolytus_ should be forgotten. i could teach _ovid_ courtship, how to win a _julia_, and enjoy her, though her dower were all the sun gives light to: and for arms were the _persian_ host that drank up rivers, added to the _turks_ present powers, i could direct, command, and marshal them. _man_. and yet you know not to rule your self, you would not to a boy else like _plautus_ braggart boast thus. _dua_. all i speak, in act i can make good. _gui_. why then being master of such and so good parts do you destroy them, with self opinion, or like a rich miser, hoard up the treasures you possess, imparting nor to your self nor others, the use of them? they are to you but like inchanted viands, on which you seem to feed, yet pine with hunger; and those so rare perfections in my son which would make others happy, render me a wretched mother. _man_. you are too insolent. and those too many excellencies, that feed your pride, turn to a pleurisie, and kill that which should nourish vertue; dare you think all blessings are confer'd on you alone? y'are grosly cousen'd; there's no good in you, which others have not: are you a scholar? so are many, and as knowing: are you valiant? waste not that courage then in braules, but spend it in the wars, in service of your king and country. _dua_. yes, so i might be general, no man lives that's worthy to command me. _man_. sir, in _lisbon_ i am: and you shall know it; every hour i am troubled with complaints of your behaviour from men of all conditions, and all sexes. and my authority, which you presume will bear you out, in that you are my nephew, no longer shall protect you, for i vow though all that's past i pardon, i will punish the next fault with as much severity as if you were a stranger, rest assur'd on't. _gui_. and by that love you should bear, or that duty you owe a mother, once more i command you to cast this haughtiness off; which if you do, all that is mine, is yours, if not, expect my prayers, and vows, for your conversion only, but never means nor favour. [_ex_. manuel _and_ guiomar. _dua_. i am tutor'd as if i were a child still, the base peasants that fear, and envy my great worth, have done this; but i will find them out, i will o'boord get my disguise; i have too long been idle, nor will i curb my spirit, i was born free, and will pursue the course best liketh me. [_exeunt_. _enter_ leopold, sailers, _and_ zenocia. _leop_. divide the spoil amongst you, this fair captive i only challenge for my self. _sail_. you have won her and well deserve her: twenty years i have liv'd a burgess of the sea, and have been present at many a desperate fight, but never saw so small a bark with such incredible valour so long defended, and against such odds, and by two men scarce arm'd too. _leop_. 'twas a wonder. and yet the courage they exprest being taken, and their contempt of death wan more upon me than all they did, when they were free: me thinks i see them yet when they were brought aboard us, disarm'd and ready to be put in fetters how on the suddain, as if they had sworn never to taste the bread of servitude, both snatching up their swords, and from this virgin, taking a farewel only with their eyes, they leapt into the sea. _sail_. indeed 'twas rare. _leop_. it wrought so much on me, that but i fear'd the great ship that pursued us, our own safety hindring my charitable purpose to 'em, i would have took 'em up, and with their lives they should have had their liberties. _zen_. o too late, for they are lost, for ever lost. _leop_. take comfort 'tis not impossible, but that they live yet, for when they left the ships, they were within a league o'th' shore, and with such strength and cunning they swimming, did delude the rising billows, with one hand making way, and with the other, their bloudy swords advanced, threatning the sea-gods with war, unless they brought them safely off, that i am almost confident they live, and you again may see them. _zen_. in that hope i brook a wretched being, till i am made certain of their fortunes; but they dead, death hath so many doors to let out life, i will not long survive them. _leop_. hope the best, and let the courteous usage you have found, not usual in men of war perswade you to tell me your condition. _zen_. you know it, a captive, my fate and your power have made me, such i am now, but what i was it skills not: for they being dead, in whom i only live, i dare not challenge family, or country, and therefore sir enquire not, let it suffice, i am your servant, and a thankful servant (if you will call that so, which is but duty) i ever will be, and my honour safe, which nobly hitherto ye have preserv'd, no slavery can appear in such a form, which with a masculine constancy i will not boldly look on and suffer. _leop_. you mistake me: that you are made my prisoner, may prove the birth of your good fortune. i do find a winning language in your tongue and looks; nor can a suit by you mov'd be deni'd, and therefore of a prisoner you must be the victors advocate. _zen._ to whom? _leap._ a lady: in whom all graces that can perfect beauty are friendly met. i grant that you are fair: and had i not seen her before, perhaps i might have sought to you. _zen._ this i hear gladly. _leap._ to this incomparable lady i will give you, (yet being mine, you are already hers) and to serve her is more than to be free, at least i think so; and when you live with her, if you will please to think on him that brought you to such a happiness, for so her bounty will make you think her service, you shall ever make me at your devotion. _zen._ all i can do, rest you assur'd of. _leap._ at night i'le present you, till when i am your guard. _zen._ ever your servant. [_exeunt._ _enter_ arnoldo _and_ rutilio. _arn._ to what are we reserv'd? _rut._ troth 'tis uncertain, drowning we have scap'd miraculously, and stand fair for ought i know for hanging; mony we have none, nor e're are like to have, 'tis to be doubted: besides we are strangers, wondrous hungry strangers; and charity growing cold, and miracles ceasing, without a conjurers help, cannot find when we shall eat again. _arn._ these are no wants if put in ballance with _zenocias_ loss; in that alone all miseries are spoken: o my _rutilio_, when i think on her, and that which she may suffer, being a captive, then i could curse my self, almost those powers that send me from the fury of the ocean. _rut_. you have lost a wife indeed, a fair and chast one, two blessings, not found often in one woman; but she may be recovered, questionless the ship that took us was of _portugal_, and here in _lisbon_, by some means or other we may hear of her. _arn_. in that hope i live. _rut_. and so do i, but hope is a poor sallad to dine and sup with, after a two dayes fast too, have you no mony left? _arn_. not a denier. _rut_. nor any thing to pawn? 'tis now in fashion, having a mistress, sure you should not be without a neat historical shirt. _arn_. for shame talk not so poorly. _rut_. i must talk of that necessity prompts us to, for beg i cannot, nor am i made to creep in at a window, to filch to feed me, something must be done, and suddenly resolve on't. _enter_ zabulon _and a servant_. _arn_. what are these? _rut_. one by his habit is a _jew_. _zab_. no more: thou art sure that's he. _ser_. most certain. _zab_. how long is it since first she saw him? _ser_. some two hours. _zab_. be gone--let me alone to work him. [_exit_ ser. _rut_. how he eyes you! now he moves towards us, in the devils name what would he with us? _arn_. innocence is bold: nor can i fear. _zab_. that you are poor and strangers, i easily perceive. _rut_. but that you'l help us, or any of your tribe, we dare not hope sir. _zab_. why think you so? _rut_. because you are a _jew_ sir, and courtesies come sooner from the devil than any of your nation. _zab_. we are men, and have like you, compassion when we find fit subjects for our bounty, and for proof that we dare give, and freely, not to you sir, pray spare your pains, there's gold, stand not amaz'd, 'tis current i assure you. _rut_. take it man, sure thy good angel is a _jew_, and comes in his own shape to help thee: i could wish now mine would appear too like a _turk_. _arn_. i thank you, but yet must tell you, if this be the prologue to any bad act, you would have me practise, i must not take it. _zab_. this is but the earnest of [t]hat which is to follow, and the bond which you must seal to for't, is your advancement, fortune with all that's in her power to give, offers her self up to you: entertain her, and that which princes have kneel'd for in vain presents it self to you. _arn_. 'tis above wonder. _zab_. but far beneath the truth, in my relation of what you shall possess, if you emb[r]ace it. there is an hour in each mans life appointed to make his happiness if then he seize it, and this, (in which, beyond all expectation, you are invited to your good) is yours, if you dare follow me, so, if not, hereafter expect not the like offer. [_exit_. _arn_. 'tis no vision. _rut_. 'tis gold i'm sure. _arn_. we must like brothers share; there's for you. _rut_. by this light i'm glad i have it: there are few gallants, (for men may be such and yet want gold, yea and sometimes silver) but would receive such favours from the devil, though he appear'd like a broker, and demanded sixty i'th' hundred. _arn_. wherefore should i fear some plot upon my life? 'tis now to me not worth the keeping. i will follow him, farewel, wish me good fortune, we shall meet again i doubt not. _rut_. or i'le ne're trust _jew_ more, [_exit_ arnoldo. nor christian for his sake--plague o' my stars, how long might i have walkt without a cloak, before i should have met with such a fortune? we elder brothers, though we are proper men, _ha' not the luck_, ha' too much beard, that spoils us; the smooth chin carries all: what's here to do now? [_manet_ rutilio. _enter_ duarte, alonzo, _and a_ page. _dua_. i'le take you as i find you. _alon_. that were base--you see i am unarm'd. _dua_. out with your bodkin your pocket-dagger, your steletto, out with it, or by this hand i'le kill you: such as you are have studied the undoing of poor cutlers, and made all manly weapons out of fashion: you carry poniards to murder men, yet dare not wear a sword to guard your honour. _rut_. that's true indeed: upon my life this gallant is brib'd to repeal banisht swords. _dua_. i'le shew you the difference now between a _spanish_ rapier and your pure pisa. _alon_. let me fetch a sword, upon mine honour i'le return. _dua._ not so sir. _alon._ or lend me yours i pray you, and take this. _rut._ to be disgrac'd as you are, no i thank you spight of the fashion, while i live, i am instructed to go arm'd: what folly 'tis for you that are a man, to put your self into your enemies mercy. _dua._ yield it quickly or i'le cut off your hand, and now disgrace you, thus kick and baffle you: as you like this, you may again prefer complaints against me to my uncle and my mother, and then think to make it good with a poniard. _alon._ i am paid for being of the fashion. _dua._ get a sword, then if you dare redeem your reputation: you know i am easily found: i'le add this to it to put you in mind. _rut._ you are too insolent, and do insult too much on the advantage of that which your unequal weapon gave you, more than your valour. _dua._ this to me, you peasant? thou art not worthy of my foot poor fellow, 'tis scorn, not pity, makes me give thee life: kneel down and thank me for't: how, do you stare? _rut._ i have a sword sir, you shall find, a good one; this is no stabbing guard. _dua._ wert thou thrice arm'd, thus yet i durst attempt thee. _rut._ then have at you, [_fight._ i scorn to take blows. _dua._ o i am slain. [_falls._ _page._ help! murther, murther! _alon._ shift for your self you are dead else, you have kill'd the governou[r]s nephew. _page._ raise the streets there. _alon._ if once you are beset you cannot scape, will you betray your self? _rut_. undone for ever. [_exit_ rut. _and_ alonzo. _enter_ officers. _1 off_. who makes this out-cry? _page_. o my lord is murdered; this way he took, make after him, help help there. [_exit_ page. _2 offi_. 'tis _don duarte_. _1 offi_. pride has got a fall, he was still in quarrels, scorn'd us peace-makers, and all our bill-authority, now h'as paid for't. you ha' met with your match sir now, bring off his body and bear it to the governour. some pursue the murderer; yet if he scape, it skills not; were i a prince, i would reward him for't, he has rid the city of a turbulent beast, there's few will pity him: but for his mother i truly grieve indeed, she's a good lady. [_exeunt_. _enter_ guiomar _and_ servants. _gui_. he's not i'th' house? _ser. no madam. _gui_. haste and seek him, go all and every where, pie not to bed till you return him, take away the lights too, the moon lends me too much, to find my fears and those devotions i am to pay are written in my heart, not in this book, [_kneel_. and i shall read them there without a taper. [_ex_. ser. _enter_ rutilio. _rut_. i am pursued; all the ports are stopt too; not any hope to escape, behind, before me, on either side i am beset, cursed fortune my enemie on the sea, and on the land too, redeem'd from one affliction to another: would i had made the greedy waves my tomb and dyed obscure, and innocent, not as nero smear'd o're with blood. whither have my fears brought me? i am got into a house, the doors all open, this, by the largeness of the room, the hangings, and other rich adornments, glistring through the sable masque of night, sayes it belongs to one of means and rank: no servant stirring? murmur nor whisper? _guio._ who's that? _rut._ by the voice, this is a woman. _guio._ _stephana, jaspe, julia,_ who waits there? _rut._ 'tis the lady of the house, i'le flie to her protection. _guio._ speak, what are you? _rut._ of all that ever breath'd, a man most wretched. _guio._ i am sure you are a man of most ill manners, you could not with so little reverence else press to my private chamber. whither would you, or what do you seek for? _rut._ gracious woman hear me; i am a stranger, and in that i answer all your demands, a most unfortunate stranger, that call'd unto it by my enemies pride, have left him dead i'th' streets, justice pursues me, and for that life i took unwillingly, and in a fair defence, i must lose mine, unless you in your charity protect me. your house is now my sanctuary, and the altar, i gladly would take hold of your sweet mercy. by all that's dear unto you, by your vertues, and by your innocence, that needs no forgiveness, take pity on me. _guio._ are you a _castillian_? _rut._ no madam, _italy_ claims my birth. _guio._ i ask not with purpose to betray you, if you were ten thousand times a spaniard, the nation we portugals most hate, i yet would save you if it lay in my power: lift up these hangings; behind my beds head there's a hollow place, into which enter; so, but from this stir not if the officers come, as you expect they will doe, i know they owe such reverence to my lodgings, that they will easily give credit to me and search no further. _rut._ the blest saints pay for me the infinite debt i owe you. _guio._ how he quakes! thus far i feel his heart beat, be of comfort, once more i give my promise for your safety, all men are subject to such accidents, especially the valiant; and who knows not, but that the charity i afford this stranger my only son else where may stand in need of? _enter officers, and servants, with the body of duarte--page._ _1 ser._ now madam, if your wisedom ever could raise up defences against floods of sorrow that haste to overwhelm you, make true use of your great discretion. _2 ser._ your only son my lord _duart's_ slain. _1 off._ his murtherer, pursued by us was by a boy discovered entring your house, and that induced us to press into it for his apprehension. _guio._ oh! _1 ser._ sure her heart is broke. _off._ madam. _guio._ stand off. my sorrow is so dear and pretious to me, that you must not partake it, suffer it like wounds that do breed inward to dispatch me. o my _duart_, such an end as this thy pride long since did prophesie; thou art dead, and to encrease my misery, thy sad mother must make a wilfull shipwrack of her vow or thou fall unreveng'd. my soul's divided, and piety to a son, and true performance of hospitable duties to my guest, that are to others angels, are my furies. vengeance knocks at my heart, but my word given denies the entrance, is no _medium_ left, but that i must protect the murderer, or suffer in that faith he made his altar? motherly love give place, the fault made this way, to keep a vow, to which high heaven is witness, heaven may be pleas'd to pardon. _enter_ manuel, doctors, surgeons. _man._ 'tis too late, hee's gone, past all recovery: now reproof were but unseasonable when i should give comfort, and yet remember sister. _guio._ o forbear, search for the murtherer, and remove the body, and as you think fit, give it burial. wretch that i am, uncapable of all comfort, and therefore i intreat my friends and kinsfolk, and you my lord, for some space to forbear your courteous visitations. _man._ we obey you. [_exeunt omnes with the body._ manet guiomar. _rut._ my spirits come back, and now despair resigns her place again to hope. _guio._ what ere thou art to whom i have given means of life, to witness with what religion i have kept my promise, come fearless forth, but let thy face be cover'd, that i hereafter be not forc't to know thee, for motherly affection may return my vow once paid to heaven. thou hast taken from me the respiration of my heart, the light of my swoln eyes, in his life that sustain'd me: yet my word given to save you, i make good, because what you did, was not done with malice, you are not known, there is no mark about you that can discover you; let not fear betray you. with all convenient speed you can, flie from me that i may never see you; and that want of means may be no let unto your journie, there are a hundred crownes: you are at the door now, and so farewell for ever. _rut._ let me first fall before your feet, and on them pay the duty i owe your goodness; next all blessings to you, and heaven restore the joyes i have bereft you, with full increase hereafter, living be the goddess stil'd of hospitalitie. _actus tertius. scena prima._ _enter leopold, and zenocia._ _leo._ fling off these sullen clouds, you are enter'd now into a house of joy and happiness, i have prepar'd a blessing for ye. _zen._ thank ye, my state would rather ask a curse. _leo._ you are peevish and know not when ye are friended, i have us'd those means, the lady of this house, the noble lady, will take ye as her own, and use ye graciously: make much of what you are, mistris of that beautie, and expose it not to such betraying sorrows, when ye are old, and all those sweets hang wither'd, _enter_ servant. then sit and sigh. _zen._ my _autumn_ is not far off. _leo._ have you told your lady? _ser._ yes sir, i have told her both of your noble service, and your present, which she accepts. _leo._ i should be blest to see her. _ser._ that now you cannot doe: she keeps the chamber not well dispos'd; and has denied all visits, the maid i have in charge to receive from ye, so please you render her. _leo._ with all my service, but fain i would have seen. _ser._ 'tis but your patience; no doubt she cannot but remember nobly. _leo._ these three years i have lov'd this scornfull lady, and follow'd her with all the truth of service, in all which time, but twice she has honour'd me with sight of her blest beauty: when you please sir, you may receive your charge, and tell your lady; a gentleman whose life is only dedicated to her commands, kisses her beauteous hands; and faire-one, now your help, you may remember the honest courtesies, since you are mine, i ever did your modestie: you shall be near her, and if sometimes you name my service to her, and tell her with what nobleness i love her, 'twill be a gratitude i shall remember. _zen._ what in my poor power lyes, so it be honest. _leo._ i ask no more. _ser._ you must along with me (fair.) _leo._ and so i leave you two: but a fortune too happy for my fate: you shall enjoy her. _scena secunda._ _enter zabulon and servants._ _zab._ be quick, be quick, out with the banquet there, these scents are dull; cast richer on, and fuller; scent every place, where have you plac'd the musick? _ser._ here they stand ready sir. _zab._ 'tis well, be sure the wines be lusty, high, and full of spirit, and amber'd all. _ser._ they are. _zab._ give fair attendance. in the best trim, and state, make ready all. i shall come presently again. [_banquet set forth. exit._ _2 ser._ we shall sir, what preparation's this? some new device my lady has in hand. _1 ser._ o, prosper it as long as it carries good wine in the mouth, and good meat with it, where are all the rest? _2 ser._ they are ready to attend. [_musick._ _1 ser._ sure some great person, they would not make this hurry else. _2 ser._ hark the musick. _enter_ zabulon, _and_ arnoldo. it will appear now certain, here it comes. now to our places. _arn._ whither will he lead me? what invitation's this? to what new end are these fair preparations? a rich banquet, musick, and every place stuck with adornment, fit for a princes welcome; what new game has fortune now prepar'd to shew me happy? and then again to sink me? 'tis no illusion, mine eyes are not deceiv'd, all these are reall; what wealth and state! _zab._ will you sit down and eat sir? these carry little wonder, they are usual; but you shall see, if you be wise to observe it, that that will strike dead, strike with amazement, then if you be a man: this fair health to you. _ar._ what shall i see? i pledge ye sir, i was never so buried in amazement-_zab._ you are so still: drink freely. _ar._ the very wines are admirable: good sir, give me leave to ask this question, for what great worthy man are these prepar'd? and why do you bring me hither? _zab._ they are for you, sir; and under-value not the worth you carry, you are that worthy man: think well of these, they shall be more, and greater. _ar._ well, blind fortune thou hast the prettiest changes when thou art pleas'd, to play thy game out wantonly-_zab._ come be lusty, and awake your spirits. [_cease musick._ _ar._ good sir, do not wake me. for willingly i would dye in this dream, pray whose servants are all these that attend here? _zab._ they are yours; they wait on you. _ar._ i never yet remember i kept such faces, nor that i was ever able to maintain so many. _zab._ now you are, and shall be. _ar._ you'l say this house is mine too? _zab._ say it? swear it. _ar._ and all this wealth? _zab._ this is the least you see sir. _ar._ why, where has this been hid these thirtie years? for certainly i never found i was wealthie till this hour, never dream'd of house, and servants. i had thought i had been a younger brother, a poor gent. i may eat boldly then. _zab._ 'tis prepar'd for ye. _ar._ the taste is perfect, and most delicate: but why for me? give me some wine, i do drink; i feel it sensibly, and i am here, here in this glorious place: i am bravely us'd too, good gentle sir, give me leave to think a little, for either i am much abus'd-_zab._ strike musick and sing that lusty song. [_musick. song._ _ar._ bewitching harmony! sure i am turn'd into another creature. _enter_ hippolyta. happy and blest, _arnoldo_ was unfortunate; ha! bless mine eyes; what pretious piece of nature to pose the world? _zab._ i told you, you would see that would darken these poor preparations; what think ye now? nay rise not, 'tis no vision. _ar._ 'tis more: 'tis miracle. _hip._ you are welcom sir. _ar._ it speaks, and entertains me still more glorious; she is warm, and this is flesh here: how she stirs me! bless me what stars are there? _hip._ may i sit near ye? _ar._ no, you are too pure an object to behold, too excellent to look upon, and live; i must remove. _zab._ she is a woman sir, fy, what faint heart is this? _arn._ the house of wonder. _zab._ do not you think your self now truly happy? you have the abstract of all sweetness by ye, the precious wealth youth labours to arrive at; nor is she less in honour, than in beauty, _ferrara's_ royal duke is proud to call her his best, his noblest, and most happy sister, fortune has made her mistress of herself, wealthy, and wise, without a power to sway her, wonder of _italy_, of all hearts mistress. _arn._ and all this is-_zab._ _hippolyta_ the beauteous. _hip._ you are a poor relator of my fortunes, too weak a chronicle to speak my blessings, and leave out that essential part of story i am most high and happy in, most fortunate, the acquaintance, and the noble fellowship of this fair gentleman: pray ye do not wonder, nor hold it strange to hear a handsome lady speak freely to ye: with your fair leave and courtesie i will sit by ye. _arn._ i know not what to answer, nor where i am, nor to what end consider; why do you use me thus? _hip._ are ye angry sir, because ye are entertain'd with all humanity? freely and nobly us'd? _arn._ no gentle lady, that were uncivil, but it much amazes me a stranger, and a man of no desert should find such floods of courtesie. _hip._ i love ye, i honour ye, the first and best of all men, and where that fair opinion leads, 'tis usual these trifles that but serve to set off, follow. i would not have you proud now, nor disdainful because i say i love ye, though i swear it, nor think it a stale favour i fling on ye, though ye be handsome, and the only man i must confess i ever fixt mine eye on, and bring along all promises that please us, yet i should hate ye then, despise ye, scorn ye, and with as much contempt pursue your person, as now i do with love. but you are wiser, at least i think, more master of your fortune, and so i drink your health. _arn._ hold fast good honesty, i am a lost man else. _hip._ now you may kiss me, 'tis the first kiss, i ever askt, i swear to ye. _arn._ that i dare do sweet lady. _hip._ you do it well too; you are a master sir, that makes you coy. _arn._ would you would send your people off. _hip._ well thought on. wait all without. [_exit_ zab. _and servants._ _zab._ i hope she is pleas'd throughly. _hip._ why stand ye still? here's no man to detect ye, my people are gone off: come, come, leave conjuring, the spirit you would raise, is here already, look boldly on me. _arn._ what would you have me do? _hip._ o most unmanly question! have you do? is't possible your years should want a tutor? i'le teach ye: come, embrace me. _arn._ fye stand off; and give me leave, more now than e're, to wonder, a building of so goodly a proportion, outwardly all exact, the frame of heaven, should hide within so base inhabitants? you are as fair, as if the morning bare ye, imagination never made a sweeter; can it be possible this frame should suffer, and built on slight affections, fright the viewer? be excellent in all, as you are outward, the worthy mistress of those many blessings heaven has bestowed, make 'em appear still nobler, because they are trusted to a weaker keeper. would ye have me love ye? _hip._ yes. _arn._ not for your beauty; though i confess, it blowes the first fire in us, time as he passes by, puts out that sparkle; nor for your wealth, although the world kneel to it, and make it all addition to a woman, fortune that ruines all, makes that his conquest; be honest, and be vertuous, i'le admire ye, at least be wise, and where ye lay these nets, strow over 'em a little modesty, 'twill well become your cause, and catch more fools. _hip._ could any one that lov'd this wholesome counsel but love the giver more? you make me fonder: you have a vertuous mind, i want that ornament; is it a sin i covet to enjoy ye? if ye imagine i am too free a lover, and act that part belongs to you, i am silent: mine eyes shall speak my blushes, parly with ye; i will not touch your hand, but with a tremble fitting a vestal nun; not long to kiss ye, but gently as the air, and undiscern'd too, i'le steal it thus: i'le walk your shadow by ye, so still and silent that it shall be equal, to put me off, as that, and when i covet, to give such toyes as these-_arn._ a new temptation-_hip._ thus like the lazie minutes will i drop 'em, which past once are forgotten. _arn._ excellent vice! _hip._ will ye be won? look stedfastly upon me, look manly, take a mans affections to you; young women, in the old world were not wont, sir, to hang out gaudy bushes for their beauties, to talk themselves into young mens affections; how cold and dull you are! _arn._ how i stagger! she is wise, as fair; but 'tis a wicked wisdom; i'le choak before i yield. _hip._ who waits within there? [zabulon _within._ make ready the green chamber. _zab._ it shall be madam. _arn._ i am afraid she will injoy me indeed. _hip._ what musick do ye love? _arn._ a modest tongue. _hip._ we'l have enough of that: fye, fye, how lumpish! in a young ladyes arms thus dull? _arn._ for heaven sake profess a little goodness. _hip._ of what country? _arn._ i am of _rome_. _hip._ nay then i know you mock me, the _italians_ are not frighted with such bug-bears, prethee go in. _arn._ i am not well. _hip._ i'le make thee, i'le kiss thee well. _arn._ i am not sick of that sore. _hip._ upon my conscience, i must ravish thee, i shall be famous for the first example: with this i'le tye ye first, then try your strength sir. _arn._ my strength? away base woman, i abhor thee. i am not caught with stales, disease dwell with thee. [_exit._ _hip._ are ye so quick? and have i lost my wishes? hoe, _zabulon_; my servants. _enter_ zabulon _and_ servants. _zab._ call'd ye madam? _hip._ is all that beauty scorned, so many su'd for; so many princes? by a stranger too? must i endure this? _zab._ where's the gentleman? _hip._ go presently, pursue the stranger, _zabulon_. he has broke from me, jewels i have given him: charge him with theft: he has stoln my love, my freedome, draw him before the governour, imprison him, why dost thou stay? _zab._ i'le teach him a new dance, for playing fast and loose with such a lady. come fellows, come: i'le execute your anger, and to the full. _hip._ his scorn shall feel my vengeance.- [_exeunt._ _scena tertia._ _enter_ sulpicia _and_ jaques. _sul._ shall i never see a lusty man again? _ja._ faith mistress you do so over-labour 'em when you have 'em, and so dry-founder 'em, they cannot last. _sul._ where's the _french_-man? _ja._ alas, he's all to fitters, and lyes, taking the height of his fortune with a syringe. he's chin'd, he's chin'd good man, he is a mourner. _sul._ what's become of the _dane_? _ja._ who? goldy-locks? he's foul i'th' touch-hole; and recoils again, the main spring's weaken'd that holds up his cock, he lies at the sign of the _sun_, to be new breech'd. _sul._ the rutter too, is gone. _ja._ o that was a brave rascal, he would labour like a thrasher: but alas what thing can ever last? he has been ill mew'd, and drawn too soon; i have seen him in the hospital. _sul._ there was an _english_-man. _ja._ i there was an _english_-man; you'l scant find any now, to make that name good: there were those _english_ that were men indeed, and would perform like men, but now they are vanisht: they are so taken up in their own country, and so beaten of their speed by their own women, when they come here, they draw their legs like hackneys: drink, and their own devices have undone 'em. _sul._ i must have one that's strong, no life in _lisbon_ else, perfect and young: my custom with young ladies, and high fed city dames, will fall, and break else. i want my self too, in mine age to nourish me: they are all sunk i mantain'd: now what's this business, what goodly fellow's that? _enter_ rutilio _and_ officers. _rut._ why do you drag me? pox o' your justice; let me loose. _1 offi._ not so sir. _rut._ cannot a man fall into one of your drunken cellars, and venture the breaking on's neck, your trap-doors open, but he must be us'd thus rascally? _1 offi._ what made you wandring so late i'th' night? you know that is imprisonment. _rut._ may be i walk in my sleep. _2 offi._ may be we'l walk ye. what made you wandring sir, into that vault where all the city store, and the munition lay? _rut._ i fell into it by chance, i broke my shins for't: your worships feel not that: i knockt my head against a hundred posts, would you had had it. cannot i break my neck in my own defence? _2 offi._ this will not serve: you cannot put it off so, your coming thither was to play the villain, to fire the powder, to blow up that part o'th' city. _rut._ yes, with my nose: why were the trap-doors open? might not you fall, or you, had you gone that way? i thought your city had sunk. _1 offi._ you did your best sir, we must presume, to help it into th' air, if you call that sinking: we have told you what's the law, he that is taken there, unless a magistrate, and have command in that place, presently if there be nothing found apparent near him worthy his torture, or his present death, must either pay his fine for his presumption, (which is six hundred duckets) or for six years tug at an oar i'th' gallies: will ye walk sir, for we presume you cannot pay the penalty. _rut._ row in the gallies, after all this mischief? _2 offi._ may be you were drunk, they'l keep you sober there. _rut._ tug at an oar? you are not arrant rascals, to catch me in a pit-fall, and betray me? _sul._ a lusty minded man. _ja._ a wondrous able. _sul._ pray gentlemen, allow me but that liberty to speak a few words with your prisoner, and i shall thank you. _1 offi._ take your pleasure lady. _sul._ what would you give that woman should redeem ye, redeem ye from this slavery? _rut._ besides my service i would give her my whole self, i would be her vassal. _sul._ she has reason to expect as much, considering the great sum she pays for't, yet take comfort, what ye shall do to merit this, is easie, and i will be the woman shall befriend ye, 'tis but to entertain some handsome ladies, and young fair gentlewomen: you guess the way: but giving of your mind-_rut._ i am excellent at it: you cannot pick out such another living. i understand ye: is't not thus? _sul._ ye have it. _rut._ bring me a hundred of 'em: i'le dispatch 'em. i will be none but yours: should another offer another way to redeem me, i should scorn it. what women you shall please: i am monstrous lusty: not to be taken down: would you have children? i'le get you those as fast, and thick as flie-blows. _sul._ i admire him: wonder at him! _rut._ hark ye lady, you may require sometimes-_sul._ i by my faith. _rut._ and you shall have it by my faith, and handsomly: this old cat will suck shrewdly: you have no daughters? i flye at all: now am i in my kingdom. tug at an oar? no, tug in a feather-bed, with good warm caudles; hang your bread and water, i'le make you young again, believe that lady. i will so frubbish you. _sul._ come, follow officers, this gentleman is free: i'le pay the duckets. _rut._ and when you catch me in your city-powdring-tub again, boil me with cabbidge. _1 offi._ you are both warn'd and arm'd sir. [_exeunt._ _scena quarta._ _enter_ leopold, hippolyta, zenocia. _zen._ will your ladyship wear this dressing? _hip._ leave thy prating: i care not what i wear. _zen._ yet 'tis my duty to know your pleasure, and my worst affliction to see you discontented. _hip._ weeping too? prethee forgive me: i am much distemper'd, and speak i know not what: to make thee amends the gown that i wore yesterday, is thine; let it alone awhile. _leo._ now you perceive, and taste her bounty. _zen._ much above my merit. _leo._ but have you not yet found a happy time to move for me. _zen._ i have watched all occasions, but hitherto, without success: yet doubt not but i'le embrace the first means. _leo._ do, and prosper: excellent creature, whose perfections make even sorrow lovely, if your frowns thus take me, what would your smiles doe? _hip._ pox o' this stale courtship: if i have any power. _leo._ i am commanded, obedience is the lovers sacrifice which i pay gladly. _hip._ to be forc'd to wooe, being a woman, could not but torment me, but bringing for my advocates, youth and beauty, set off with wealth, and then to be deni'd too do's comprehend all tortures. they flatter'd me, that said my looks were charms, my touches fetters, my locks soft chains, to bind the arms of princes, and make them in that wish'd for bondage, happy. i am like others of a coarser feature, as weak to allure, but in my dotage, stronger: i am no _circe_; he, more than _ulysses_, scorns all my offer'd bounties, slights my favours, and, as i were some new egyptian, flyes me, leaving no pawn, but my own shame behind him. but he shall finde, that in my fell revenge, i am a woman: one that never pardons the rude contemner of her proffered sweetness. _enter_ zabulon. _zab._ madam, 'tis done. _hip._ what's done? _zab._ the uncivill stranger is at your suite arrested. _hip._ 'tis well handled. _zab._ and under guard sent to the governour, with whom my testimony, and the favour he bears your ladiship, have so prevail'd that he is sentenc'd. _hip._ how? _zab._ to lose his head. _hip._ is that the means to quench the scorching heat of my inrag'd desires? must innocence suffer, 'cause i am faulty? or is my love so fatall that of necessity it must destroy the object it most longs for? dull _hippolyta_, to think that injuries could make way for love, when courtesies were despis'd: that by his death thou shouldst gain that, which only thou canst hope for while he is living: my honour's at the stake now, and cannot be preserv'd, unless he perish, the enjoying of the thing i love, i ever have priz'd above my fame: why doubt i now then? one only way is left me, to redeem all: make ready my caroch. _leo._ what will you madam? _hip._ and yet i am impatient of such stay: bind up my hair: fye, fye, while that is doing the law may seise his life: thus as i am then, not like _hippolyta_, but a _bacchanal_ my frantique love transports me. [_exit._ _leo._ sure she's distracted. _zab._ pray you follow her: i will along with you: i more than ghess the cause: women that love are most uncertain, and one minute crave, what in another they refuse to have. [_exit._ _scena quinta._ _enter_ clodio, charino. _clo._ assure thy self _charino_, i am alter'd from what i was; the tempests we have met with in our uncertain voyage, were smooth gales compar'd to those, the memory of my lusts rais'd in my conscience: and if ere again i live to see _zenocia_, i will sue, and seek to her as a lover, and a servant, and not command affection, like a tyrant. _char._ in hearing this, you make me young again, and heaven, it seems, favouring this good change in you in setting of a period to our dangers gives us fair hopes to find that here in _lisbon_ which hitherto in vain we long have sought for. i have receiv'd assur'd intelligence, such strangers have been seen here: and though yet i cannot learn their fortunes, nor the place of their abode, i have a soul presages a fortunate event here. _clo._ there have pass'd a mutual enterchange of courtesies between me, and the governour; therefore boldly we may presume of him, and of his power if we finde cause to use them, otherwise i would not be known here, and these disguises will keep us from discovery. _enter_ manuel, doctor, arnoldo, guard. _char._ what are these? _clo._ the governour: with him my rival, bound. _char._ for certain 'tis _arnoldo_. _clo._ let's attend what the success will be. _mar._ is't possible there should be hope of his recovery, his wounds so many and so deadly? _doct._ so they appear'd at first, but the blood stop'd, his trance forsook him, and on better search we found they were not mortal. _man._ use all care to perfect this unhop'd for cure: that done propose your own rewards: and till you shall hear farther from me, for some ends i have, conceal it from his mother. _doct._ wee'l not fail sir. [_exit._ _man._ you still stand confident on your innocence. _arn._ it is my best and last guard, which i will not leave, to relye on your uncertain mercy. _enter_ hippolyta, zabulon, leopold, zenocia, 2 servants. _hip._ who bad you follow me! goe home, and you sir, as you respect me, goe with her. _arn._ _zenocia_! and in her house a servant! _char._ 'tis my daughter. _clo._ my love? contain your joy, observe the sequel. [_zen. passes._ _man._ fye madam, how undecent 'tis for you, so far unlike your self to bee seen thus in th' open streets? why do you kneel? pray you rise, i am acquainted with the wrong, and loss you have sustain'd, and the delinquent now stands ready for his punishment. _hip._ let it fall, sir, on the offender: he is innocent, and most unworthy of these bonds he wears, but i made up of guilt. _man._ what strange turn's this? _leo._ this was my prisoner once. _hip._ if chastity in a young man, and tempted to the height too did ere deserve reward, or admiration, he justly may claim both. love to his person (or if you please give it a fouler name) compel'd me first to train him to my house, all engines i rais'd there to shake his vertue, which in the assault were useless; he unmov'd still as if he had no part of humane frailty. against the nature of my sex, almost i plaid the ravisher. you might have seen in our contention, young _apollo_ fly and love-sick _daphne_ follow, all arts failing, by flight he wan the victory, breaking from my scorn'd embraces: the repulse (in women unsufferable) invited me to practise a means to be reveng'd: and from this grew his accusation, and the abuse of your still equall justice: my rage ever thanks heaven, though wanton, i found not my self so far engag'd to hell, to prosecute to the death what i had plotted, for that love that made me first desire him, then accuse him, commands me with the hazard of my self first to entreat his pardon, then acquit him. _man._ what ere you are, so much i love your vertue, that i desire your friendship: do you unloose him from those bonds, you are worthy of: your repentance makes part of satisfaction; yet i must severely reprehend you. _leo._ i am made a stale on all parts: but this fellow shall pay dearly for her favour. _arn._ my life's so full of various changes, that i now despair of any certain port; one trouble ending, a new, and worse succeeds it: what should _zenocia_ do in this womans house? can chastity and hot lust dwell together without infection? i would not be or jealous, or secure, yet something must be done, to sound the depth on't: that she lives is my bliss, but living there, a hell of torments; there's no way to her in whom i live, but by this door, through which to me 'tis death to enter, yet i must, and will make tryal. _man._ let me hear no more of these devices, lady: this i pardon, and at your intercession i forgive your instrument the jew too: get you home. the hundred thousand crowns you lent the city towards the setting forth of the last navy bound for the islands, was a good then, which i ballance with your ill now. _char._ now sir, to him, you know my daughter needs it. _hip._ let me take a farewell with mine eye, sir, though my lip be barr'd the ceremonie, courtesie and custom too allows of. _arn._ gentle madam, i neither am so cold, nor so ill bred but that i dare receive it: you are unguarded, and let me tell you that i am asham'd of my late rudeness, and would gladly therefore if you please to accept my ready service wait on you to your house. _hip._ above my hope: sir, if an angel were to be my convoy, he should not be more welcom.- [_ex._ arn. _and_ hip. _clo._ now you know me. _man._ yes sir, and honour you: ever remembring your many bounties, being ambitious only to give you cause to say by some one service that i am not ungratefull. _clod._ 'tis now offer'd: i have a suit to you, and an easie one, which e're long you shall know. _man._ when you think fit sir, and then as a command i will receive it, till when, most welcom: you are welcom too sir, 'tis spoken from the heart, and therefore needs not much protestation: at your better leisure i will enquire the cause that brought you hither: in the mean time serve you. _clod._ you out-doe me sir. [_exeunt._ _actus quartus. scena prima._ _enter_ duarte, doctor. _dua._ you have bestow'd on me a second life, for which i live your creature, and have better'd what nature fram'd unperfect, my first being insolent pride made monstrous; but this later in learning me to know my self, hath taught me not to wrong others. _doct._ then we live indeed, when we can goe to rest without alarm given every minute to a guilt-sick conscience to keep us waking, and rise in the morning secure in being innocent: but when in the remembrance of our worser actions we ever bear about us whips and furies, to make the day a night of sorrow to us, even life's a burthen. _dua._ i have found and felt it; but will endeavour having first made peace with those intestine enemies my rude passions, to be so with man-kind: but worthy doctor, pray if you can resolve me; was the gentleman that left me dead, ere brought unto his tryal? _doct._ not known, nor apprehended. _dua._ that's my grief. _doct._ why, do you wish he had been punished? _dua._ no, the stream of my swoln sorrow runs not that way: for could i find him, as i vow to heaven it shall be my first care to seek him out, i would with thanks acknowledge that his sword, in opening my veins, which proud bloud poison'd, gave the first symptoms of true health. _doct._ 'tis in you a christian resolution: that you live is by the governours, your uncles charge as yet conceal'd. and though a sons loss never was solemniz'd with more tears of true sorrow than have been paid by your unequal'd mother for your supposed death, she's not acquainted with your recovery. _dua._ for some few dayes pray let her so continue: thus disguis'd i may abroad unknown. _doct._ without suspicion of being discovered. _dua._ i am confident no moisture sooner dies than womens tears, and therefore though i know my mother vertuous, yet being one of that frail sex i purpose her farther tryal. _doct._ that as you think fit--i'le not betray you. _dua._ to find out this stranger this true physician of my mind and manners were such a blessing. he seem'd poor, and may perhaps be now in want; would i could find him. the innes i'le search first, then the publick stewes; he was of _italy_, and that country breeds not precisians that way, but hot libertines; and such the most are: 'tis but a little travail: i am unfurnisht too, pray mr. doctor, can you supply me? _doct._ with what summ you please. _dua._ i will not be long absent. _doct._ that i wish too; for till you have more strength, i would not have you to be too bold. _dua._ fear not, i will be carefull. [_exeunt._ _enter_ leopold, zabulon, bravo. _zab._ i have brought him sir, a fellow that will do it though hell stood in his way, ever provided you pay him for't. _leop._ he has a strange aspect, and looks much like the figure of a hang-man in a table of the passion. _zab._ he transcends all precedents, believe it, a flesh'd ruffian, that hath so often taken the strappado, that 'tis to him but as a lofty trick is to a tumbler: he hath perused too all dungeons in _portu[g]al_, thrice seven years rowed in the galleys for three several murthers, though i presume that he has done a hundred, and scap't unpunisht. _leop._ he is much in debt to you, you set him off so well. what will you take sir to beat a fellow for me, that thus wrong'd me? _bra._ to beat him say you? _leop._ yes, beat him to lameness, to cut his lips or nose off; any thing, that may disfigure him. _bra._ let me consider? five hundred pistolets for such a service i think were no dear penniworth. _zab._ five hundred! why there are of your brother-hood in the city, i'le undertake, shall kill a man for twenty. _bra._ kill him? i think so; i'le kill any man for half the mony. _leop._ and will you ask more for a sound beating than a murther? _bra._ i sir, and with good reason, for a dog that's dead, the spanish proverb says, will never bite: but should i beat or hurt him only, he may recover, and kill me. _leo._ a good conclusion, the obduracie of this rascal makes me tender. i'le run some other course, there's your reward without the employment. _bra._ for that as you please sir; when you have need to kill a man, pray use me, but i am out at beating. [_exit._ _zab._ what's to be done then? _leop._ i'le tell thee _zabulon_, and make thee privy to my most near designs: this stranger, which _hippolyta_ so dotes on, was my prisoner when the last virgin, i bestowed upon her, was made my prize; how he escaped, hereafter i'le let thee know; and it may be the love he bears the servant, makes him scorn the mistris. _zab._ 'tis not unlike; for the first time he saw her his looks exprest so much, and for more proof since he came to my ladys house, though yet he never knew her, he hath practis'd with me to help him to a conference, without the knowledge of _hippolyta_; which i promis'd. _leop._ and by all means perform it for their meeting, but work it so, that my disdainful mistris (whom, notwithstanding all her injuries, 'tis my hard fate to love) may see and hear them. _zab._ to what end sir? _leop._ this _zabulon_: when she sees who is her rival, and her lovers baseness to leave a princess for her bondwoman, the sight will make her scorn, what now she dotes on, i'le double thy reward. _zab._ you are like to speed then: for i confess what you will soon believe, we serve them best that are most apt to give, for you, i'le place you where you shall see all, and yet be unobserv'd. _leop._ that i desire too. [_exeunt._ _enter_ arnoldo. _arn._ i cannot see her yet, how it afflicts me the poyson of this place should mix it self with her pure thoughts? 'twas she that was commanded, or my eyes failed me grosly; that youth, that face and all that noble sweetness. may she not live here, and yet be honest still? _enter_ zenocia. _zen._ it is _arnoldo_, from all his dangers free; fortune i bless thee. my noble husband! how my joy swells in me, but why in this place? what business hath he here? he cannot hear of me, i am not known here. i left him vertuous; how i shake to think now! and how that joy i had, cools, and forsakes me! _enter above_ hippolyta _and_ zabulon. this lady is but fair, i have been thought so without compare admired; she has bewitched him and he forgot-_arn._ 'tis she again, the same--the same _zenocia_. _zab._ there they are together.--now you may mark. _hip._ peace, let 'em parly. _arn._ that you are well _zenocia_, and once more bless my despairing eyes, with your wisht presence, i thank the gods; but that i meet you here-_hip._ they are acquainted. _zab._ i found that secret madam, when you co[m]manded her go home: pray hear 'em. _zen._ that you meet me here, ne're blush at that _arnoldo_. your coming comes too late: i am a woman, and one woman with another may be trusted; do you fear the house? _arn._ more than a fear, i know it, know it not good, not honest. _zen._ what do you here then? i'th' name of vertue why do you approach it? will you confess the doubt and yet pursue it? where have your eyes been wandring, my _arnoldo_? what constancy, what faith do you call this? fie, aim at one wanton mark, and wound another? i do confess, the lady fair, most beauteous, and able to betray a strong mans liberty, [leopold _places himself unseen below._ but you that have a love, a wife--you do well to deal thus wisely with me: yet _arnoldo_, since you are pleas'd to study a new beauty, and think this old and ill, beaten with misery, study a nobler way for shame to love me, wrong not her honesty. _arn._ you have confirm'd me. _zen._ who though she be your wife, will never hinder you, so much i rest a servant to your wishes, and love your loves, though they be my destructions, no man shall know me, nor the share i have in thee, no eye suspect i am able to prevent you, for since i am a slave to this great lady, whom i perceive you follow, _arn._ be not blinded. _zen._ fortune shall make me useful to your service, i will speak for you. _arn._ speak for me? you wrong me. _zen._ i will endeavour all the wayes i am able to make her think well of you; will that please? to make her dote upon you, dote to madness, so far against my self i will obey you. but when that's done, and i have shewed this duty, this great obedience, few will buy it at my price, thus will i shake hands with you, wish you well, but never see you more, nor receive comfort from any thing, _arnoldo_. _arn._ you are too tender; i neither doubt you, nor desire longer to be a man, and live, than i am honest and only yours; our infinite affections abus'd us both. _zab._ where are your favours now? the courtesies you shew'd this stranger, madam? _hip._ have i now found the cause? _zab._ attend it further. _zen._ did she invite you, do you say? _arn._ most cunningly, and with a preparation of that state i was brought in and welcom'd. _zen._ seem'd to love you? _arn._ most infinitely, at first sight, most dotingly. _zen._ she is a goodly lady. _arn._ wondrous handsom: at first view, being taken unprepar'd, your memory not present then to assist me, she seem'd so glorious sweet, and so far stir'd me, nay be not jealous, there's no harm done. _zen._ prethee--didst thou not kiss, _arnoldo_? _arn._ yes faith did i. _zen._ and then-_arn._ i durst not, did not-_zen._ i forgive you, come tell the truth. _arn._ may be i lay with her. _hip._ he mocks me too, most basely. _zen._ did ye faith? did ye forget so far? _arn._ come, come, no weeping; i would have lyen first in my grave, believe that. why will you ask those things you would not hear? she is too untemperate to betray my vertues, too openly lascivious: had she dealt but with that seeming modesty she might, and flung a little art upon her ardor, but 'twas forgot, and i forgot to like her, and glad i was deceiv'd. no my _zenocia_, my first love here begun, rests here unreapt yet, and here for ever. _zen._ you have made me happy, even in the midst of bondage blest. _zab._ you see now what rubs are in your way. _hip._ and quickly _zabulon_ i'le root 'em out.--be sure you do this presently. _zab._ do not you alter then. _hip._ i am resolute. [_exit zabulon._ _arn._ to see you only i came hither last, drawn by no love of hers, nor base allurements, for by this holy light i hate her heartily. _leop._ i am glad of that, you have sav'd me so much vengeance and so much fear, from this hour fair befal you. _arn._ some means i shall make shortly to redeem you, till when, observe her well, and fit her temper, only her lust contemn. _zen._ when shall i see you? _arn._ i will live hereabouts, and bear her fair still, till i can find a fit hour to redeem you. _hip._ shut all the doors. _arn._ who's that? _zen._ we are betray'd, the lady of the house has heard our parly, seen us, and seen our loves. _hip._ you courteous gallant, you that scorn all i can bestow, that laugh at the afflictions, and the groans i suffer for you, that slight and jeer my love, contemn the fortune my favours can fling on you, have i caught you? have i now found the cause? ye fool my wishes; is mine own slave, my bane? i nourish that that sucks up my content. i'le pray no more, nor wooe no more; thou shalt see foolish man, and to thy bitter pain and anguish, look on the vengeance i shall take, provok'd and slighted; redeem her then, and steal her hence: ho _zabulon_ now to your work. _enter_ zabulon, _and_ servants, _some holding_ arnoldo, _some ready with a cord to strangle_ zenocia. _arn._ lady, but hear me speak first, as you have pity. _hip._ i have none. you taught me, when i even hung about your neck, you scorn'd me. _zab._ shall we pluck yet? _hip._ no, hold a little _zabulon_, i'le pluck his heart-strings first: now am i worthy a little of your love? _arn._ i'le be your servant, command me through what danger you shall aime at, let it be death. _hip._ be sure sir, i shall fit you. _arn._ but spare this virgin. _hip._ i would spare that villain first, had cut my fathers throat. _arn._ bounteous lady, if in your sex there be that noble softness, that tenderness of heart, women are crown'd for-_zen._ kneel not _arnoldo_, doe her not that honour, she is not worthy such submission, i scorn a life depends upon her pity. proud woman do thy worst, and arm thy anger with thoughts as black as hell, as hot and bloody, i bring a patience here, shall make 'em blush, an innocence, shall outlook thee, and death too. _arn._ make me your slave, i give my freedom to ye, for ever to be fetter'd to your service; 'twas i offended, be not so unjust then, to strike the innocent, this gentle maid never intended fear and doubt against you: she is your servant, pay not her observance with cruel looks, her duteous faith with death. _hip._ am i fair now? now am i worth your liking? _zen._ not fair, not to be liked, thou glorious devil, thou vernisht piece of lust, thou painted fury. _arn._ speak gently sweet, speak gently. _zen._ i'le speak nobly. 'tis not the saving of a life i aim at, mark me lascivious woman, mark me truly, and then consider, how i weigh thy anger. life is no longer mine, nor dear unto me, than usefull to his honour i preserve it. if thou hadst studied all the courtesies humanity and noble blood are linkt to, thou couldst not have propounded such a benefit, nor heapt upon me such unlookt for honour as dying for his sake, to be his martyr, 'tis such a grace. _hip._ you shall not want that favour, let your bones work miracles. _arn._ dear lady by those fair eyes-_hip._ there is but this way left ye to save her life.-_arn._ speak it, and i embrace it. _hip._ come to my private chamber presently, and there, what love and i command-_arn._ i'le doe it, be comforted _zenocia_. _zen._ do not do this to save me, do not lose your self i charge you, i charge you by your love, that love [you] bear me; that love, that constant love you have twin'd to me, by all your promises, take heed you keep 'em, now is your constant tryal. if thou dost this, or mov'st one foot, to guide thee to her lust, my curses and eternal hate pursue thee. redeem me at the base price of dis-loyalty? must my undoubted honesty be thy bawd too? go and intwine thy self about that body; tell her, for my life thou hast lost thine honour, pull'd all thy vows from heaven, basely, most basely stoop'd to the servile flames of that foul woman, to add an hour to me that hate thee for it, know thee not again, nor name thee for a husband. _arn._ what shall i do to save her? _hip._ how now, what hast there? _enter a_ servant. _ser._ the governour, attended with some gentlemen, are newly entred, to speak with your ladiship. _hip._ pox o' their business, reprieve her for this hour, i shall have other time. _arn._ now fortune help us. _hip._ i'le meet 'em presently: retire awhile all. [_exeunt._ _zab._ you rise to day upon your right side lady; you know the danger too, and may prevent it, and if you suffer her to perish thus, as she must do, and suddenly, believe it, unless you stand her friend; you know the way on't, i guess you poorly love her, less your fortune. let her know nothing, and perform this matter, there are hours ordained for several businesses, you understand. _arn._ i understand you bawd sir, and such a counsellour i never car'd for. _enter the_ governour, clodio, leopold, charino _and_ attendants _at one door_, hippolyta _at the other._ _hip._ your lordship does me honour. _gover._ fair _hippolyta_, i am come to ease you of a charge. _hip._ i keep none i count a burthen sir: and yet i lye too. _gover._ which is the maid; is she here? _clod._ yes sir, this is she, this is _zenocia_, the very same i sued to your lordship for. _zen._ _clodio_ again? more misery? more ruin? under what angry star is my life govern'd? _gov._ come hither maid, you are once more a free woman, here i discharge your bonds. _arn._ another smile, another trick of fortune to betray us! _hip._ why does your lordship use me so unnobly? against my will to take away my bond-woman? _gov._ she was no lawful prize, therefore no bond-woman: she's of that country we hold friendship with, and ever did, and therefore to be used with entertainment, fair and courteous. the breach of league in us gives foul example, therefore you must be pleas'd to think this honest; did you know what she was? _leop._ not till this instant; for had i known her, she had been no prisoner. _gov._ there, take the maid, she is at her own dispose now, and if there be ought else to do your honour any poor service in-_clod._ i am vowed your servant. _arn._ your father's here too, that's our only comfort, and in a country now, we stand free people, where _clodio_ has no power, be comforted. _zen._ i fear some trick yet. _arn._ be not so dejected. _gover._ you must not be displeas'd; so farewel lady. come gentlemen; captain, you must with me too, i have a little business. _leop._ i attend your lordship: now my way's free, and my hope's lord again. [_exeunt all but_ hip. _and_ zab. _hip._ d'ye jeer me now ye are going? i may live yet--to make you howl both. _zab._ you might have done; you had power then, but now the chains are off, the command lost, and such a story they will make of this to laugh out lazie time. _hip._ no means yet left me? for now i burst with anger: none to satisfie me? no comfort? no revenge? _zab._ you speak too late; you might have had all these, your useful servants, had you been wise, and suddain: what power, or will over her beauty, have you now? by violence to constrain his love; she is as free as you are, and no law can impeach her liberty, and whilst she is so, _arnoldo_ will despise you. _hip._ either my love or anger must be satisfied, or i must dye. _zab._ i have a way wou'd do it, wou'd do it yet, protect me from the law. _hip._ from any thing; thou knowest what power i have, what mony, and what friends. _zab._ 'tis a devilish one: but such must now be us'd: walk in, i'le tell you; and if you like it, if the devil can do any thing-_hip._ devil, or what thou wilt, so i be satisfied. [_ex._ _enter_ sulpitia, _and_ jaques. _sulp._ this is the rarest and the lustiest fellow, and so bestirs himself-_jaq._ give him breath mistress, you'l melt him else. _sulp._ he does perform such wonders-the women are mad on him. _jaq._ give him breath i say; the man is but a man, he must have breath. _sulp._ how many had he yesterday? and they paid bravely too. _jaq._ about fourteen, but still i cry give breath, spare him and have him. _sulp._ five dames to day; this was a small stage, he may endure five more. _jaq._ breath, breath i cry still; body o' me give breath, the man's a lost man else. feed him and give him breath. _enter_ 2 gentlewomen. _sulp._ welcome gentlewomen, y'are very welcome. _1 gen._ we hear you have a lusty and well complexion'd fellow that does rare tricks; my sister and my self here, would trifle out an hour or two, so please you. _sulp._ _jaques_, conduct 'em in. _both._ there's for your courtesie. [_ex._ jaq. _and_ gent. _sulp._ good pay still, good round pay, this happy fellow will set me up again; he brings in gold faster than i have leisure to receive it. o that his body were not flesh and fading; but i'le so pap him up--nothing too dear for him; what a sweet scent he has?--now what news _jaques_? _jaq._ he cannot last, i pity the poor man, i suffer for him; two coaches of young city dames, and they drive as the devil were in the wheels, are ready now to enter: and behind these an old dead-palsied lady in a litter, and she makes all the haste she can: the man's lost, you may gather up his dry bones to make nine-pins, but for his flesh. _sulp._ these are but easie labours yet, for i know he must have rest. _ja._ he must--you'll beat him off his legs else presently. _sul._ go in, and bid him please himself, i am pleas'd too: to morrow's a new day; but if he can i would have him take pity o' the old lady. alas 'tis charity. _jaq._ i'le tell him all this, and if he be not too fool-hardy. _enter_ zabulon. _sulp._ how now? what news with you? _zab._ you must presently shew all the art you have, and for my lady. _sulp._ she may command. _zab._ you must not dream nor trifle. _sulp._ which way? _zab._ a spell you must prepare, a powerful one, peruse but these directions, you shall find all; there is the picture too, be quick, and faithful, and do it with that strength--when 'tis perform'd, pitch your reward at what you please, you have it. _sul._ i'le do my best, and suddenly: but hark ye, will you never lye at home again? _zab._ excuse me, i have too much business yet. _sulp._ i am right glad on't. _zab._ think on your business, so farewel. _sulp._ i'le do it. _zab._ within this hour i'le visit you again and give you greater lights. _sulp._ i shall observe ye; this brings a brave reward, bravely i'le do it, and all the hidden art i have, express in't. [_exeunt at both doors._ _enter_ rutilio _with a night-cap._ _rut._ now do i look as if i were crow-trodden, fye, how my hams shrink under me! o me, i am broken-winded too; is this a life? is this the recreation i have aim'd at? i had a body once, a handsome body, and wholesome too. now i appear like a rascal, that had been hung a year or two in gibbets. fye how i faint! women? keep me from women; place me before a cannon, 'tis a pleasure; stretch me upon a rack, a recreation; but women? women? o the devil! women? _curtius_ gulf was never half so dangerous. is there no way to find the trap-door again, and fall into the cellar, and be taken? no lucky fortune to direct me that way? no gallies to be got, nor yet no gallows? for i fear nothing now, no earthly thing but these unsatisfied men-leeches, women. how devilishly my bones ake! o the old lady! i have a kind of waiting-woman lyes cross my back too, o how she stings! no treason to deliver me? now what are you? do you mock me? _enter_ 3. _with night-caps very faintly._ _1_ no sir, no; we were your predecessors in this place. _2_ and come to see you bear up. _rut._ good gentlemen; you seem to have a snuffing in your head sir, a parlous snuffing, but this same dampish air-_2_ a dampish air indeed. _rut._ blow your face tenderly, your nose will ne're endure it: mercy o' me, what are men chang'd to here? is my nose fast yet? me thinks it shakes i'th' hilts: pray tell me gentlemen, how long is't since you flourisht here? _3_ not long since. _rut._ move your self easily, i see you are tender, nor long endured. _2_ the labour was so much sir, and so few to perform it-_rut._ must i come to this? and draw my legs after me like a lame dog? i cannot run away, i am too feeble: will you sue for this place again gentlemen? _1_ no truly sir, the place has been too warm for our complexions. we have enough on't, rest you merry sir, we came but to congratulate your fortune, you have abundance. _3_ bear your fortune soberly, and so we leave you to the next fair lady. [_ex. the_ 3. _rut._ stay but a little, and i'le meet you gentlemen, at the next hospital: there's no living thus, nor am i able to endure it longer, with all the helps and heats that can be given me, i am at my trot already: they are fair and young most of the women that repair unto me, but they stick on like burs, shake me like feathers. _enter_ sulpitia. more women yet? would i were honestly married to any thing that had but half a face, and not a groat to keep her, nor a smock, that i might be civilly merry when i pleased, rather than labouring in these fulling-mills. _sul._ by this the spell begins to work: you are lusty, i see you bear up bravely yet. _rut._ do you hear lady, do not make a game-bear of me, to play me hourly, and fling on all your whelps; it would not hold; play me with some discretion; to day one course, and two dayes hence another. _sulp._ if you be so angry pay back the mony i redeem'd you at and take your course, i can have men enough: you have cost me a hundred crowns since you came hither, in broths and strength[n]ing caudles; till you do pay me, if you will eat and live, you shall endeavour, i'le chain you to't else. _rut._ make me a dog-kennel, i'le keep your house and bark, and feed on bare bones, and be whipt out o' doors, do you mark me lady? whipt, i'le eat old shoes. _enter_ duarte. _dua._ in this house i am told there is a stranger, of a goodly person, and such a one there was; if i could see him, i yet remember him. _sulp._ your business sir, if it be for a woman, ye are couzen'd, i keep none here. [_exit._ _dua._ certain this is the gentleman; the very same. _rut._ death, if i had but mony, or any friend to bring me from this bondage, i would thresh, set up a cobler's shop, keep hogs, and feed with 'em, sell tinder-boxes, and knights of ginger-bread, thatch for three half pence a day, and think it lordly, from this base stallion trade: why does he eye me, eye me so narrowly? _dua._ it seems you are troubled sir, i heard you speak of want. _rut._ 'tis better hearing far, than relieving sir. _dua._ i do not think so, you know me not. _rut._ not yet that i remember. _dua._ you shall, and for your friend: i am beholding to ye, greatly beholding sir; if you remember, you fought with such a man, they call'd _duarte_, a proud distemper'd man: he was my enemy, my mortal foe, you slew him fairly, nobly. _rut._ speak softly sir, you do not mean to betray me, i wisht the gallows, now th'are coming fairly. _dua._ be confident, for as i live, i love you, and now you shall perceive it: for that service, me, and my purse command: there, take it to ye, 'tis gold, and no small sum, a thousand duckets, supply your want. _rut._ but do you do this faithfully? _dua._ if i mean ill, spit in my face and kick me: in what else i may serve you, sir-_rut._ i thank you, this is as strange to me as knights adventures. i have a project, 'tis an honest one, and now i'le tempt my fortune. _dua._ trust me with it. _rut._ you are so good and honest i must trust ye, 'tis but to carry a letter to a lady that sav'd my life once. _dua._ that will be most thankful, i will do't with all care. _rut._ where are you, white-broth? now lusty blood, come in, and tell your mony: 'tis ready here, no threats, nor no orations, nor prayers now. _sulp._ you do not mean to leave me. _rut._ i'le live in hell sooner than here, and cooler. come quickly come, dispatch, this air's unwho[l]som: quickly good lady, quickly to't. _sulp._ well, since it must be, the next i'le fetter faster sure, and closer. _rut._ and pick his bones, as y'have done mine, pox take ye. _dua._ at my lodging for a while, you shall be quartered, and there take physick for your health. _rut._ i thank ye, i have found my angel now too, if i can keep him. [_exeunt omnes._ _actus quintus. scena prima._ _enter rutilio and duarte._ _rut. you like the letter? _dua._ yes, but i must tell you you tempt a desperate hazard, to sollicite the mother, (and the grieved one too, 'tis rumor'd) of him you slew so lately. _rut._ i have told you some proofs of her affection, and i know not a nearer way to make her satisfaction for a lost son, than speedily to help her to a good husband; one that will beget both sons and daughters, if she be not barren. i have had a breathing now, and have recovered what i lost in my late service, 'twas a hot one: it fired and fired me; but all thanks to you sir, you have both freed and cool'd me. _dua._ what is done sir, i thought well done, and was in that rewarded, and therefore spare your thanks. _rut._ i'le no more whoring: this fencing 'twixt a pair of sheets, more wears one than all the exercise in the world besides. to be drunk with good canary, a meer julip or like gourd-water to't; twenty surfeits come short of one nights work there. if i get this lady as ten to one i shall, i was ne're denied yet, i will live wondrous honestly; walk before her gravely and demurely and then instruct my family; you are sad, what do you muse on sir? _dua._ truth i was thinking what course to take for the delivery of your letter, and now i have it: but faith did this lady (for do not gull your self) for certain know, you kill'd her son? _rut._ give me a book i'le swear't; denyed me to the officers, that pursued me, brought me her self to th' door, then gave me gold to bear my charges, and shall i make doubt then but that she lov'd me? i am confident time having ta'ne her grief off, that i shall be most welcome to her: for then to have wooed her had been unseasonable. _dua._ well sir, there's more mony, to ma[ke] you handsome; i'le about your business: you know where you must stay? _rut._ there you shall find me: would i could meet my brother now, to know, whether the jew, his genius, or my christian, has prov'd the better friend. [_exit._ _dua._ o who would trust deceiving woman! or believe that one the best, and most canoniz'd ever was more than a seeming goodness? i could rail now against the sex, and curse it; but the theam and way's too common: yet that _guiomar_ my mother; (nor let that forbid her to be the wonder of our nation) she that was mark'd out the great example, for all matrons both wife and widow; she that in my breeding exprest the utmost of a mothers care, and tenderness to a son; she that yet feigns such sorrow for me; good god, that this mother, after all this, should give up to a stranger, the wreak she ow'd her son; i fear her honour. that he was sav'd, much joyes me, and grieve only that she was his preserver. i'le try further, and by this engine, find whether the tears, of which she is so prodigal, are for me, or us'd to cloak her base hypocrisie. [_exit._ _enter_ hippolyta _and_ sulpitia. _hip._ are you assur'd the charm prevails? _sulp._ do i live? or do you speak to me? now this very instant health takes its last leave of her; meager paleness like winter, nips the roses and the lilies, the spring that youth, and love adorn'd her face with. to force affection, is beyond our art, for i have prov'd all means that hell has taught me, or the malice of a woman, which exceeds it, to change _arnoldo's_ love, but to no purpose: but for your bond-woman-_hip._ let her pine and dye; she remov'd, which like a brighter sun, obscures my beams, i may shine out again, and as i have been, be admir'd and sought to: how long has she to live? _sulp._ lady, before the sun twice rise and set, be confident, she is but dead; i know my charm hath found her. nor can the governours guard; her lovers tears; her fathers sorrow, or his power that freed her, defend her from it. _enter_ zabulon. _zab._ all things have succeeded, as you could wish; i saw her brought sick home; the image of pale death, stampt on her fore-head. let me adore this second hecate, this great commandress, of the fatal sisters, that as she pleases, can cut short, or lengthen the thread of life. _hip._ where was she when the inchantment first seis'd upon her? _zab._ taking the fresh air, in the company of the governour, and count _clodio_, _arnoldo_ too, was present with her father, when, in a moment (so the servants told me) as she was giving thanks to the governour, and _clodio_, for her unexpected freedom, as if she had been blasted, she sunk down, to their amazement. _hip._ 'tis thy master-piece which i will so reward, that thou shalt fix here, and with the hazard of thy life, no more make tryal of thy powerful art; which known our laws call death: off with this magical robe, and be thy self. _enter_ governour, clodio, _and_ charino. _sulp._ stand close, you shall hear more. _man._ you must have patience; all rage is vain now, and piety forbids, that we should question what is decreed above, or ask a reason why heaven determines this or that way of us. _clod._ heaven has no hand in't; 'tis a work of hell. her life hath been so innocent, all her actions so free from the suspicion of crime, as rather she deserves a saints place here, than to endure, what now her sweetness suffers. _char._ not for her fault, but mine sir, _zenocia_ suffers: the sin i made, when i sought to rase down _arnoldo's_ love, built on a rock of truth, now to the height is punish'd. i profess, had he no birth, nor parts, the present sorrow he now expresses for her, does deserve her above all kings, though such had been his rivals. _clod._ all ancient stories, of the love of husbands to vertuous wives, be now no more remembred. _char._ the tales of _turtles_, ever be forgotten, or, for his sake believ'd. _man._ i have heard, there has been between some married pairs, such sympathy, that th' husband has felt really the throws his wife then teeming suffers, this true grief confirms, 'tis not impossible. _clod._ we shall find fit time for this hereafter; let's use now all possible means to help her. _man._ care, nor cost, nor what physicians can do, shall be wanting; make use of any means or men. _char._ you are noble. [_exeunt_ man. clod, _and_ char. _sulp._ ten colledges of doctors shall not save her. her fate is in your hand. _hip._ can i restore her? _sulp._ if you command my art. _hip._ i'le dye my self first. and yet i'le go visit her, and see this miracle of sorrow in _arnoldo_: and 'twere for me, i should change places with her, and dye most happy, such a lovers tears were a rich monument, but too good for her, whose misery i glory in: come _sulpitia_, you shall along with me, good _zabulon_ be not far off. _zab._ i will attend you madam. [_exeunt._ _enter_ duarte, _and a_ servant. _ser._ i have serv'd you from my youth, and ever you have found me faithful: that you live's a treasure i'le lock up here; nor shall it be let forth, but when you give me warrant. _dua._ i rely upon thy faith; nay, no more protestations, too many of them will call that in question, which now i doubt not: she is there? _ser._ alone too, but take it on my life, your entertainment, appearing as you are, will be but course, for the displeasure i shall undergo i am prepar'd. _dua._ leave me, i'le stand the hazard. [_exit_ servant. the silence that's observ'd, her close retirements, no visitants admitted, not the day; these sable colours, all signs of true sorrow, or hers is deeply counterfeit. i'le look nearer, manners give leave--she sits upon the ground; by heaven she weeps; my picture in her hand too; she kisses it and weeps again. _enter_ guiomar. _gui._ who's there? _dua._ there is no starting back now madam. _gui._ ha, another murderer! i'le not protect thee, though i have no more sons. _dua._ your pardon lady, there's no such foul fact taints me. _gui._ what makes thou here then? where are my servants, do none but my sorrows attend upon me? speak, what brought thee hither? _dua._ a will to give you comfort. _gui._ thou art but a man. and 'tis beyond a humane reach to do it, if thou could raise the dead out of their graves, bid time run back, make me now what i was, a happy mother; gladly i would hear thee, but that's impossible. _dua._ please you but read this; you shall know better there, why i am sent, than if i should deliver it. _gui._ from whom comes it? _dua._ that will instruct you. i suspect this stranger, yet she spake something that holds such alliance with his reports; i know not what to think on't; what a frown was there? she looks me through, & through, now reads again, now pauses, and now smiles; and yet there's more of anger in't than mirth, these are strange changes; oh i understand it, she's full of serious thoughts. _gui._ you are just, you heavens, and never do forget to hear their prayers, that truly pay their vows, the defer'd vengeance, for you, and my words sake so long defer'd, under which as a mountain my heart groans yet when 'twas despair'd of, now is offer'd to me; and if i lose it, i am both wayes guilty. the womans mask, dissimulation help me. come hither friend, i am sure you know the gentleman, that sent these charms. _dua._ charms lady? _gui._ these charms; i well may call them so, they've won upon me, more than ere letter did; thou art his friend, (the confidence he has in thee, confirms it) and therefore i'le be open breasted to thee; to hear of him, though yet i never saw him, was most desir'd of all men; let me blush, and then i'le say i love him. _dua._ all men see, in this a womans vertue. _gui._ i expected for the courtesie i did, long since to have seen him, and though i then forbad it, you men know, between our hearts and tongues there's a large distance; but i'le excuse him, may be hitherto he has forborn it, in respect my son fell by his hand. _dua._ and reason lady. _gui._ no, he did me a pleasure in't, a riotous fellow, and with that insolent, not worth the owning; i have indeed kept a long solemn sorrow, for my friends sake partly; but especially for his long absence. _dua._ o the devil. _guio._ therefore bid him be speedy; a priest shall be ready to tye the holy knot; this kiss i send him, deliver that and bring him. _dua._ i am dumb: a good cause i have now, and a good sword, and something i shall do, i wait upon you. [_exeunt._ _enter_ manuel, charino, arnoldo, zenocia, _born in a chair_. 2 doctors, clodio. _doct._ give her more air, she dyes else. _arn._ o thou dread power, that mad'st this all, and of thy workmanship this virgin wife, the master piece, look down on her; let her minds virtues, cloth'd in this fair garment, that worthily deserves a better name than flesh and bloud, now sue, and prevail for her. or if those are denyed, let innocence, to which all passages in heaven stand open, appear in her white robe, before thy throne; and mediate for her: or if this age of sin be worthy of a miracle, the sun in his diurnal progress never saw so sweet a subject to imploy it on. _man._ wonders are ceas'd sir, we must work by means. _arno._ 'tis true, and such reverend physicians are; to you thus low i fall then; so may you ever be stil'd the hands of heaven, natures restorers; get wealth and honours; and by your success, in all your undertakings, propagate your great opinion in the world, as now you use your saving art; for know good gentlemen, besides the fame, and all that i possess, for a reward, posterity shall stand indebted to you, for (as heaven forbid it) should my _zenocia_ dye, robbing this age of all that's good or gracefull, times succeeding, the story of her pure life not yet perfect, will suffer in the want of her example. _doct._ were all the world to perish with her, we can do no more, than what art and experience give us assurance of, we have us'd all means to find the cause of her disease, yet cannot; how should we then, promise the cure? _arn._ away, i did bely you, when i charg'd you with the power of doing, ye are meer names only, and even your best perfection, accidental; what ever malady thou art, or spirit, as some hold all diseases that afflict us, as love already makes me sensible of half her sufferings, ease her of her part, and let me stand the butt of thy fell malice, and i will swear th'art mercifull. _doct._ your hand lady; what a strange heat is here! bring some warm water. _arn._ she shall use nothing that is yours; my sorrow provides her of a better bath, my tears shall do that office. _zeno._ o my best _arnoldo_! the truest of all lovers! i would live were heaven so pleas'd, but to reward your sorrow with my true service; but since that's denied me, may you live long and happy: do not suffer (by your affection to me i conjure you) my sickness to infect you; though much love makes you too subject to it. _arn._ in this only _zenocia_ wrongs her servant; can the body subsist, the soul departed? 'tis as easie as i to live without you; i am your husband, and long have been so, though our adverse fortune, bandying us from one hazard to another, would never grant me so much happiness, as to pay a husbands debt; despite of fortune, in death i'le follow you, and guard mine own; and there enjoy what here my fate forbids me. _clod._ so true a sorrow, and so feelingly exprest, i never read of. _man._ i am struck with wonder to behold it, as with pity. _char._ if you that are a stranger, suffer for them, being tied no further than humanity leads you to soft compassion; think great sir, what of necessity i must endure, that am a father? hippolyta, zabulon, _and_ sulpitia _at the door._ _zab._ wait me there, i hold it unfit to have you seen; as i find cause, you shall proceed. _man._ you are welcom lady. _hip._ sir, i come to do a charitable office, how does the patient? _clod._ you may enquire of more than one; for two are sick, and deadly, he languishes in her, her health's despair'd of, and in hers, his. _hip._ 'tis a strange spectacle, with what a patience they sit unmov'd! are they not dead already? _doct._ by her pulse, she cannot last a day. _arn._ oh by that summons, i know my time too! _hip._ look to the man. _clod._ apply your art, to save the lady, preserve her, a town is your reward. _hip. i'le treble it, in ready gold, if you restore _arnoldo_; for in his death i dye too. _clod._ without her i am no more. _arn._ are you there madam? now you may feast on my miseries; my coldness in answering your affections, or hardness, give it what name you please, you are reveng'd of, for now you may perceive, our thred of life was spun together, and the poor _arnoldo_ made only to enjoy the best _zenocia_, and not to serve the use of any other; and in that she may equal; my lord _clodio_ had long since else enjoyed her, nor could i have been so blind, as not to see your great and many excellencies far, far beyond or my deservings, or my hopes; we are now going our latest journey, and together, our only comfort we desire, pray give it, your charity to our ashes, such we must be, and not to curse our memories. _hip._ i am much mov'd. _clod._ i am wholly overcome, all love to women farewell for ever; ere you dye, your pardon; and yours sir; had she many years to live, perhaps i might look on her, as a brother, but as a lover never; and since all your sad misfortunes had original from the barbarous custom practis'd in my country, heaven witness, for your sake i here release it; so to your memory, chaste wives and virgins shall ever pay their vowes. i give her to you; and wish, she were so now, as when my lust forc'd you to quit the country. _hip._ it is in vain to strive with destiny, here my dotage ends, look up _zenocia_, health in me speaks to you; she gives him to you, that by divers ways, so long has kept him from you: and repent not, that you were once my servant, for which health in recompence of what i made you suffer, the hundred thousand crowns, the city owes me, shall be your dower. _man._ 'tis a magnificent gift, had it been timely given. _hip._ it is believe it, _sulpitia_. _enter a_ servant, _and_ sulpitia. _sulp._ madam. _hip._ quick, undoe the charm; ask not a reason why; let it suffice, it is my will. _sulp._ which i obey and gladly. [_exit._ _man._ is to be married, sayest thou? _ser._ so she sayes sir, and does desire your presence. [_they are born off in chairs._ _man._ and tell her i'le come. _hip._ pray carry them to their rest; for though already, they do appear as dead, let my life pay for't, if they recover not. _man._ what you have warranted, assure your self, will be expected from you; look to them carefully; and till the tryal,-_hip._ which shall not be above four hours. _man._ let me intreat your companies: there is something of weight invites me hence. _all._ we'll wait upon you. [_exeunt._ _enter_ guiomar, _and_ servants. _guio._ you understand what my directions are, and what they guide you to; the faithfull promise you have made me all. _all._ we do and will perform it. _guio._ the governour will not fail to be here presently; retire a while, till you shall find occasion, and bring me word, when they arrive. _all._ wee shall madam. _guio._ only stay you to entertain. _1 ser._ i am ready. _guio._ i wonder at the bold, and practis'd malice, men ever have o' foot against our honours, that nothing we can do, never so vertuous, no shape put on so pious, no not think what a good is, be that good ne're so noble, never so laden with admir'd example, but still we end in lust; our aims, our actions, nay, even our charities, with lust are branded; why should this stranger else, this wretched stranger, whose life i sav'd at what dear price sticks here yet, why should he hope? he was not here an hour, and certainly in that time, i may swear it i gave him no loose look, i had no reason; unless my tears were flames, my curses courtships; the killing of my son, a kindness to me. why should he send to me, or with what safety (examining the ruine he had wrought me) though at that time, my pious pity found him, and my word fixt; i am troubled, strongly troubled. _enter a_ servant. _ser._ the gentlemen are come. _guio._ then bid 'em welcome--i must retire. [_exit._ _enter_ rutilio, _and_ duarte. _ser._ you are welcom gentlemen. _rut._ i thank you friend, i would speak with your lady. _ser._ i'le let her understand. _rut._ it shall befit you. how do i look sir, in this handsome trim? [_exit_ servant. me thinks i am wondrous brave. _duar._ you are very decent. _rut._ these by themselves, without more helps of nature, would set a woman hard; i know 'em all, and where their first aims light; i'le lay my head on't, i'le take her eye, as soon as she looks on me, and if i come to speak once, woe be to her, i have her in a nooze, she cannot scape me; i have their several lasts. _dua._ you are throughly studied, but tell me sir, being unacquainted with her, as you confess you are-_rut._ that's not an hours work, i'le make a nun forget her beads in two hours. _dua._ she being set in years, next none of those lusters appearing in her eye, that warm the fancy; nor nothing in her face, but handsom ruines. _rut._ i love old stories: those live believ'd, authentique, when 20. of your modern faces are call'd in, for new opinion, paintings, and corruptions; give me an old confirm'd face; besides she sav'd me, she sav'd my life, have i not cause to love her? she's rich and of a constant state, a fair one, have i not cause to wooe her? i have tryed sufficient all your young phillies, i think this back has try'd 'em, and smarted for it too: they run away with me, take bitt between the teeth, and play the devils; a staied pace now becomes my years; a sure one, where i may sit and crack no girths. _dua._ how miserable, if my mother should confirm, what i suspect now, beyond all humane cure were my condition! then i shall wish, this body had been so too. here comes the lady sir. _enter_ guiomar. _rut._ excellent lady, to shew i am a creature, bound to your service, and only yours-_guio._ keep at that distance sir; for if you stir-_rut._ i am obedient. she has found already, i am for her turn; with what a greedy hawks eye she beholds me! mark how she musters all my parts. _guio._ a goodly gentleman, of a more manly set, i never look'd on. _rut._ mark, mark her eyes still; mark but the carriage of 'em. _guio._ how happy am i now, since my son fell, he fell not by a base unnoble hand! as that still troubled me; how far more happy shall my revenge be, since the sacrifice, i offer to his grave, shall be both worthy a sons untimely loss, and a mothers sorrow! _rut._ sir, i am made believe it; she is mine own, i told you what a spell i carried with me, all this time does she spend in contemplation of that unmatch'd delight: i shall be thankfull to ye; and if you please to know my house, to use it; to take it for your own. _guio._ who waits without there? _enter_ guard, _and_ servants, _they seize upon_ rut. _and bind him._ _rut._ how now? what means this, lady? _guio._ bind him fast. _rut._ are these the bride-laces you prepare for me? the colours that you give? _dua._ fye gentle lady, this is not noble dealing. _guio._ be you satisfied, i[t] seems you are a stranger to this meaning, you shall not be so long. _rut._ do you call this wooing--is there no end of womens persecutions? must i needs fool into mine own destruction? have i not had fair warnings, and enough too? still pick the devils teeth? you are not mad lady; do i come fairly, and like a gentleman, to offer you that honour? _guio._ you are deceiv'd sir, you come besotted, to your own destruction: i sent not for you; what honour can ye add to me, that brake that staff of honour, my age lean'd on? that rob'd me of that right, made me a mother? hear me thou wretched man, hear me with terrour, and let thine own bold folly shake thy soul, hear me pronounce thy death, that now hangs o're thee, thou desperate fool; who bad thee seek this ruine? what mad unmanly fate, made thee discover thy cursed face to me again? was't not enough to have the fair protection of my house, when misery and justice close pursued thee? when thine own bloudy sword, cryed out against thee, hatcht in the life of him? yet i forgave thee. my hospitable word, even when i saw the goodliest branch of all my blood lopt from me, did i not seal still to thee? _rut._ i am gone. _guio._ and when thou went'st, to imp thy miserie, did i not give thee means? but hark ungratefull, was it not thus? to hide thy face and fly me? to keep thy name for ever from my memory? thy cursed blood and kindred? did i not swear then, if ever, (in this wretched life thou hast left me, short and unfortunate,) i saw thee again, or came but to the knowledge, where thou wandredst, to call my vow back, and pursue with vengeance with all the miseries a mother suffers? _rut._ i was born to be hang'd, there's no avoiding it. _guio._ and dar'st thou with this impudence appear here? walk like the winding sheet my son was put in, stand with those wounds? _dua._ i am happy now again; happy the hour i fell, to find a mother, so pious, good, and excellent in sorrows. _enter a_ servant. _ser._ the governour's come in. _guio._ o let him enter. _rut._ i have fool'd my self a fair thred of all my fortunes, this strikes me most; not that i fear to perish, but that this unmannerly boldness has brought me to it. _enter_ governour, clodio, charino. _gov._ are these fit preparations for a wedding lady? i came prepar'd a guest. _guio._ o give me justice; as ever you will leave a vertuous name, do justice, justice, sir. _gove._ you need not ask it, i am bound to it. _guio._ justice upon this man that kill'd my son. _gove._ do you confess the act? _rut._ yes sir. _clod._ _rutilio_? _char._ 'tis the same. _clod._ how fell he thus? here will be sorrow for the good _arnoldo_. _gove._ take heed sir what you say. _rut._ i have weigh'd it well, i am the man, nor is it life i start at; only i am unhappy i am poor, poor in expence of lives, there i am wretched, that i have not two lives lent me for his sacrifice; one for her son, another for her sorrows. excellent lady, now rejoyce again, for though i cannot think, y'are pleas'd in blood, nor with that greedy thirst pursue your vengeance; the tenderness, even in those tears denies that; yet let the world believe, you lov'd _duarte_; the unmatcht courtesies you have done my miseries; without this forfeit to the law, would charge me to tender you this life, and proud 'twould please you. _guio._ shall i have justice? _gover._ yes. _rut._ i'le ask it for ye, i'le follow it my self, against my self. sir, 'tis most fit i dye; dispatch it quickly, the monstrous burthen of that grief she labours with will kill her else, then blood on blood lyes on me; had i a thousand lives, i'd give 'em all, before i would draw one tear more from that vertue. _guio._ be not too cruel sir, and yet his bold sword-but his life cannot restore that, he's a man too-of a fair promise, but alas my son's dead; if i have justice, must it kill him? _gov._ yes. _guio._ if i have not, it kills me, strong and goodly! why should he perish too? _gover._ it lies in your power, you only may accuse him, or may quit him. _clod._ be there no other witnesses? _guio._ not any. and if i save him, will not the world proclaim, i have forgot a son, to save a murderer? and yet he looks not like one, he looks manly. _hip._ pity so brave a gentleman should perish. she cannot be so hard, so cruel hearted. _guio._ will you pronounce? yet stay a little sir. _rut._ rid your self, lady, of this misery; and let me go, i do but breed more tempests, with which you are already too much shaken. _guio._ do now, pronounce; i will not hear. _dua._ you shall not, yet turn and see good madam. _gove._ do not wonder. 'tis he, restor'd again, thank the good doctor, pray do not stand amaz'd, it is _duarte_; is well, is safe again. _guio._ o my sweet son, i will not press my wonder now with questions-sir, i am sorry for that cruelty, i urg'd against you. _rut._ madam, it was but justice. _dua._ 'tis [t]rue, the doctor heal'd this body again, but this man heal'd my soul, made my minde perfect, the good sharp lessons his sword read to me, sav'd me; for which, if you lov'd me, dear mother, honour and love this man. _guio._ you sent this letter? _rut._ my boldness makes me blush now. _guio._ i'le wipe off that, and with this kiss, i take you for my husband, your wooing's done sir; i believe you love me, and that's the wealth i look for now. _rut._ you have it. _dua._ you have ended my desire to all my wishes. _gov._ now 'tis a wedding again. and if _hippolyta_ make good, what with the hazard of her life, she undertook, the evening will set clear _enter_ hippolyta, _leading_ leopold, arnoldo, zenocia, _in either hand_, zabulon, sulpitia. after a stormy day. _char._ here comes the lady. _clod._ with fair _zenocia_, health with life again restor'd unto her. _zen._ the gift of her goodness. _rut._ let us embrace, i am of your order too, and though i once despair'd of women, now i find they relish much of scorpions, for both have stings, and both can hurt, and cure too; but what have been your fortunes? _arn._ wee'l defer our story, and at time more fit, relate it. now all that reverence vertue, and in that _zenocias_ constancy, and perfect love, or for her sake _arnoldo_, join with us in th' honour of this lady. _char._ she deserves it. _hip._ _hippolytas_ life shall make that good hereafter, nor will i alone better my self but others: for these whose wants perhaps have made their actions not altogether innocent, shall from me be so supplied, that need shall not compel them, to any course of life, but what the law shall give allowance to. _zab._ _sulpitia_, your ladiships creatures. _rut._ be so, and no more you man-huckster. _hip._ and worthy _leopold_, you that with such fervour, so long have sought me, and in that deserv'd me, shall now find full reward for all your travels, which you have made more dear by patient sufferance. and though my violent dotage did transport me, beyond those bounds, my modesty should have kept in, though my desires were loose, from unchast art heaven knows i am free. _leop._ the thought of that's dead to me; i gladly take your offer. _rut._ do so sir, a piece of crackt gold ever will weigh down silver that's whole. _gov._ you shall be all my guests, i must not be denyed. _arn._ come my _zenocia_. our bark at length has found a quiet harbour; and the unspotted progress of our loves ends not alone in safety, but reward, to instruct others, by our fair example; that though good purposes are long withstood, the hand of heaven still guides such as are good. [_ex. omnes._ * * * * * the prologue. _so free this work is, gentlemen, from offence, that we are confident, it needs no defence from us, or from the poets--we dare look on any man, that brings his table-book to write down, what again he may repeat at some great table, to deserve his meat. let such come swell'd with malice, to apply what is mirth here, there for an injurie. nor lord, nor lady we have tax'd; nor state, nor any private person, their poor hate will be starved here, for envy shall not finde one touch that may be wrested to her minde. and yet despair not, gentlemen, the play is quick and witty; so the poets say, and we believe them; the plot neat, and new, fashion'd like those, that are approv'd by you. only 'twill crave attention, in the most; because one point unmarked, the whole is lost. hear first then, and judge after, and be free, and as our cause is, let our censure be._ epilogue. _why there should be an epilogue to a play, i know no cause: the old and usuall way, for which they were made, was to entreat the grace of such as were spectators in this place, and time, 'tis to no purpose; for i know what you resolve already to bestow, will not be alter'd, what so e're i say, in the behalf of us, and of the play; only to quit our doubts, if you think fit, you may, or cry it up, or silence it._ another prologue for the custom of the country. _we wish, if it were possible, you knew what we would give for this nights look, if new. it being our ambition to delight our kind spectators with what's good, and right. yet so far know, and credit me, 'twas made by such, as were held work-men in their trade, at a time too, when they as i divine, were truly merrie, and drank lusty wine, the nectar of the muses; some are here i dare presume, to whom it did appear a well-drawn piece, which gave a lawfull birth to passionate scenes mixt with no vulgar mirth. but unto such to whom 'tis known by fame from others, perhaps only by the name, i am a suitor, that they would prepare sound palats, and then judge their bill of fare. it were injustice to decry this now for being like'd before, you may allow (your candor safe) what's taught in the old schools, all such as liv'd before you, were not fools._ the epilogue. _i spake much in the prologue for the play, to its desert i hope, yet you might say should i change now from that, which then was meant, or in a syllable grow less confident, i were weak-hearted. i am still the same in my opinion, and forbear to frame qualification, or excuse: if you concur with me, and hold my judgement true, shew it with any sign, and from this place, or send me off exploded, or with grace._ the custom of the country. a = the first folio. p. 302, l. 2. a _omits_ lists of persons represented in the play and of principal actors. l. 49. second folio _misprints_] arnolda. p. 303, l. 5. a] and that. l. 17. a] a conscience. l. 21. a] customes. l. 24. a] in the world. p. 304, l. 25. a] it can. l. 36. a] i a dainty wench. l. 37. a _omits_] i. p. 305, l. 3. second folio _misprints_] yon. l. 11. a] wilde minde. l. 24. a] a heritage. p. 306, l. 14. a] de'e doubt tis day now. l. 15. a] pulses. p. 307, l. 32. a] this rogue that breaks. p. 308, l. 7. a] speake. p. 311, l. 31. a] alarums. p. 312, l. 14. a] this marring. l. 15. a] sheckles. ll. 26-28. a adds in the margin] _boy ready for the songs._ p. 313, l. 13. a] but such a ransome. ll. 28 and 29. a _adds_ marginal stage-direction] _bowle of wine ready._ l. 31. a] and blushing and unloose. p. 314, l. 39. a] alarums. ll. 7 and 9. second folio] arn. p. 316, l. 2. a] pompean. l. 19. a] ile ha' your life. l. 20. a prints this line as part of charino's speech. p. 317, l. 8. a _omits_] a. l. 23. a _omits_] o're. p. 319, l. 8. a] lisborne. p. 321, l. 21. a] renders. l. 35. a] lisborne. p. 322, l. 14. a] aboord. l. 15. a] yet my disguise. l. 30. a] the contempt. p. 325, l. 10. a] and he in lisbon. ll. 22-26. this speech is printed in a as a continuation of arnoldo's. p. 326, ll. 18 and 19. a _adds_ in the margin] tapers ready. l. 20. a] so, like a turke. l. 26. second folio _misprints_] of what. l. 34. second folio _misprints_] embace. p. 327, ll. 2-10. a gives all these lines to rutilio. p. 328, ll. 5 and 6. a _adds_ in margin] lights ready. l. 33. a _omits_] fight. l. 35. a _omits_] falls. l. 38. second folio _misprints_] governous. p. 329, l. 4. a _omits_] 1. p. 331, l. 30. a prints marginal direction] hold a purse ready. p. 333, l. 14. in a the words 'my state would rather ask a curse' are printed by mistake between ll. 16 and 17. l. 23. a] sight. l. 30. a] her chamber. p. 334. l. 17. a] but to a fortune. l. 21. a] bucket. l. 39. a prints the marginal direction (musicke) at the end of the following line. p. 335, l. 1. a _omits_] 1. l. 19. a] strike indeed. p. 336, l. 1. a] attend her. p. 341, ll. 14-16. a by mistake gives these lines as a continuation of sulpicia's speech. l. 33. a] beaten off. p. 342, l. 23. a] blow that part. p. 344, l. 12. a] affection. p. 345, l. 33. a] give that. p. 346, l. 4. a] may cease. p. 350, l. 18. a] a larum. p. 352, l. 5. a] had. l. 13. second folio _misprints_] portual. p. 353, l. 29. a _omits_] will. p. 354, l. 25. second folio] comanded. p. 358, l. 31. a] angers. p. 359, l. 13. second folio] you. l. 25 and 26. a transposes these lines. l. 26. a _omits_] not. p. 361, l. 10. a] hopes. lords againe. l. 38. a _omits_] and. p. 365, l. 27. a] it will not hold. l. 33. a] lost me an. l. 34. second folio _misprints_] strengthing. l. 39. a] a dores. p. 367, l. 4. a] adventure. 1. 20. second folio _misprints_] unwhosom. p. 368, l. 38. second folio _misprints_] to may you. p. 369, l. 27. a _omits_] do. l. 28. a] maugre. p. 371, l. 9. a] sorrowes. l. 27. a _omits_] and. p. 372, l. 18. a] visitance. p. 373, l. 3. a] but to read. p. 375, l. 11. a] gives. p. 376, l. 2. a] banding. p. 379, l. 1. a] a foote. l. 9. a] stick. l. 23. a] welcome home, gentlemen. p. 380, l. 36. a] eye. p. 381, l. 19. second folio] if. p. 383, l. 13. a] doore in. p. 384, l. 25. second folio _misprints_] rrue. p. 387, l. 13. a _adds_] for my soune clarke. end of vol. i. cambridge: printed by john clay, m.a. at the university press. the loyal subject, a tragi-comedy. persons represented in the play. _great_ duke _of_ moscovia. archas, _the loyal subject_, _general of the_ moscovites. theodore, _son to_ archas; _valorous, but impatient_. putskie _alias_ briskie, _a captain_, _brother to_ archas. alinda _alias_ archas, _son to_ archas. burris, _an honest lord_, _the dukes favourite_. boroskie, _a malicious seducing councellor to the duke_. _ensign to_ archas, _a stout merry souldier_. _souldiers._ _gentlemen._ _guard._ _servants._ _women._ olympia, _sister to the duke_. honora, } _daughters of_ archas. viola, } potesca, } _servants to_ olympia. ladies, } _bawd_, _a court lady_. _the scene_ mosco. the principal actors were, _richard burbadge._ } { _nathanael feild._ _henry condel._ } { _john underwood._ _john lowin._ } { _nicholas toolie._ _richard sharpe._ } { _william eglestone._ _actus primus. scena prima._ _enter_ theodor _and_ putskie. _the._ captain, your friend's prefer'd, the princess has her, who, i assure my self, will use her nobly; a pretty sweet one 'tis indeed. _put._ well bred, sir, i do deliver that upon my credit, and of an honest stock. _the._ it seems so, captain, and no doubt will do well. _put._ thanks to your care, sir; but tell me noble colonel, why this habit of discontent is put on through the army? and why your valiant father, our great general, the hand that taught to strike, the love that led all; why he, that was the father of the war, he that begot, and bred the souldier, why he sits shaking of his arms, like autumn, his colours folded, and his drums cas'd up, the tongue of war for ever ty'd within us? _the._ it must be so: captain you are a stranger, but of a small time here a souldier, yet that time shews ye a right good, and great one, else i could tell ye hours are strangely alter'd: the young duke has too many eyes upon him, too many fears 'tis thought too, and to nourish those, maintains too many instruments. _put._ turn their hearts, or turn their heels up, heaven: 'tis strange it should be: the old duke lov'd him dearly. _the._ he deserv'd it; and were he not my father, i durst tell ye, the memorable hazards he has run through deserv'd of this man too; highly deserv'd too; had they been less, they had been safe _putskie_, and sooner reach'd regard. _put._ there you struck sure, sir. _the._ did i never tell thee of a vow he made some years before the old duke dyed? _put._ i have heard ye speak often of that vow; but how it was, or to what end, i never understood yet. _the._ i'le tell thee then: and then thou wilt find the reason: the last great muster, ('twas before ye serv'd here, before the last dukes death, whose honour'd bones now rest in peace) this young prince had the ordering, (to crown his fathers hopes) of all the army: who (to be short) put all his power to practise; fashion'd, and drew 'em up: but alas, so poorly, so raggedly and loosely, so unsouldier'd, the good duke blush'd, and call'd unto my father, who then was general: go, _archas_, speedily, and chide the boy, before the souldiers find him, stand thou between his ignorance and them, fashion their bodies new to thy direction; then draw thou up, and shew the prince his errours. my sire obey'd, and did so; with all duty inform'd the prince, and read him all directions: this bred distaste, distaste grew up to anger, and anger into wild words broke out thus: well, _archas_, if i live but to command here, to be but duke once, i shall then remember. i shall remember truly, trust me, i shall, and by my fathers hand--the rest his eyes spoke. to which my father answer'd (somewhat mov'd too) and with a vow he seal'd it: royal sir, since for my faith and fights, your scorn and anger only pursue me; if i live to that day, that day so long expected to reward me, by his so ever noble hand you swore by, and by the hand of justice, never arms more shall rib this body in, nor sword hang here, sir: the conflicts i will do you service then in, shall be repentant prayers: so they parted. the time is come; and now ye know the wonder. _put._ i find a fear too, which begins to tell me, the duke will have but poor and slight defences, if his hot humour raign, and not his honour: how stand you with him, sir? _the._ a perdue captain, full of my fathers danger. _p[ut]._ he has rais'd a young man, they say a slight young man, i know him not, for what desert? _the._ believe it, a brave gentleman, worth the dukes respect, a clear sweet gentleman, and of a noble soul: come let's retire us, and wait upon my father, who within this hour you will find an alter'd man. _put._ i am sorry for't, sir. [_exeunt._ scene ii. _enter_ olympia, _and two gentlewomen_. _olym._ is't not a handsome wench? _2 wom._ she is well enough, madam: i have seen a better face, and a straighter body, and yet she is a pretty gentlewoman. _olym._ what thinkst thou _petesca_? _pet._ alas, madam, i have no skill, she has a black eye, which is of the least too, and the dullest water: and when her mouth was made, for certain madam, nature intended her a right good stomach. _olym._ she has a good hand. _2 wom._ 'tis good enough to hold fast, and strong enough to strangle the neck of a lute. _olym._ what think ye of her colour? _pet._ if it be her own 'tis good black blood: right weather-proof i warrant it. _2 wom._ what a strange pace she has got! _olym._ that's but her breeding. _pet._ and what a manly body! me thinks she looks as though she would pitch the bar, or go to buffets. _2 wom._ yet her behaviour's utterly against it, for me thinks she is too bashful. _olym._ is that hurtful? _2 wom._ even equal to too bold: either of 'em, madam, may do her injury when time shall serve her. _olym._ you discourse learnedly, call in the wench. [_ex. gent._ what envious fools are you? is the rule general, that women can speak handsomly of none, but those they are bred withal? _pet._ scarce well of those, madam, if they believe they may out-shine 'em any way: our natures are like oyl, compound us with any thing, yet still we strive to swim o' th' top: suppose there were here now, now in this court of _mosco_, a stranger princess, of bloud and beauty equal to your excellence, as many eyes and services stuck on her; what would you think? _olym._ i would think she might deserve it. _pet._ your grace shall give me leave not to believe ye; i know you are a woman, and so humour'd: i'le tell ye madam, i could then get more gowns on ye, more caps and feathers, more scarfs, and more silk-stockings with rocking you asleep with nightly railings upon that woman, than if i had nine lives i could wear out: by this hand ye'would scratch her eyes out. _olym._ thou art deceiv'd fool; now let your own eye mock ye. _enter gentlewoman and_ alinda. come hither girl: hang me and she be not a handsom one. _pet._ i fear it will prove indeed so. _olym._ did you ever serve yet in any place of worth? _alin._ no, royal lady. _pet._ hold up your head; fie. _olym._ let her alone, stand from her. _alin._ it shall be now, of all the blessings my poor youth has pray'd for, the greatest and the happiest to serve you; and might my promise carry but that credit to be believ'd, because i am yet a stranger, excellent lady, when i fall from duty, from all the service that my life can lend me, may everlasting misery then find me. _olym._ what think ye now? i do believe, and thank ye; and sure i shall not be so far forgetful, to see that honest faith die unrewarded: what must i call your name? _alin._ _alinda_, madam. _olym._ can ye sing? _alin._ a little, when my grief will give me leave, lady. _olym._ what grief canst thou have wench? thou art not in love? _alin._ if i be madam, 'tis only with your goodness; for yet i never saw that man i sighed for. _olym._ of what years are you? _alin._ my mother oft has told me, that very day and hour this land was blest with your most happy birth, i first saluted this worlds fair light: nature was then so busie, and all the graces to adorn your goodness, i stole into the world poor and neglected. _olym._ something there was, when i first look'd upon thee, made me both like and love thee: now i know it; and you shall find that knowledge shall not hurt you: i hope ye are a maid? _alin._ i hope so too, madam; i am sure for any man: and were i otherwise, of all the services my hopes could point at, i durst not touch at yours. _flourish. enter duke_, burris, _and gent._ _pet._ the great duke, madam. _duk._ good morrow, sister. _olym._ a good day to your highness. _duk._ i am come to pray you use no more perswasions for this old stubborn man: nay to command ye: his sail is swell'd too full: he is grown too insolent, too self-affected, proud: those poor slight services he has done my father, and my self, has blown him to such a pitch, he flyes to stoop our favours. _olym._ i am sorry sir: i ever thought those services both great and noble. _bur._ however, may it please ye but to consider 'em a true hearts servants, done out of faith to you, and not self-fame: do but consider royal sir, the dangers; when you have slept secure, the mid-night tempests, that as he marcht sung through his aged locks; when you have fed at full, the wants and famins; the fires of heaven, when you have found all temperate, death with his thousand doors- _duk._ i have consider'd; no more: and that i will have, shall be. _olym._ for the best, i hope all still. _duk._ what handsom wench is that there? _olym._ my servant, sir. _duk._ prethee observe her _burris_, is she not wondrous handsom? speak thy freedom. _bur._ she appears no less to me sir. _duk._ of whence is she? _ol._ her father i am told is a good gentleman, but far off dwelling: her desire to serve me brought her to th' court, and here her friends have left her. _du._ she may find better friends: ye are welcom fair one, i have not seen a sweeter: by your ladies leave: nay stand up sweet, we'll have no superstition: you have got a servant; you may use him kindly, and he may honour ye: [_ex._ duke _and_ burris. good morrow sister. _ol._ good morrow to your grace. how the wench blushes! how like an a[n]gel now she looks! _1 wom._ at first jump jump into the dukes arms? we must look to you, indeed we must, the next jump we are journeymen. _pet._ i see the ruine of our hopes already, would she were at home again, milking her fathers cows. _1 wom._ i fear she'l milk all the great courtiers first. _olym._ this has not made ye proud? _al._ no certain, madam. _olym._ it was the duke that kist ye. _al._ 'twas your brother, and therefore nothing can be meant but honour. _ol._ but say he love ye? _al._ that he may with safety: a princes love extends to all his subjects. _ol._ but say in more particular? _al._ pray fear not: for vertues sake deliver me from doubts, lady: 'tis not the name of king, nor all his promises, his glories, and his greatness stuck about me, can make me prove a traitor to your service: you are my mistris, and my noble master, your vertues my ambition, and your favour the end of all my love, and all my fortune: and when i fail in that faith- _ol._ i believe thee, come wipe your eyes; i do: take you example- _pets._ i would her eyes were out. _1 wom._ if the wind stand in this door, we shall have but cold custome: some trick or other, and speedily. _pet._ let me alone to think on't. _ol._ come, be you near me still. _al._ with all my duty. [_exeunt._ scena iii. _enter_ archas, theodor, putskie, _ancient, and souldiers, carrying his armour piece-meale, his colours wound up, and his drums in cases_. _theod._ this is the heaviest march we e're trod captain. _puts._ this was not wont to be: these honour'd pieces the fierie god of war himself would smile at, buckl'd upon that body, were not wont thus, like reliques to be offer'd to long rust, and heavy-ey'd oblivion brood upon 'em. _arch._ there set 'em down: and glorious war farewel; thou child of honour and ambitious thoughts, begot in bloud, and nurs'd with kingdomes ruines; thou golden danger, courted by thy followers through fires and famins, for one title from thee- prodigal man-kind spending all his fortunes; a long farewel i give thee: noble arms, you ribs for mighty minds, you iron houses, made to defie the thunder-claps of fortune, rust and consuming time must now dwell with ye: and thou good sword that knewst the way to conquest, upon whose fatal edge despair and death dwelt, that when i shook thee thus, fore-shew'd destruction, sleep now from bloud, and grace my monument: farewel my eagle; when thou flew'st, whole armies have stoopt below thee: at passage i have seen thee, ruffle the _tartars_, as they fled thy furie; and bang 'em up together, as a tassel, upon the streach, a flock of fearfull pigeons. i yet remember when the _volga_ curl'd, the aged _volga_, when he heav'd his head up, and rais'd his waters high, to see the ruins; the ruines our swords made, the bloudy ruins, then flew this bird of honour bravely, gentlemen; but these must be forgotten: so must these too, and all that tend to arms, by me for ever. take 'em you holy men; my vow take with 'em, never to wear 'em more: trophies i give 'em, and sacred rites of war to adorn the temple: there let 'em hang, to tell the world their master is now devotions souldier, fit for prayer. why do ye hang your heads? why look you sad friends? i am not dying yet. _theod._ ye are indeed to us sir. _puts._ dead to our fortunes, general. _arch._ you'l find a better, a greater, and a stronger man to lead ye, and to a stronger fortune: i am old, friends, time, and the wars together make me stoop, gentle[men], stoop to my grave: my mind unfurnish'd too, emptie and weak as i am: my poor body, able for nothing now but contemplation, and that will be a task too to a souldier: yet had they but encourag'd me, or thought well of what i have done, i think i should have ventur'd for one knock more, i should have made a shift yet to have broke one staff more handsomly, and have died like a good fellow, and an honest souldier, in the head of ye all, with my sword in my hand, and so have made an end of all with credit. _theod._ well, there will come an hour, when all these injuries, these secure slights- _ar._ ha! no more of that sirrah, not one word more of that i charge ye. _theod._ i must speak sir. and may that tongue forget to sound your service, that's dumb to your abuses. _ar._ understand fool, that voluntary i sit down. _theod._ you are forced, sir, forced for your safety: i too well remember the time and cause, and i may live to curse 'em: you made this vow, and whose unnobleness, indeed forgetfulness of good- _ar._ no more, as thou art mine no more. _the._ whose doubts and envies- but the devil will have his due. _puts._ good gentle colonel. _the._ and though disgraces, and contempt of honour reign now, the wheel must turn again. _ar._ peace sirrah, your tongue's too saucy: do you stare upon me? down with that heart, down suddenly, down with it, down with that disobedience; tye that tongue up. _theod._ tongue? _ar._ do not provoke me to forget my vow, sirrah. and draw that fatal sword again in anger. _puts._ for heavens sake, colonel. _ar._ do not let me doubt whose son thou art, because thou canst not suffer: do not play with mine anger; if thou dost, by all the loyalty my heart holds- _theod._ i have done, sir, pray pardon me. _ar._ i pray be worthy of it: beshrew your heart, you have vext me. _the._ i am sorry, sir. _ar._ go to, no more of this: be true and honest, i know ye are man enough, mould it to just ends, and let not my disgraces, then i am miserable, when i have nothing left me but thy angers. _flourish. enter duke_, burris, boroskie, _attend. and gent_. _puts._ and't please ye, sir, the duke. _duk._ now, what's all this? the meaning of this ceremonious emblem? _ar._ your grace should first remember- _boros._ there's his nature. _duk._ i do, and shall remember still that injury, that at the muster, where it pleas'd your greatness to laugh at my poor souldiership, to scorn it; and more to make me seem ridiculous, took from my hands my charge. _bur._ o think not so, sir. _duk._ and in my fathers sight. _ar._ heaven be my witness, i did no more, (and that with modesty, with love and faith to you) than was my warrant, and from your father seal'd: nor durst that rudeness, and impudence of scorn fall from my 'haviour, i ever yet knew duty. _du._ we shall teach ye, i well remember too, upon some words i told ye, then at that time, some angry words ye answer'd, if ever i were duke, you were no souldier. you have kept your word, and so it shall be to you, from henceforth i dismiss you; take your ease, sir. _ar._ i humbly thank your grace; this wasted body, beaten and bruis'd with arms, dry'd up with troubles, is good for nothing else but quiet, now sir, and holy prayers; in which, when i forget to thank heaven for all your bounteous favours, may that be deaf, and my petitions perish. _boros._ what a smooth humble cloak he has cas'd his pride in! and how he has pull'd his claws in! there's no trusting- _bur._ speak for the best. _bor._ believe i shall do ever. _du._ to make ye understand, we feel not yet such dearth of valour, and experience, such a declining age of doing spirits, that all should be confin'd within your excellence, and you, or none be honour'd, take _boroskie_, the place he has commanded, lead the souldier; a little time will bring thee to his honour, which has been nothing but the worlds opinion, the souldiers fondness, and a little fortune, which i believe his sword had the least share in. _theod._ o that i durst but answer now. _puts._ good colonel. _theod._ my heart will break else: royal sir, i know not what you esteem mens lives, whose hourly labours, and loss of blood, consumptions in your service, whose bodies are acquainted with more miseries, and all to keep you safe, than dogs or slaves are. his sword the least share gain'd? _du._ you will not fight with me? _theod._ no sir, i dare not, you are my prince, but i dare speak to ye, and dare speak truth, which none of their ambitions that be informers to you, dare once think of; yet truth will now but anger ye; i am sorry for't, and so i take my leave. [_exit._ _du._ ev'n when you please, sir. _ar._ sirrah, see me no more. _du._ and so may you too: you have a house i'th' country, keep you there, sir, and when you have rul'd your self, teach your son manners, for this time i forgive him. _ar._ heaven forgive all; and to your grace a happy and long rule here. and you lord general, may your fights be prosperous. in all your course may fame and fortune court you. fight for your country, and your princes safety; boldly, and bravely face your enemy, and when you strike, strike with that killing vertue, as if a general plague had seiz'd before ye; danger, and doubt, and labour cast behind ye; and then come home an old and noble story. _bur._ a little comfort, sir. _du._ as little as may be: farewel, you know your limit. [_ex. duke_, &c. _bur._ alas, brave gentleman. _ar._ i do, and will observe it suddenly, my grave; i, that's my limit; 'tis no new thing, nor that can make me start, or tremble at it, to buckle with that old grim souldier now: i have seen him in his sowrest shapes, and dreadfull'st; i, and i thank my honesty, have stood him: that audit's cast; farewel my honest souldiers, give me your hands; farewel, farewel good _ancient_, a stout man, and a true, thou art come in sorrow. blessings upon your swords, may they ne'r fail ye; you do but change a man; your fortune's constant; that by your ancient valours is ty'd fast still; be valiant still, and good: and when ye fight next, when flame and fury make but one face of horrour, when the great rest of all your honour's up, when you would think a spell to shake the enemy, remember me, my prayers shall be with ye: so once again farewel. _puts._ let's wait upon ye. _ar._ no, no, it must not be; i have now left me a single fortune to my self, no more, which needs no train, nor complement; good captain, you are an honest and a sober gentleman, and one i think has lov'd me. _puts_. i am sure on't. _ar_. look to my boy, he's grown too headstrong for me. and if they think him fit to carry arms still, his life is theirs; i have a house i'th' country, and when your better hours will give you liberty, see me: you shall be welcome. fortune to ye. [_exit._ _anc._ i'll cry no more, that will do him no good, and 'twill but make me dry, and i have no money: i'll fight no more, and that will do them harm; and if i can do that, i care not for money: i could have curst reasonable well, and i have had the luck too to have 'em hit sometimes. whosoever thou art, that like a devil didst possess the duke with these malicious thoughts; mark what i say to thee, a plague upon thee, that's but the preamble. _sold._ o take the pox too. _anc._ they'll cure one another; i must have none but kills, and those kill stinking: or look ye, let the single pox possess them, or pox upon pox. _puts._ that's but ill i'th' arms, sir. _anc._ 'tis worse i'th' legs, i would not wish it else: and may those grow to scabs as big as mole-hills, and twice a day, the devil with a curry-comb scratch 'em, and scrub 'em: i warrant him he has 'em. _sold._ may he be ever lowzie. _anc._ that's a pleasure, the beggar's lechery; sometimes the souldiers: may he be ever lazie, stink where he stands, and maggots breed in's brains. _2 sold._ i, marry sir, may he fall mad in love with his grand-mother, and kissing her, may her teeth drop into his mouth, and one fall cross his throat, then let him gargle. _enter a post._ _puts._ now, what's the matter? _post._ where's the duke, pray, gentlemen? _puts._ keep on your way, you cannot miss. _post._ i thank ye. [_exit._ _anc._ if he be married, may he dream he's cuckol'd, and when he wakes believe, and swear he saw it, sue a divorce, and after find her honest: then in a pleasant pigstye, with his own garters, and a fine running knot, ride to the devil. _puts._ if these would do- _anc._ i'll never trust my mind more, if all these fail. _1 sold._ what shall we do now, captain? for by this honest hand i'll be torn in pieces, unless my old general go, or some that love him, and love us equal too, before i fight more: i can make a shooe yet, and draw it on too, if i like the leg well. _anc._ fight? 'tis likely: no, there will be the sport boys, when there's need on's. they think the other crown will do, will carry us, and the brave golden coat of captain _cankro boroskie_. what a noise his very name carries! 'tis gun enough to fright a nation, he needs no souldiers; if he do, for my part, i promise ye he's like to seek 'em; so i think you think too, and all the army; no, honest, brave old _archas_, we cannot so soon leave thy memory, so soon forget thy goodness: he that does, the scandal and the scumm of arms be counted. _puts._ you much rejoice me now you have hit my meaning, i durst not press ye, till i found your spirits: continue thus. _anc._ i'll go and tell the duke on't. _enter 2 post._ _puts._ no, no, he'll find it soon enough, and fear it, when once occasion comes: another packet! from whence, friend, come you? _2 post._ from the borders, sir. _puts._ what news, sir, i beseech you? _2 post._ fire and sword, gentlemen; the _tartar_'s up, and with a mighty force, comes forward, like a tempest, all before him burning and killing. _anc._ brave boys, brave news, boys. _2 post._ either we must have present help- _anc._ still braver. _2 post._ where lies the duke? _sold._ he's there. _2 post._ 'save ye, gentlemen. [_exit._ _anc._ we are safe enough, i warrant thee: now the time's come. _puts._ i, now 'tis come indeed, and now stand firm, boys, and let 'em burn on merrily. _anc._ this city would make a fine marvellous bone-fire: 'tis old dry timber, and such wood has no fellow. _2 sold._ here will be trim piping anon and whining, like so many pigs in a storm, when they hear the news once. _enter_ boroskie, _and servant_. _puts._ here's one has heard it already; room for the general. _boros._ say i am faln exceeding sick o'th' sudden, and am not like to live. _puts._ if ye go on, sir, for they will kill ye certainly; they look for ye. _anc._ i see your lordship's bound, take a suppository, 'tis i, sir; a poor cast flag of yours. the foolish _tartars_ they burn and kill, and't like your honour, kill us, kill with guns, with guns my lord, with guns, sir. what says your lordship to a chick in sorrel sops? _puts._ go, go thy ways old true-penny; thou hast but one fault: thou art ev'n too valiant. come, to'th' army gentlemen, and let's make them acquainted. _sold._ away, we are for ye. [_exeunt._ scene iv. _enter_ alinda, _and two gentlewomen_. _alin._ why, whither run ye fools; will ye leave my lady? _petes._ the _tartar_ comes, the _tartar_ comes. _alin._ why, let him, i thought you had fear'd no men: upon my conscience you have try'd their strengths already; stay for shame. _pet._ shift for thy self, _alinda_. [_exit._ _alin._ beauty bless ye: into what grooms feather-bed will you creep now? and there mistake the enemy; sweet youths ye are, and of a constant courage; are you afraid of foining? _enter_ olympia. _olym._ o my good wench, what shall become of us? the posts come hourly in, and bring new danger; the enemy is past the _volga_, and bears hither with all the blood and cruelty he carries, my brother now will find his fault. _alin._ i doubt me, somewhat too late, madam. but pray fear not, all will be well, i hope. sweet madam, shake not. _olym._ how cam'st thou by this spirit? our sex trembles. _alin._ i am not unacquainted with these dangers; and you shall know my truth; for ere you perish, a hundred swords shall pass through me: 'tis but dying, and madam we must do it: the manner's all: you have a princely birth, take princely thoughts to you, and take my counsel too; go presently, with all the haste ye have, (i will attend ye) with all the possible speed, to old lord _archas_, he honours ye; with all your art perswade him, ('twill be a dismal time else) woo him hither, but hither madam, make him see the danger; for your new general looks like an ass; there's nothing in his face but loss. _olym._ i'll do it. and thank thee, sweet _alinda_: o my jewel, how much i'm bound to love thee! by this hand, wench, if thou wert a man- _alin._ i would i were to fight for you. but haste dear madam. _olym._ i need no spurs _alinda_. scene v. _enter duke, 2 posts, attendants, gentlemen._ _du._ the lord general sick now? is this a time for men to creep into their beds? what's become, post, of my lieutenant? _post._ beaten, and't please your grace, and all his forces sparkled. _enter a gentleman._ _du._ that's but cold news: how now, what good news? are the souldiers ready? _ge._ yes sir, but fight they will not, nor stir from that place they stand in now, unless they have lord _archas_ to lead 'em out; they rail upon this general, and sing songs of him, scurvy songs, to worse tunes: and much they spare not you, sir: here they swear they'll stand and see the city burnt, and dance about it, unless lord _archas_ come before they fight for't: it must be so, sir. _du._ i could wish it so too; and to that end i have sent lord _burris_ to him; but all i fear will fail; we must dye, gentlemen, and one stroke we'll have for't. _enter_ burris. what bring'st thou, _burris_? _bur._ that i am loth to tell; he will not come, sir; i found him at his prayers, there he tells me, the enemy shall take him, fit for heaven: i urg'd to him all our dangers, his own worths, the countries ruine; nay i kneel'd and pray'd him; he shook his head, let fall a tear, and pointed thus with his finger to the ground; a grave i think he meant; and this was all he answer'd. your grace was much to blame: where's the new general? _du._ he is sick, poor man. _bur._ he's a poor man indeed, sir: your grace must needs go to the souldier. _du._ they have sent me word they will not stir, they rail at me, and all the spight they have- [_shout within._ what shout is that there? is the enemy come so near? _enter_ archas, olympia, _and_ alinda. _olym._ i have brought him, sir, at length i have woo'd him thus far. _du._ happy sister, o blessed woman! _olym._ use him nobly, brother; you never had more need: and gentlemen, all the best powers ye have, to tongues turn presently, to winning and perswading tongues: all my art, only to bring him hither, i have utter'd; let it be yours to arm him; and good my lord, though i exceed the limit you allow'd me, which was the happiness to bring ye hither, and not to urge ye farther; yet, see your country, out of your own sweet spirit now behold it: turn round, and look upon the miseries, on every side the fears; o see the dangers; we find 'em soonest, therefore hear me first, sir. _du._ next hear your prince: you have said you lov'd him, _archas_, and thought your life too little for his service; think not your vow too great now, now the time is, and now you are brought to th' test, touch right now souldier, now shew the manly pureness of thy mettle; now if thou beest that valued man, that vertue, that great obedience teaching all, now stand it. what i have said forget, my youth was hasty, and what you said your self forgive, you were angry. if men could live without their faults, they were gods, _archas_. he weeps, and holds his hands up: to him, _burris_. _bur._ you have shew'd the prince his faults; and like a good surgeon you have laid that to 'em makes 'em smart; he feels it, let 'em not fester now, sir; your own honour, the bounty of that mind, and your allegiance, 'gainst which i take it, heaven gives no command, sir, nor seals no vow, can better teach ye now what ye have to do, than i, or this necessity; only this little's left; would ye do nobly, and in the eye of honour truly triumph? conquer that mind first, and then men are nothing. _alin._ last, a poor virgin kneels; for loves sake general, if ever you have lov'd; for her sake, sir, for your own honesty, which is a virgin, look up, and pity us, be bold and fortunate, you are a knight, a good and noble souldier, and when your spurs were given ye, your sword buckl'd, then were you sworn for vertues cause, for beauties, for chastity to strike; strike now, they suffer; now draw your sword, or else you are recreant, only a knight i'th' heels, i'th' heart a coward; your first vow honour made, your last but anger. _ar._ how like my vertuous wife this thing looks, speaks too? so would she chide my dulness: fair one, i thank ye. my gracious sir, your pardon, next your hand: madam, your favour, and your prayers: gentlemen, your wishes, and your loves: and pretty sweet one, a favour for your souldier. _olymp._ give him this, wench. _alin._ thus do i tye on victory. _arc._ my armour, my horse, my sword, my tough staff, and my fortune, and _olin_ now i come to shake thy glory. _du._ go, brave and prosperous, our loves go with thee. _olymp._ full of thy vertue, and our prayers attend thee. _bur. &c._ loaden with victory, and we to honour thee. _alin._ come home the son of honour, and i'll serve ye. [_exeunt._ _actus secundus. scena prima._ _enter duke_, burris, _and two gentlemen_. _duke._ no news of _archas_ yet? _bur._ but now, and't please ye, a post came in, letters he brought none with him, but this deliver'd: he saw the armies join, the game of blood begun, and by our general, who never was acquainted but with conquest, so bravely fought, he saw the _tartars_ shaken, and there he said he left 'em. _du._ where's _boroskie_? _1 gent._ he's up again, and't please ye. _bur._ sir, methinks this news should make ye lightsome, bring joy to ye, it strikes our hearts with general comfort. [_exit duke._ gone? what should this mean, so suddenly? he's well? _2 gent._ we see no other. _1 gent._ would the rest were well too, that put these starts into him. _bur._ i'll go after him. _2 gent._ 'twill not be fit, sir: h'as some secret in him he would not be disturb'd in: know you any thing has crost him since the general went? _bur._ not any: if there had been, i am sure i should have found it: only i have heard him oft complain for money: money he says he wants. _1 gent._ it may be that then. _bur._ to him that has so ma[n]y wayes to raise it, and those so honest, it cannot be. _enter duke and_ boroskie. _1 gent._ he comes back, and lord _boroskie_ with him. _bur._ there the game goes, i fear some new thing hatching. _duke._ come hither _burris_. go see my sister, and commend me to her, and to my little mistriss give this token; tell her i'le see her shortly. _bur._ yes, i shall, sir. [_ex._ bur. _and gent_. _duke._ wait you without: i would yet try him further. _bor._ 'twill not be much amiss: has your grace heard yet of what he has done i'th' field? _duke._ a post but now came in, who saw 'em joyn, and has delivered, the enemy gave ground before he parted. _bor._ 'tis well. _duke._ come, speak thy mind man: 'tis not for fighting, a noise of war, i keep thee in my bosom; thy ends are nearer to me; from my childhood thou brought'st me up: and like another nature, made good all my necessities: speak boldly. _bor._ sir, what i utter, will be thought but envy though i intend, high heaven knows, but your honour, when vain and empty people shall proclaim me- good sir excuse me. _duke._ do you fear me for your enemy? speak on your duty. _bor._ then i must, and dare, sir: when he comes home, take heed the court receive him not, take heed he meet not with their loves and praises, that glass will shew him ten times greater, sir, (and make him strive to make good that proportion,) than ere his fortune bred him, he is honourable, at least i strive to understand him so, and of a nature, if not this way poyson'd, perfect enough, easie, and sweet, but those are soon seduc'd, sir; he's a great man, and what that pill may work, prepar'd by general voices of the people, is the end of all my counsel, only this, sir, let him retire a while, there's more hangs by it than you know yet: there if he stand a while well, but till the souldier cool, whom, for their service you must pay now most liberally, most freely, and showre your self into 'em; 'tis the bounty they follow with their loves, and not the bravery. _enter two gent._ _duke._ but where's the money? how now? _2 gent._ sir, the colonel, son to the lord _archas_, with most happy news of the _tartars_ overthrow, without here attends your graces pleasure. _bor._ be not seen, sir, he's a bold fellow, let me stand his thunders, to th' court he must not come: no blessing here, sir, no face of favour, if you love your honour. _enter_ theodore. _duke._ do what you think is meetest; i'le retire, sir. [_ex._ _bor._ conduct him in, sir--welcome noble colonel. _the._ that's much from your lordship: pray where's the duke? _bor._ we hear you have beat the _tartar_. _the._ is he busie, sir? _bor._ have ye taken _olin_ yet? _the._ i would fain speak with him. _bor._ how many men have ye lost? _the._ do's he lye this way? _bor._ i am sure you fought it bravely. _the._ i must see him. _bor._ you cannot yet, ye must not, what's your commission? _the._ no gentleman o'th' chamber here? _bor._ why, pray ye, sir? am not i fit to entertain your business? _the._ i think you are not, sir; i am sure ye shall not. i bring no tales, nor flatteries: in my tongue, sir, i carry no fork'd stings. _bor._ you keep your bluntness. _the._ you are deceiv'd: it keeps me: i had felt else some of your plagues ere this: but good sir trifle not, i have business to the duke. _bor._ he's not well, sir, and cannot now be spoke withal. _the._ not well, sir? how would he ha' been, if we had lost? not well, sir? i bring him news to make him well: his enemy that would have burnt his city here, and your house too, your brave gilt house, my lord, your honours hangings, where all your ancestors, and all their battels, their silk and golden battels are decipher'd: that would not only have abus'd your buildings, your goodly buildings, sir, and have drunk dry your butteries, purloin'd your lordships plate, the duke bestow'd on you, for turning handsomly o'th' toe, and trim'd your virgins, trim'd 'em of a new cut, and't like your lordship, 'tis ten to one, your wife too, and the curse is you had had no remedy against these rascals, no law, and't like your honour; would have kill'd you too and roasted ye, and eaten ye, ere this time: notable knaves my lord, unruly rascals: these youths have we ty'd up, put muzzels on 'em, and par'd their nails, that honest civil gentlemen, and such most noble persons as your self is, may live in peace, and rule the land with a twine thread. these news i bring. _bor._ and were they thus deliver'd ye? _the._ my lord, i am no pen-man, nor no orator, my tongue was never oyl'd with here and't like ye, there i beseech ye, weigh, i am a souldier, and truth i covet only, no fine terms, sir; i come not to stand treating here; my business is with the duke, and of such general blessing- _bor._ you have overthrown the enemy, we know it, and we rejoyce in't; ye have done like honest subjects, you have done handsomely and well. _theo._ but well, sir? but handsomely and well? what are we juglers? i'le do all that in cutting up a capon. but handsomely and well? does your lordship take us for the dukes tumblers? we have done bravely, sir, ventur'd our lives like men. _bor._ then bravely be it. _theo._ and for as brave rewards we look, and graces, we have sweat and bled for't, sir. _bor._ and ye may have it, if you will stay the giving. men that thank themselves first for any good they do, take off the lustre, and blot the benefit. _theo._ are these the welcomes, the bells that ring out our rewards? pray heartily, early and late, there may be no more enemies: do my good lord, pray seriously, and sigh too, for if there be- _bor._ they must be met, and fought with. _theo._ by whom? by you? they must be met and flatter'd. why, what a devil ail'd ye to do these things? with what assurance dare ye mock men thus? you have but single lives, and those i take it a sword may find too: why do ye dam the duke up? and choak that course of love, that like a river should fill our empty veins again with comforts? but if ye use these knick knacks, this fast and loose, with faithful men and honest, you'l be the first will find it. _enter_ archas, _souldiers_, putskey, _ancient, and others_. _boros._ you are too untemperate. _theo._ better be so, and thief too, than unthankful: pray use this old man so, and then we are paid all. the duke thanks ye for your service, and the court thanks ye, and wonderful desirous they are to see ye; pray heaven we have room enough to march for may-games, pageants, and bone-fires for your welcome home, sir. here your most noble friend the lord _boroskie_, a gentleman too tender of your credit, and ever in the dukes ear, for your good, sir, crazie and sickly, yet to be your servant, has leapt into the open air to meet ye. _bor._ the best is, your words wound not, you are welcome home, sir; heartily welcome home, and for your service, the noble overthrow you gave the enemy, the duke salutes ye too with all his thanks, sir. _anc._ sure they will now regard us. _puts._ there's a reason: but by the changing of the colonels countenance, the rolling of his eyes like angry billows; i fear the wind's not down yet, _ancient_. _anc._ is the duke well, sir? _boros._ not much unhealthy, only a little grudging of an ague, which cannot last: he has heard, which makes him fearful, and loth as yet to give your worth due welcome, the sickness hath been somewhat hot i'th' army, which happily may prove more doubt than danger, and more his fear than fate; yet howsoever, an honest care- _arch._ ye say right, and it shall be; for though upon my life 'tis but a rumor, a meer opinion, without faith or fear in't; for sir, i thank heaven, we never stood more healthy, never more high and lusty; yet to satisfie, we cannot be too curious, or too careful of what concerns his state, we'll draw away, sir, and lodge at further distance, and less danger. _boros._ it will be well. _anc._ it will be very scurvy: i smell it out, it stinks abominably, stir it no more. _boros._ the duke, sir, would have you too, for a short day or two, retire to your own house, whither himself will come to visit ye, and give ye thanks. _arch._ i shall attend his pleasure. _anc._ a trick, a lousie trick: so ho, a trick boys. _arch._ how now, what's that? _anc._ i thought i had found a hare, sir, but 'tis a fox, an old fox, shall we hunt him? _arch._ no more such words. _boros._ the souldier's grown too sawcy, you must tie him straiter up. _arch._ i do my best, sir; but men of free-born minds sometimes will flie out. _anc._ may not we see the duke? _boros._ not at this time, gentlemen, your general knows the cause. _anc._ we have no plague, sir, unless it be in our pay, nor no pox neither; or if we had, i hope that good old courtier will not deny us place there. _puts._ certain my lord, considering what we are, and what we have done; if not, what need ye may have, 'twould be better, a great deal nobler, and taste honester to use us with more sweetness; men that dig and lash away their lives at the carts tail, double our comforts; meat, and their masters thanks too, when they work well, they have; men of our quality, when they do well, and venture for't with valour, fight hard, lye hard, feed hard, when they come home, sir, and know these are deserving things, things worthy, can you then blame 'em if their minds a little be stir'd with glory? 'tis a pride becomes 'em, a little season'd with ambition, to be respected, reckon'd well, and honour'd for what they have done: when to come home thus poorly, and met with such unjointed joy, so looked on, as if we had done no more but drest a horse well; so entertain'd, as if, i thank ye gentlemen, take that to drink, had pow'r to please a souldier? where be the shouts, the bells rung out, the people? the prince himself? _arch._ peace: i perceive your eye, sir, is fixt upon this captain for his freedom, and happily you find his tongue too forward; as i am master of the place i carry, 'tis fit i think so too; but were i this man, no stronger tie upon me, than the truth and tongue to tell it, i should speak as he do's, and think with modesty enough, such saints that daily thrust their loves and lives through hazards, and fearless for their countries peace, march hourly through all the doors of death, and know the darkest, should better be canoniz'd for their service: what labour would these men neglect, what danger where honour is, though seated in a billow, rising as high as heaven, would not these souldiers, like to so many sea-gods charge up to it? do you see these swords? times sythe was ne'er so sharp, sir; nor ever at one harvest mow'd such handfuls: thoughts ne'er so sudden, nor belief so sure when they are drawn, and were it not sometimes i swim upon their angers to allay 'em, and like a calm depress their fell intentions; they are so deadly sure, nature would suffer- and whose are all these glories? why, their princes, their countries, and their friends? alas, of all these, and all the happy ends they bring, the blessings, they only share the labours: a little joy then, and outside of a welcome, at an upshot would not have done amiss, sir; but howsoever between me and my duty, no crack, sir, shall dare appear: i hope by my example no discontent in them: without doubt gentlemen, the duke will both look suddenly and truly on your deserts: methinks 'twere good they were paid, sir. _bor._ they shall be immediately; i stay for money; and any favour else- _arch._ we are all bound to ye; and so i take my leave, sir; when the duke pleases to make me worthy of his eyes- _bor._ which will be suddenly, i know his good thoughts to ye. _arch._ with all duty, and all humility, i shall attend, sir. _bor._ once more you are welcome home: these shall be satisfied. _the._ be sure we be: and handsomly. _arch._ wait you on me, sir. _the._ and honestly: no jugling. _arch._ will ye come, sir? [_exit._ _bor._ pray do not doubt. _the._ we are no boys. [_exit._ _enter a gent. and 2 or 3 with mony._ _bor._ well sir. _gent._ here's mony from the duke, and't please your lordship. _bor._ 'tis well. _gent._ how sowre the souldiers look? _bor._ is't told? _gent._ yes, and for every company a double pay, and the dukes love to all. _anc._ that's worth a ducket. _bor._ you that be officers, see it discharg'd then, why do not you take it up? _anc._ 'tis too heavy: 'body o'me, i have strain'd mine arm. _bor._ do ye scorn it? _anc._ has your lor[d]ship any dice about ye? sit round gentlemen, and come on seven for my share. _put._ do you think sir, this is the end we fight? can this durt draw us to such a stupid tameness, that our service neglected, and look'd lamely on, and skew'd at with a few honourable words, and this, is righted? have not we eyes and ears, to hear and see sir, and minds to understand the slights we carry? i come home old, and full of hurts, men look on me as if i had got 'em from a whore, and shun me; i tell my griefs, and fear my wants, i am answer'd, alas 'tis pity! pray dine with me on sunday: these are the sores we are sick of, the minds maladies, and can this cure 'em? you should have us'd us nobly, and for our doing well, as well proclaim'd us to the worlds eye, have shew'd and sainted us, then ye had paid us bravely: then we had shin'd sir, not in this gilded stuff but in our glory: you may take back your mony. _gent._ this i fear'd still. _bor._ consider better gentlemen. _anc._ thank your lordship: and now i'le put on my considering cap: my lord, that i am no courtier, you may guess it by having no sute to you for this mony: for though i want, i want not this, nor shall not, whilst you want that civility to rank it with those rights we expected; mony grows sir, and men must gather it, all is not put in one purse. and that i am no carter, i could never whistle yet: but that i am a souldier, and a gentleman, and a fine gentleman, and't like your honour, and a most pleasant companion: all you that are witty, come list to my ditty: come set in boyes, with your lordships patience. [_song._ how do you like my song, my lord? _bor._ even as i like your self, but 'twould be a great deal better, you would prove a great deal wiser, and take this mony, in your own phrase i speak now sir, and 'tis very well you have learn'd to sing; for since you prove so liberal, to refuse such means as this, maintain your voice still, 'twill prove your best friend. _anc._ 'tis a singing age sir, a merry moon here now: i'le follow it: fidling, and fooling now, gains more than fighting. _bor._ what is't you blench at? what would you ask? speak freely. _sol._ and so we dare: a triumph for the general, _put._ and then an honour special to his vertue. _anc._ that we may be prefer'd that have serv'd for it, and cram'd up into favour like the worshipful, at least upon the cities charge made drunk for one whole year; we have done 'em ten years service; that we may enjoy our lechery without grudging, and mine, or thine be nothing, all things equal, and catch as catch may, be proclaim'd: that when we borrow, and have no will to pay again, no law lay hold upon us, nor no court controule us. _bor._ some of these may come to pass; the duke may do 'em, and no doubt will: the general will find too, and so will you, if you but stay with patience: i have no power. _put._ nor will: come fellow souldiers. _bor._ pray be not so distrustfull. _put._ there are waies yet, and honest waies; we are not brought up statues. _anc._ if your lordship have any silk stockings, that have holes i'th' heels, or ever an honourable cassock that wants buttons, i could have cur'd such maladies: your lordships custome and my good ladies, if the bones want setting in her old bodies- _bor._ this is disobedience. _anc._ eight pence a day, and hard eggs. _put._ troop off gentlemen, some coin we have, whilst this lasts, or our credits, we'l never sell our generals worth for six-pence. ye are beholding to us. _anc._ fare ye well sir, and buy a pipe with that: do ye see this skarf sir? by this hand i'le cry brooms in't, birchen brooms sir, before i eat one bit from your benevolence. now to our old occupations again. by your leave lord. [_exeunt._ _bor._ you will bite when ye are sharper; take up the mony. this love i must remove, this fondness to him, this tenderness of heart; i have lost my way else. there is no sending man, they will not take it, they are yet too full of pillage, they'l dance for't ere't be long: come, bring it after. _enter_ duke. _duke._ how now, refus'd their mony? _bor._ very bravely, and stand upon such terms 'tis terrible. _duke._ where's _archas_? _bor._ he's retir'd sir, to his house, according to your pleasure, full of dutie to outward shew: but what within- _duke._ refuse it? _bor._ most confidently: 'tis not your revenues can feed the[m] sir, and yet they have found a general that knows no ebbe of bountie: there they eat sir, and loath your invitations. _duke._ 'tis not possible, he's poor as they. _bor._ you'l find it otherwise. pray make your journey thither presently, and as ye goe i'le open ye a wonder. good sir this morning. _duke._ follow me, i'le doe it. [_exeunt._ scena ii. _enter_ olympia, alinda, burris, _and gentlewomen_. _olym._ but do you think my brother loves her? _bur._ certain madam, he speaks much of her, and sometimes with wonder, oft wishes she were nobler born. _olym._ do you think him honest? _bur._ your grace is nearer to his heart, than i am, upon my life i hold him so. _olym._ 'tis a poor wench, i would not have her wrong'd: methinks my brother- but i must not give rules to his affections; yet if he weigh her worth- _bur._ you need not fear madam. _olym._ i hope i shall not: lord _burris_ i love her well; i know not, there is something makes me bestow more than a care upon her: i do not like that ring from him to her; i mean to women of her way, such tokens rather appear as baits, than royal bounties: i would not have it so. _bur._ you will not find it, upon my troth i think his most ambition is but to let the world know h'as a handsom mistris: will your grace command me any service to him? _olym._ remember all my duty. _bur._ blessings crown ye: what's your will lady? _al._ any thing that's honest; and if you think it fit, so poor a service, clad in a ragged vertue, may reach him, i do beseech your lordship speak it humbly. _bur._ fair one i will: in the best phrase i have too, and so i kiss your hand. [_exit._ _al._ your lordships servant. _olym._ come hither wench, what art thou doing with that ring? _al._ i am looking on the posie, madam. _olym._ what is't? _al._ the jewel's set within. _olym._ but where the joy wench, when that invisible jewel's lost? why dost thou smile so? what unhappy meaning hast thou? _al._. nothing madam, but only thinking what strange spells these rings have, and how they work with some. _pet._ i fear with you too. _al._ this could not cost above a crown. _pet._ 'twill cost you the shaving of your crown, if not the washing. _olym._ but he that sent it, makes the vertue greater; _al._ i and the vice too madam: goodness bless me: how fit 'tis for my finger! _2 w._ no doubt you'l find too a finger fit for you. _al._ sirrah, _petesca_, what wilt thou give me for the good that follows this? but thou hast rings enough, thou art provided: heigh ho, what must i doe now? _pet._ you'l be taught that, the easiest part that e're you learn't, i warrant you. _al._ ay me, ay me. _pet._ you will divide too, shortly, your voice comes finely forward. _olym._ come hither wanton, thou art not surely as thou saist. _al._ i would not: but sure there is a witchcraft in this ring, lady, lord how my heart leaps! _pet._ 'twill goe pit a pat shortly. _al._ and now methinks a thousand of the dukes shapes. _2 w._ will no less serve ye? _al._ in ten thousand smiles. _olym._ heaven bless the wench. _al._ with eyes that will not be deni'd to enter; and such soft sweet embraces; take it from me, i am undone else madam: i'm lost else. _olym._ what ailes the girle? _al._ how suddenly i'm alter'd! and grown my self again! do not you feel it? _olym._ wear that, and i'le wear this: i'le try the strength on't. _al._ how cold my bloud grows now! here's sacred vertue: when i leave to honour this, every hour to pay a kiss, when each morning i arise, or i forget a sacrifice: when this figure in my faith, and the pureness that it hath, i pursue not with my will, nearer to arrive at still: when i lose, or change this jewel, flie me faith, and heaven be cruel. _olym._ you have half confirm'd me, keep but that way sure, and what this charm can doe, let me endure. [_exeunt._ scena iii. _enter_ archas, theodore, _2 daughters_ honora _and_ viola. _ar._ carry your self discreetly, it concerns me, the duke's come in, none of your froward passions, nor no distasts to any: prethee _theodor_, by my life, boy, 'twill ruine me. _the._ i have done sir, so there be no foul play he brings along with him. _ar._ what's that to you? let him bring what please him, and whom, and how. _the._ so they mean well- _ar._ is't fit you be a judge sirrah? _the._ 'tis fit i feel sir. _ar._ get a banquet ready, and trim your selves up handsomly. _the._ to what end? do you mean to make 'em whores? hang up a sign then, and set 'em out to livery. _ar._ whose son art thou? _the._ yours sir, i hope: but not of your disgraces. _ar._ full twenty thousand men i have commanded, and all their minds, with this calm'd all their angers; and shall a boy of mine own breed too, of mine own blood, one crooked stick- _the._ pray take your way, and thrive in't, i'le quit your house; if taint or black dishonour light on ye, 'tis your own, i have no share in't. yet if it do fall out so, as i fear it, and partly find it too- _ar._ hast thou no reverence? no dutie in thee? _the._ this shall shew i obey ye: i dare not stay: i would have shew'd my love too, and that you ask as duty, with my life sir, had you but thought me worthy of your hazards, which heaven preserve ye from, and keep the duke too: and there's an end of my wishes, god be with ye. [_exit._ _ar._ stubborn, yet full of that we all love, honesty. _enter_ burris. lord _burris_, where's the duke? _bur._ in the great chamber sir, and there stayes till he see you, ye 'have a fine house here. _ar._ a poor contented lodge, unfit for his presence, yet all the joy it hath. _bur._ i hope a great one, and for your good, brave sir. _ar._ i thank ye lord: and now my service to the duke. _bur._ i'le wait on ye. [_exeunt._ _enter_ duke, boroskey, _gent. and attendants_. _duke._ may this be credited? _bor._ disgrace me else, and never more with favour look upon me. _duke._ it seems impossible. _bor._ it cannot chuse sir, till your own eyes behold it; but that it is so, and that by this means the too haughtie souldier has been so cramm'd and fed, he cares not for ye; believe, or let me perish: let your eyes as you observe the house, but where i point it, make stay, and take a view, and then you have found it. _enter_ archas, burris, _2 daughters, and servant_. _du._ i'le follow your direction: welcome _archas_, you are welcome home brave lord, we are come to visit ye, and thank ye for your service. _ar._ 'twas so poor sir, in true respect of what i owe your highness, it merits nothing. _du._ are these fair ones yours, lord? _ar._ their mother made me think so sir. _du._ stand up ladies: beshrew my heart they are fair ones; methinks fitter the lustre of the court, than thus live darken'd: i would see your house lord _archas_, it appears to me a handsom pile. _ar._ 'tis neat but no great structure; i'le be your graces guide, give me the keyes there. _du._ lead on, we'l follow ye: begin with the gallery, i think that's one. _arc._ 'tis so, and't please ye, sir, the rest above are lodgings all. _du._ go on, sir. [_exeunt._ scene iv. _enter_ theodore, putskey, _and ancient_. _puts._ the duke gone thither, do you say? _the._ yes marry do i, and all the ducklings too; but what they'll do there- _puts._ i hope they'll crown his service. _the._ with a custard; this is no weather for rewards: they crown his service? rather they go to shave his crown: i was rated as if i had been a dog had worried sheep, out of doors, for making but a doubt. _puts._ they must now grace him. _the._ mark but the end. _anc._ i am sure they should reward him, they cannot want him. _the._ they that want honesty, want any thing. _puts._ the duke is so noble in his own thoughts. _the._ that i grant ye, if those might only sway him: but 'tis most certain, so many new born flies his light gave life to, buzze in his beams, flesh-flies, and butterflies, hornets, and humming scarabs, that not one honey bee that's loaden with true labour, and brings home encrease and credit, can 'scape rifling, and what she sucks for sweet, they turn to bitterness. _anc._ shall we go see what they do, and talk our mind to 'em? _puts._ that we have done too much, and to no purpose. _anc._ shall we be hang'd for him? i have a great mind to be hang'd now for doing some brave thing for him; a worse end will take me, and for an action of no worth; not honour him? upon my conscience, even the devil, the very devil (not to belie him) thinks him an honest man, i am sure he has sent him souls any time these twenty years, able to furnish all his fish-markets. _the._ leave thy talking, and come, let's go to dinner and drink to him, we shall hear more ere supper time: if he be honour'd, he has deserv'd it well, and we shall fight for't: if he be ruin'd, so, we know the worst then, and for my self, i'll meet it. _puts._ i ne'r fear it. [_exeunt._ scene v. _enter duke_, archas, boroskey, burris, _gentlemen, and attendants_. _du._ they are handsome rooms all, well contriv'd and fitted, full of convenience, the prospect's excellent. _arc._ now will your grace pass down, and do me but the honour to taste a countrey banquet? _du._ what room's that? i would see all now; what conveyance has it? i see you have kept the best part yet; pray open it. _arc._ ha! i misdoubted this: 'tis of no receipt, sir, for your eyes most unfit- _du._i long to see it, because i would judge of the whole piece: some excellent painting, or some rare spoils you would keep to entertain me another time, i know. _a[r]c._ in troth there is not, nor any thing worth your sight; below i have some fountains, and some ponds. _du._ i would see this now. _ar._ _boroskie_, thou art a knave; it contains nothing but rubbish from the other rooms and unnecessaries: will't please you see a strange clock? _du._ this or nothing: [_little trunk ready._ why should you bar it up thus with defences above the rest, unless it contain'd something more excellent, and curious of keeping? open't, for i will see it. _arc._ the keys are lost, sir: does your grace think if it were fit for you, i could be so unmannerly? _du._ i will see it, and either shew it- _arc._ good sir- _du._ thank ye, _archas_, you shew your love abundantly, do i use to entreat thus? force it open. _bur._ that were inhospitable; you are his guest, sir, and with his greatest joy, to entertain ye. _du._ hold thy peace, fool; will ye open it? _arc._ sir, i cannot. i must not if i could. _du._ go, break it open. _arc._ i must withstand that force: be not too rash, gentlemen. _du._ unarm him first, then if he be not obstinate preserve his life. _arc._ i thank your grace, i take it; and now take you the keys, go in, and see, sir; there feed your eyes with wonder, and thank that traytor, that thing that sells his faith for favour. [_exit duke._ _bur._ sir, what moves ye? _arc._ i have kept mine pure: lord _burris_, there's a _judas_, that for a smile will sell ye all: a gentleman? the devil has more truth, and has maintain'd it; a whores heart more belief in't. _enter duke._ _du._ what's all this, _archas_? i cannot blame you to conceal it so, this most inestimable treasure. _ar._ yours sir. _du._ nor do i wonder now the souldier sleights me. _arc._ be not deceiv'd; he has had no favour here, sir, nor had you known this now, but for that pick-thank, the lost man in his faith, he has reveal'd it, to suck a little honey from ye has betray'd it. i swear he smiles upon me, and forsworn too, thou crackt, uncurrant lord: i'll tell ye all, sir: your sire, before his death, knowing your temper, to be as bounteous as the air, and open, as flowing as the sea to all that follow'd ye, your great mind fit for war and glory, thriftily like a great husband to preserve your actions, collected all this treasure; to our trusts, to mine i mean, and to that long-tongu'd lord's there, he gave the knowledg and the charge of all this, upon his death-bed too: and on the sacrament he swore us thus, never to let this treasure part from our secret keepings, till no hope of subject could relieve ye, all your own wasted, no help of those that lov'd ye could supply ye, and then some great exploit a foot; my honesty i would have kept till i had made this useful; i shew'd it, and i stood it to the tempest, and useful to the end 'twas left: i am cozen'd, and so are you too, if you spend this vainly; this worm that crept into ye has abus'd ye, abus'd your fathers care, abus'd his faith too: nor can this mass of money make him man more, a flea'd dog has more soul, an ape more honesty; all mine ye have amongst it, farewel that, i cannot part with't nobler; my heart's clear, my conscience smooth as that, no rub upon't: but o thy hell! _bor._ i seek no heaven from you, sir. _arc._ thy gnawing hell, _boroskey_, it will find thee: would ye heap coals upon his head has wrong'd ye, has ruin'd your estate? give him this money, melt it into his mouth. _du._ what little trunk's that? that there o'th' top, that's lockt? _bor._ you'll find it rich, sir, richer i think than all. _arc._ you were not covetous, nor wont to weave your thoughts with such a courseness; pray rack not honesty. _bor._ be sure you see it. _du._ bring out the trunk. _enter with the trunk._ _arc._ you'll find that treasure too, all i have left me now. _du._ what's this, a poor gown? and this a piece of _seneca_? _arc._ yes sure, sir, more worth than all your gold, yet ye have enough on't, and of a mine far purer, and more precious; this sells no friends, nor searches into counsels, and yet all counsel, and all friends live here, sir; betrays no faith, yet handles all that's trusty: will't please you leave me this? _du._ with all my heart, sir. _ar._ what says your lordship to't? _bor._ i dare not rob ye. _arc._ poor miserable men, you have rob'd your selves both; this gown, and this unvalu'd treasure, your brave father, found me a child at school with, in his progress. where such a love he took to some few answers, unhappy boyish toys hit in my head then, that suddenly i made him, thus as i was, (for here was all the wealth i brought his highness) he carried me to court, there bred me up, bestow'd his favours on me, taught me the arms first, with those an honest mind; i serv'd him truly, and where he gave me trust, i think i fail'd not; let the world speak: i humbly thank your highness, you have done more, and nobler, eas'd mine age, sir; and to this care a fair _quietus_ given, now to my book again. _du._ you have your wish, sir, let some bring off the treasure. _bor._ some is his, sir. _arc._ none, none, a poor unworthy reaper, the harvest is his graces. _du._ thank you, _archas_. _arc._ but will not you repent, lord? when this is gone where will your lordship?- _bor._ pray take you no care, sir. _arc._ does your grace like my house? _du._ wondrous well, _archas_, you have made me richly welcome. _arc._ i did my best, sir. is there any thing else may please your grace? _du._ your daughters i had forgot, send them to court. _arc._ how's that, sir? _du._ i said your daughters; see it done: i'll have 'em attend my sister, _archas_. _arc._ thank your highness. _du._ and suddenly. [_exit._ _arc._ through all the ways i dare, i'll serve your temper, though you try me far. [_exit._ _actus tertius. scena prima._ _enter_ theodore, putskey, _ancient and servant_. _the._ i wonder we hear no news. _puts._ here's your fathers servant, he comes in haste too, now we shall know all, sir. _the._ how now? _ser._ i am glad i have met you, sir; your father intreats you presently make haste unto him. _the._ what news? _ser._ none of the best, sir, i am asham'd to tell it, pray ask no more. _the._ did not i tell ye, gentlemen? did not i prophesie? he's undone then. _ser._ not so, sir, but as near it- _puts._ there's no help now; the army's scatter'd all, through discontent, not to be rallied up in haste to help this. _anc._ plague of the devil; have ye watch'd your seasons? we shall watch you ere long. _the._ farewel, there's no cure, we must endure all now: i know what i'll do. [_exeunt_ theodore _and servant_. _puts._ nay, there's no striving, they have a hand upon us, a heavy and a hard one. _anc._ now i have it, we have yet some gentlemen, some boys of mettle, (what, are we bob'd thus still, colted, and carted?) and one mad trick we'll have to shame these vipers; shall i bless 'em? _puts._ farewel; i have thought my way too. [_exit._ _anc._ were never such rare cries in christendome, as _mosco_ shall afford: we'll live by fooling now fighting's gone, and they shall find and feel it. [_exit._ scene ii. _enter_ archas, honora, _and_ viola. _ar._ no more, it must be so; do you think i would send ye, your father and your friend- _viol._ pray sir, be good to us, alas, we know no court, nor seek that knowledge; we are content with harmless things at home, children of your content, bred up in quiet, only to know our selves, to seek a wisedome from that we understand, easie and honest; to make our actions worthy of your honour, their ends as innocent as we begot 'em; what shall we look for sir, what shall we learn there, that this more private sweetness cannot teach us? vertue was never built upon ambition, nor the souls beauties bred out of bravery: what a terrible father would you seem to us, now you have moulded us, and wrought our tempers to easie and obedient ways, uncrooked, where the fair mind can never lose nor loiter, now to divert our natures, now to stem us roughly against the tide of all this treasure? would ye have us proud? 'tis sooner bred than buried; wickedly proud? for such things dwell at court, sir. _hon._ would ye have your children learn to forget their father, and when he dies dance on his monument? shall we seek vertue in a sattin gown; embroider'd vertue? faith in a well-curl'd feather? and set our credits to the tune of green sleeves? this may be done; and if you like, it shall be. you should have sent us thither when we were younger, our maiden-heads at a higher rate; our innocence able to make a mart indeed: we are now too old, sir, perhaps they'll think too cunning too, and slight us; besides, we are altogether unprovided, unfurnisht utterly of the rules should guide us: this lord comes, licks his hand, and protests to me; compares my beauty to a thousand fine things; mountains, and fountains, trees, and stars, and goblins; now have not i the faith for to believe him; he offers me the honourable courtesie, to lye with me all night, what a misery is this? i am bred up so foolishly, alas, i dare not, and how madly these things will shew there. _arc._ i send ye not, like parts infected, to draw more corruption; like spiders to grow great, with growing evil: with your own vertues season'd, and my prayers, the card of goodness in your minds, that shows ye when ye sail false; the needle toucht with honour, that through the blackest storms, still points at happiness; your bodies the tall barks, rib'd round with goodness, your heavenly souls the pilots, thus i send you; thus i prepare your voyage; sound before ye, and ever as you sail through this worlds vanity, discover sholes, rocks, quicksands, cry out to ye, like a good master tack about for honour: the court is vertue's school, at least it should be; nearer the sun the mine lies, the metal's purer: be it granted, if the spring be once infected, those branches that flow from him must run muddy; say you find some sins there, and those no small ones, and they like lazie fits begin to shake ye: say they affect your strengths, my happy children, great things through greatest hazards are atchiev'd still, and then they shine, then goodness has his glory, his crown fast rivetted, then time moves under, where, through the mist of errors, like the sun, through thick and pitchy clouds, he breaks out nobly. _hon._ i thank you sir, you have made me half a souldier, i will to court most willingly, most fondly. and if there be such stirring things amongst 'em, such travellers into _virginia_ as fame reports, if they can win me, take me; i think i have a close ward, and a sure one; an honest mind i hope, 'tis petticoat-proof, chain-proof, and jewel-proof; i know 'tis gold-proof, a coach and four horses cannot draw me from it: as for your handsome faces, and filed tongues, curl'd millers heads, i have another word for them, and yet i'll flatter too, as fast as they do, and lye, but not as lewdly; come, be valiant, sister, she that dares not stand the push o'th' court, dares nothing, and yet come off ungraced: sir, like you, we both affect great dangers now, and the world shall see all glory lies not in mans victorie. _arc._ mine own _honora_. _viol._ i am very fearful, would i were stronger built: you would have me honest? _arc._ or not at all my _viola_. _viol._ i'll think on't, for 'tis no easie promise, and live there: do you think we shall do well? _hon._ why, what should aile us? _viol._ certain they'll tempt us strongly; beside the glory which women may affect, they are handsom gentlemen, every part speaks: nor is it one denial, nor two, nor ten; from every look we give 'em, they'll frame a hope; even from our prayers, promises. _hon._ let 'em feed so, and be fat; there is no fear, wench, i[f] thou beest fast to thy self. _viol._ i hope i shall be; and your example will work more. _enter_ theodore. _hon._ thou shalt not want it. _the._ how do you, sir? can you lend a man an angel? i hear you let out money. _arc._ very well, sir, you are pleasantly dispos'd: i am glad to see it. can you lend me your patience, and be rul'd by me? _the._ is't come to patience now? _arc._ is't not a vertue? _the._ i know not: i ne'r found it so. _arc._ that's because thy anger ever knows, and not thy judgment. _the._ i know you have been rifl'd. _arc._ nothing less, boy; lord, what opinions these vain people publish! rifl'd of what? _the._ study your vertue, patience, it may get mustard to your meat. why in such haste, sir, sent ye for me? _arc._ for this end only, _theodore_, to wait upon your sisters to the court; i am commanded they live there. _the._ to th' court, sir? _arc._ to th' court i say. _the._ and must i wait upon 'em? _arc._ yes, 'tis most fit you should, you are their brother. _the._ is this the business? i had thought your mind, sir, had been set forward on some noble action, something had truly stir'd ye. to th' court with these? why, they are your daughters, sir. _arc._ all this i know, sir. _the._ the good old woman on a bed he threw: to th' court? _arc._ thou art mad. _the._ nor drunk as you are: drunk with your duty, sir: do you call it duty? a pox of duty, what can these do there? what should they do? can ye look babies, sisters, in the young gallants eyes, and twirl their band-strings? can ye ride out to air your selves? pray sir, be serious with me, do you speak this truly? _arc._ why, didst thou never hear of women yet at court, boy? _the._ yes, and good women too, very good women, excellent honest women: but are you sure, sir, that these will prove so? _hon._ there's the danger, brother. _the._ god-a-mercy wench, thou hast a grudging of it. _arc._ now be you serious, sir, and observe what i say, do it, and do it handsomly; go with 'em. _the._ with all my heart, sir; i am in no fault now; if they be thought whores for being in my company; pray write upon their backs, they are my sisters, and where i shall deliver 'em. _arc._ ye are wondrous jocund, but prithee tell me, art thou so lewd a fellow? i never knew thee fail a truth. _the._ i am a souldier, and spell you what that means. _arc._ a souldier? what dost thou make of me? _the._ your palate's down, sir. _arc._ i thank ye, sir. _the._ come, shall we to this matter? you will to court? _hon._ if you will please to honour us. _the._ i'll honour ye, i warrant; i'll set ye off with such a lustre, wenches; alas poor _viola_, thou art a fool, thou criest for eating white bread: be a good huswife of thy tears, and save 'em, thou wilt have time enough to shed 'em, sister. do you weep too? nay, then i'll fool no more. come worthy sisters, since it must be so, and since he thinks it fit to try your vertues, be you as strong to truth, as i to guard ye, and this old gentleman shall have joy of ye. [_exeunt._ scene iii. _enter duke, and_ burris. _du._ _burris_ take you ten thousand of those crowns, and those two chains of pearl they hold the richest, i give 'em ye. _bur._ i humbly thank your grace; and may your great example work in me that noble charity to men more worthy, and of more wants. _du._ you bear a good mind, _burris_; take twenty thousand now: be not so modest, it shall be so, i give 'em: go, there's my ring for't. _bur._ heaven bless your highness ever. [_exit._ _du._ you are honest. _enter_ alinda, _and_ putskey _at door_. _put._ they're coming now to court, as fair as vertue: two brighter stars ne'er rose here. _alin._ peace, i have it, and what my art can do; the duke- _put._ i am gone, remember. [_exit._ _alin._ i am counsell'd to the full, sir. _duke._ my pretty mistris, whither lyes your business? how kindly i should take this, were it to me now? _alin._ i must confess immediately to your grace, at this time. _duke._ you have no address, i do believe ye, i would ye had. _alin._ 'twere too much boldness, sir, upon so little knowledge, less deserving. _duke._ you'll make a perfect courtier. _alin._ a very poor one. _duke._ a very fair one, sweet; come hither to me. what killing eyes this wench has! in his glory not the bright sun, when the _sirian_ star reigns, shines half so fiery. _alin._ why does your grace so view me? nothing but common handsomness dwells here, sir, scarce that: your grace is pleas'd to mock my meanness. _duke._ thou shalt not go: i do not lie unto thee, in my eye thou appear'st- _alin._ dim not the sight, sir, i am too dull an object. _duke._ canst thou love me? canst thou love him will honour thee? _alin._ i can love, and love as you do too: but 'twill not shew well: or if it do shew here where all light lustres, tinsel affections make a glorious glistering, 'twill halt i'th' handsom way. _duke._ are ye so cunning? dost think i love not truly? _alin._ no, ye cannot, you never travel'd that way yet: pray pardon me, i prate so boldly to you. _duke._ there's no harm done: but what's your reason, sweet? _alin._ i would tell your grace, but happily- _duke._ it shall be pleasing to me. _alin._ i should love you again, and then you would hate me. with all my service i should follow ye, and through all dangers. _duke._ this would more provoke me, more make me see thy worths, more make me meet 'em. _alin._ you should do so, if ye did well and truly: but though ye be a prince, and have power in ye, power of example too, ye have fail'd and falter'd. _duke._ give me example where? _alin._ you had a mistris, oh heaven, so bright, so brave a dame, so lovely, in all her life so true! _duke._ a mistris? _alin._ that serv'd you with that constancy, that care, that lov'd your will, and woo'd it too. _duke._ what mistris? _alin._ that nurs'd your honour up, held fast your vertue, and when she kist encreas'd, not stole your goodness. _duke._ and i neglected her? _alin._ lost her, forsook her, wantonly flung her off. _duke._ what was her name? _alin._ her name as lovely as her self, as noble, and in it all that's excellent. _duke._ what was it? _alin._ her name was _beau-desert_: do you know her now, sir? _duke._ _beau-desert_? i do not remember- _alin._ i know you do not; yet she has a plainer name; lord _archas_ service; do you yet remember her? there was a mistris fairer than woman, far fonder to you, sir, than mothers to their first-born joyes: can you love? dare you profess that truth to me a stranger, a thing of no regard, no name, no lustre, when your most noble love you have neglected, a beauty all the world would woo and honour? would you have me credit this? think you can love me, and hold ye constant, when i have read this story? is't possible you should ever favour me, to a slight pleasure prove a friend, and fast too, when, where you were most ty'd, most bound to benefit, bound by the chains of honesty and honour, you have broke and boldly too? i am a weak one, arm'd only with my fears: i beseech your grace tempt me no further. _du._ who taught you this lesson? _alin._ woful experience, sir: if you seek a fair one, worthy your love, if yet you have that perfect, two daughters of his ruin'd vertue now arrive at court, excellent fair indeed, sir, but this will be the plague on't, they're excellent honest. _enter_ olympia _and_ petesca _privately_. _du._ i love thy face. _alin._ upon my life ye cannot: i do not love it my self, sir, 'tis a lewd one, so truly ill art cannot mend it; but if 'twere handsome, at least if i thought so, you should hear me talk, sir, in a new strain; and though ye are a prince, make ye petition to me too, and wait my answers; yet o' my conscience i should pity ye, after some ten years siege. _du._ prethee do now. _alin._ what would ye do? _du._ why i would lye with ye. _alin._ i do not think ye would. _du._ in troth i would wench. here, take this jewel. _alin._ out upon't, that's scurvy. nay, if we do, sure we'll do for good fellowship, for pure love, or nothing: thus you shall be sure, sir, you shall not pay too dear for't. _du._ sure i cannot. _alin._ by'r lady but ye may: when ye have found me able to do your work well, ye may pay my wages. _pet._ why does your grace start back? _olym._ i ha' seen that shakes me: chills all my bloud: o where is faith or goodness? _alinda_ thou art false, false, false thou fair one, wickedness false; and (wo is me) i see it. for ever false. _pet._ i am glad 't has taken thus right. [_exeunt._ _alin._ i'le go ask my lady, sir. _du._ what? _alin._ whether i shall lye with ye, or no: if i find her willing- for look ye sir, i have sworn, while i am in her service- ('twas a rash oath i must confess.) _du._ thou mockst me. _alin._ why, would ye lye with me, if i were willing? would you abuse my weakness? _du._ i would piece it, and make it stronger. _alin._ i humbly thank your highness, when you piece me, you must piece me to my coffin: when you have got my maiden-head, i take it, 'tis not an inch of an apes tail will restore it, i love ye, and i honour ye, but this way i'le neither love nor serve ye. heaven change your mind, sir. [_exit._ _duke._ and thine too: for it must be chang'd, it shall be. [_exit._ scene iv. _enter_ boroskie, burris, theodore, viola _and_ honora. _bor._ they are goodly gentlewomen. _bur._ they are, wondrous sweet women both. _theo._ does your lordship like 'em? they are my sisters, sir; good lusty lasses, they'll do their labour well, i warrant ye, you'll find no bed-straw here, sir. _hon._ thank ye brother. _the._ this is not so strongly built: but she is good mettle, of a good stirring strain too: she goes tith, sir. _enter two gentlemen._ here they be, gentlemen, must make ye merry, the toyes you wot of: do you like their complexions? they be no moors: what think ye of this hand, gentlemen? here's a white altar for your sacrifice: a thousand kisses here. nay, keep off yet gentlemen, let's start first, and have fair play: what would ye give now to turn the globe up, and find the rich _moluccas_? to pass the straights? here (do ye itch) by st _nicholas_, here's that will make ye scratch and claw, claw my fine gentlemen, move ye in divers sorts: pray ye let me request ye, to forget to say your prayers, whilest these are courtiers; or if ye needs will think of heaven, let it be no higher than their eyes. _bor._ how will ye have 'em bestow'd, sir? _theo._ even how your lordship please, so you do not bake 'em. _bor._ bake 'em? _theo._ they are too high a meat that way, they run to gelly. but if you'll have 'em for your own diet, take my counsel, stew 'em between two feather-beds. _bur._ please you colonel to let 'em wait upon the princess? _theo._ yes, sir, and thank your honour too: but then happily, these noble gentlemen shall have no access to 'em, and to have 'em buy new cloaths, study new faces, and keep a stinking stir with themselves for nothing, 'twill not be well i'faith: they have kept their bodies, and been at charge for bathes: do you see that shirt there? weigh but the moral meaning, 'twill be grievous: alas, i brought 'em to delight these gentlemen, i weigh their wants by mine: i brought 'em wholesome, wholesome, and young my lord, and two such blessings they will not light upon again in ten years. _bor._ 'tis fit they wait upon her. _theo._ they are fit for any thing: they'll wait upon a man, they are not bashful, carry his cloak, or unty his points, or any thing, drink drunk, and take tobacco; the familiar'st fools- this wench will leap over stools too, and sound a trumpet, wrastle, and pitch the bar; they are finely brought up. _bor._ ladies, ye are bound to your brother, and have much cause to thank him: i'le ease ye of this charge, and to the princess, so please you, i'le attend 'em. _theo._ thank your lordship: if there be e're a private corner as ye go, sir, a foolish lobbie out o'th' way, make danger, try what they are, try- _bor._ ye are a merry gentleman. _the._ i would fain be your honours kinsman. _bor._ ye are too curst, sir. _the._ farewel wenches, keep close your ports, y'are washt else. _hon._ brother, bestow your fears where they are needful. [_exit_ boros. honor. viol. _the._ _honor_ thy name is, and i hope thy nature. go after, gentlemen, go, get a snatch if you can, yond' old _erra pater_ will never please 'em. alas i brought 'em for you, but see the luck on't, i swear i meant as honestly toward ye- nay do not cry good gentlemen: a little counsel will do no harm: they'll walk abroad i'th' evenings, ye may surprize 'em easily, they wear no pistols. set down your minds in metre, flowing metre, and get some good old linnen woman to deliver it, that has the trick on't: you cannot fail: farewel gentlemen. [_exeunt gent._ _bur._ you have frighted off these flesh-flies. _the._ flesh-flies indeed my lord. _enter a servant._ and it must be very stinking flesh they will not seize on. _serv._ your lordship bid me bring this casket. _bur._ yes, good colonel commend me to your worthy father, and as a pledge he ever holds my love, and service to him, deliver him this poor, but hearty token, and where i may be his- _the._ ye are too noble; a wonder here my lord, that dare be honest, when all men hold it vitious: i shall deliver it, and with it your most noble love. your servant. [_ex._ bur. were there but two more such at court, 'twere sainted, this will buy brawn this christmas yet, and muscadine. [_ex._ scene v. _enter ancient, crying brooms, and after him severally, four souldiers, crying other things._ boroskie _and gent, over the stage observing them_. i. song. anc. _broom, broom, the bonnie broom, come buy my birchen broom, i'th' wars we have no more room, buy all my bonnie broom, for a kiss take two; if those will not do, for a little, little pleasure, take all my whole treasure: if all these will not do't, take the broom-man to boot. broom, broom, the bonnie broom._ ii. song. 1 soul. _the wars are done and gone, and souldiers now neglected, pedlers are, come maidens, come alone, for i can show you handsome, handsome ware; powders for, for the head, and drinks for your bed, to make ye blith and bonney. as well in the night we souldiers can fight, and please a young wench as any._ 2 soul. _i have fine potato's, ripe potato's._ iii. song. 3 soul. _will ye buy any honesty, come away, i sell it openly by day, i bring no forced light, nor no candle to cozen ye; come buy and handle: this will shew the great man good, the tradesman where he swears and lyes, each lady of a noble bloud, the city dame to rule her eyes: ye are rich men now: come buy, and then i'le make ye richer, honest men._ iv. song. 4 sol. _have ye any crackt maiden-heads, to new leach or mend? have ye any old maiden-heads to sell or to change? bring 'em to me with a little pretty gin, i'le clout 'em, i'le mend 'em, i'le knock in a pin, shall make 'em as good maids agen, as ever they have been._ _bor._ what means all this, why do y'sell brooms _ancient_? is it in wantonness, or want? _an._ the only reason is, to sweep your lordships conscience: here's one for the nonce. gape sir, you have swallowed many a goodlier matter- the only casting for a crazie conscience. _3 sol._ will your lordship buy any honestie? 'twill be worth your mony. _b[o]r._ how is this? _3 sol._ honestie my lord, 'tis here in a quill. _an._ take heed you open it not, for 'tis so subtle, the least puffe of wind will blow it out o'th' kingdom. _2 sol._ will your lordship please to taste a fine potato? 'twill advance your wither'd state. _anc._ fill your honour full of most noble itches, and make jack dance in your lordships breeches. 1 sol. _if your daughters on their beds. have bow'd, or crackt their maiden-heads; if in a coach with two much tumbling, they chance to crie, fie, fo, what fumbling; if her foot slip, and down fall she, and break her leg 'bove the knee, the one and thirtieth of februarie let this be ta'ne, and they shall be arrant maids again._ _bor._ ye are brave souldiers; keep your wantonness, a winter will come on to shake this wilfulness. disport your selves, and when you want your mony- [_exit._ _anc._ broom, broom, &c. [_exeunt singing._ scena vi. _enter_ alinda, honora, viola. _al._ you must not be so fearfull, little one, nor lady you so sad, you will ne're make courtiers with these dull sullen thoughts; this place is pleasure, preserv'd to that use, so inhabited; and those that live here, live delightfull, joyfull: these are the gardens of _adonis_, ladies, where all sweets to their free and noble uses, grow ever young and courted. _hon._ bless me heaven, can things of her years arrive at these rudiments? by your leave fair gentlewoman, how long have you been here? _al._ faith much about a week. _hon._ you have studied hard, and by my faith arriv'd at a great knowledge. _viol._ were not you bashfull at first? _al._ i, i, for an hour or two: but when i saw people laugh'd at me for it, and thought it a dull breeding- _hon._ you are govern'd here then much after the mens opinions. _al._ ever lady. _hon._ and what they think is honourable.- _al._ most precisely we follow with all faith. _hon._ a goodly catechisme. _viol._ but bashfull for an hour or two? _al._ faith to say true, i do not think i was so long: for look ye, 'tis to no end here, put on what shape ye will, and soure your self with ne're so much austeritie, you shall be courted in the same, and won too, 'tis but some two hours more; and so much time lost, which we hold pretious here: in so much time now as i have told you this, you may lose a servant, your age, nor all your art can e're recover. catch me occasion as she comes, hold fast there, till what you do affect is ripn'd to ye. has the duke seen ye yet? _hon._ what if he have not? _al._ you do your beauties too much wrong, appearing so full of sweetness, newness; set so richly, as if a counsel beyond nature fram'd ye. _hon._ if we were thus, say heaven had given these blessings, must we turn these to sin-oblations? _al._ how foolishly this countrey way shews in ye? how full of flegm? do you come here to pray, ladies? you had best cry, stand away, let me alone gentlemen, i'le tell my father else. _viol._ this woman's naught sure, a very naughtie woman. _hon._ come, say on friend, i'le be instructed by ye. _al._ you'l thank me for't. _hon._ either i or the devil shall: the duke you were speaking of. _al._ 'tis well remembred: yes, let him first see you, appear not openly till he has view'd ye. _hon._ he's a very noble prince they say. _al._ o wondrous gracious; and as you may deliver your self at the first viewing. for look ye, you must bear your self; yet take heed it be so season'd with a sweet humilitie, and grac'd with such a bountie in your beautie- _hon._ but i hope he will offer me no ill? _al._ no, no: 'tis like he will kiss ye, and play with ye. _hon._ play with me, how? _al._ why, good lord, that you are such a fool now! no harm assure your self. _viol._ will he play with me too? _al._ look babies in your eyes, my prettie sweet one: there's a fine sport: do you know your lodgings yet? _hon._ i hear of none. _al._ i do then, they are handsom, convenient for access. _viol._ access? _al._ yes little one, for visitation of those friends and servants, your beauties shall make choice of: friends and visits: do not you know those uses? alas poor novice; there's a close cowch or two, handsomely placed too. _viol._ what are those i pray you? _al._ who would be troubled with such raw things? they are to lie upon, and your love by ye; and discourse, and toy in. _viol._ alas i have no love. _al._ you must by any means: you'l have a hundred, fear not. _viol._ honestie keep me: what shall i doe with all those? _al._ you'l find uses: ye are ignorant yet, let time work; you must learn too, to lie handsomly in your bed a mornings, neatly drest in a most curious wastcoat, to set ye off well, play with your bracelets, sing: you must learn to rhime too, and riddle neatly; studie the hardest language, and 'tis no matter whether it be sense, or no, so it go seemlie off. be sure ye profit in kissing, kissing sweetly: there lies a main point, a key that opens to all practick pleasure; i'le help ye to a friend of mine shall teach ye, and suddenlie: your country way is fulsome. _hon._ have ye schools for all these mysteries? _al._ o yes, and several hours prefix'd to studie in: ye may have kalenders to know the good hour, and when to take a jewel: for the ill too, when to refuse, with observations on 'em; under what sign 'tis best meeting in an arbor, and in what bower, and hour it works; a thousand, when in a coach, when in a private lodging, with all their vertues. _hon._ have ye studied these? how beastly they become your youth? how bawdily? a woman of your tenderness, a teacher, teacher of these lewd arts? of your full beauty? a man made up in lust would loath this in ye: the rankest leacher, hate such impudence. they say the devil can assume heavens brightness, and so appear to tempt us: sure thou art no woman. _al._ i joy to find ye thus. _hon._ thou hast no tenderness, no reluctation in thy heart: 'tis mischief. _al._ all's one for that; read these and then be satisfi'd, a few more private rules i have gather'd for ye, read 'em, and well observe 'em: so i leave ye. [_exit._ _viol._ a wond[ro]us wicked woman: shame go with thee. _hon._ what new _pandoras_ box is this? i'le see it, though presently i tear it. read thine _viola_, 'tis in our own wills to believe and follow. _worthy_ honora, _as you have begun in vertues spotless school, so forward run: pursue that nobleness, and chaste desire you ever had, burn in that holy fire; and a white martyr to fair memorie give up your name, unsoil'd of infamy._ how's this? read yours out sister: this amazes me. vio. _fear not thou yet unblasted violet, nor let my wanton words a doubt beget, live in that peace and sweetness of thy bud, remember whose thou art, and grow still good. remember what thou art, and stand a storie fit for thy noble sex, and thine own glorie._ _hon._ i know not what to think. _viol._ sure a good woman, an excellent woman, sister. _hon._ it confounds me; let 'em use all their arts, if these be their ends, the court i say breeds the best foes and friends. come, let's be honest wench, and doe our best service. _viol._ a most excellent woman, i will love her. [_exeunt._ _actus quartus. scena prima._ _enter_ olympia _with a casket, and_ alinda. _al._ madam, the duke has sent for the two ladies. _olym._ i prethee go: i know thy thoughts are with him. go, go _alinda_, do not mock me more. i have found thy heart wench, do not wrong thy mistris, thy too much loving mistris: do not abuse her. _al._ by your own fair hands i understand ye not. _olym._ by thy own fair eyes i understand thee too much, too far, and built a faith there thou hast ruin'd. goe, and enjoy thy wish, thy youth, thy pleasure, enjoy the greatness no doubt he has promised, enjoy the service of all eyes that see thee, the glory thou hast aim'd at, and the triumph: only this last love i ask, forget thy mistris. _al._ oh, who has wrong'd me? who has ruin'd me? poor wretched girle, what poyson is flung on thee? excellent vertue, from whence flows this anger? _ol._ go, ask my brother, ask the faith thou gav'st me, ask all my favours to thee, ask my love, last, thy forgetfulness of good: then flye me, for we must part _alinda_. _al._ you are weary of me; i must confess, i was never worth your service, your bounteous favours less; but that my duty, my ready will, and all i had to serve ye- o heaven thou know'st my honestie. _olym._ no more: take heed, heaven has a justice: take this ring with ye, this doting spell you gave me: too well _alinda_, thou knew'st the vertue in't; too well i feel it: nay keep that too, it may sometimes remember ye, when you are willing to forget who gave it, and to what vertuous end. _al._ must i goe from ye? of all the sorrows sorrow has--must i part with ye? part with my noble mistris? _olym._ or i with thee wench. _al._ and part stain'd with opinion? farewel lady, happy and blessed lady, goodness keep ye: thus your poor servant full of grief turns from ye, for ever full of grief, for ever from ye. i have no being now, no friends, no country, i wander heaven knows whither, heaven knows how. no life, now you are lost: only mine innocence, that little left me of my self, goes with me, that's all my bread and comfort. i confess madam, truely confess, the duke has often courted me. _olym._ and pour'd his soul into thee, won thee. _al._ do you think so? well, time that told this tale, will tell my truth too, and say ye had a faithfull, honest servant: the business of my life is now to pray for ye, pray for your vertuous loves; pray for your children, when heaven shall make ye happy. _olym._ how she wounds me! either i am undone, or she must go: take these with ye, some toyes may doe ye service; and this mony; and when ye want, i love ye not so poorly, not yet _alinda_, that i would see ye perish. prethee be good, and let me hear: look on me, i love those eyes yet dearly; i have kiss'd thee, and now i'le doe't again: farewel _alinda_, i am too full to speak more, and too wretched. [_exit._ _al._ you have my faith, and all the world my fortune. [_exit._ scena ii. _enter_ theodor. _the._ i would fain hear what becomes of these two wenches: and if i can, i will doe 'em good. _enter gentleman, passing over the stage._ do you hear my honest friend? he knows no such name: what a world of business, which by interpretation are meer nothings, these things have here! 'mass now i think on't better, i wish he be not sent for one of them to some of these by-lodgings: me thought i saw a kind of reference in his face to bawderie. _enter gentleman, with a gentlewoman, passing over the stage._ he has her, but 'tis none of them: hold fast thief: an excellent touzing knave. mistris you are to suffer your penance some half hour hence now. how far a fine court custard with plums in it will prevail with one of these waiting gentlewomen, they are taken with these soluble things exceedingly; this is some yeoman o'th' bottles now that has sent for her, that she calls father: now woe to this ale incense. by your leave sir. _enter a_ servant. _ser._ well sir; what's your pleasure with me? _the._ you do not know the way to the maids lodgings? _ser._ yes indeed do i sir. _the._ but you will not tell me? _ser._ no indeed will not i, because you doubt it. [_exit._ _enter_ 2 servant. _the._ these are fine gim-cracks: hey, here comes another, a flagon full of wine in's hand, i take it. well met my friend, is that wine? _2 ser._ yes indeed is it. _the._ faith i'le drink on't then. _2 ser._ ye may, because ye have sworn sir. _the._ 'tis very good, i'le drink a great deal now sir. _2 ser._ i cannot help it sir. _the._ i'le drink more yet. _2 ser._ 'tis in your own hands. _the._ there's your pot, i thank ye. pray let me drink again. _2 ser._ faith but ye shall not. now have i sworn i take it. fare ye well sir. [_exit._ _enter_ lady. _the._ this is the fin'st place to live in i e're enter'd. here comes a gentlewoman, and alone; i'le to her. madam, my lord my master. _lady._ who's your lord sir? _the._ the lord _boroskey_, lady. _lady._ pray excuse me: here's something for your pains: within this hour sir, one of the choice young ladies shall attend him: pray let it be in that chamber juts out to the water; 'tis private and convenient: doe my humble service to my honourable good lord, i beseech ye sir; if it please you to visit a poor lady- you carrie the 'haviour of a noble gentleman. _the._ i shall be bold. _lady._ 'tis a good aptness in ye. i lye here in the wood-yard, the blue lodgings sir; they call me merrily the lady of the ---sir; a little i know what belongs to a gentleman, and if it please you take the pains. [_exit._ _the._ dear lady, take the pains? why a horse would not take the pains that thou requir'st now, to cleave old crab-tree: one of the choice young ladies? i would i had let this bawd goe, she has frighted me; i am cruelly afraid of one of my tribe now; but if they will doe, the devil cannot stop 'em. why should he have a young lady? are women now o'th' nature of bottles, to be stopt with corks? o the thousand little furies that flye here now! how now captain? _enter_ putsky. _puts._ i come to seek you out sir, and all the town i have travell'd. _the._ what's the news man? _puts._ that that concerns us all, and very nearly: the duke this night holds a great feast at court, to which he bids for guests all his old counsellors, and all his favourites: your father's sent for. _the._ why he is neither in council, nor in favour. _pu._ that's it: have an eye now, or never, and a quick one, an eye that must not wink from good intelligence. i heard a bird sing, they mean him no good office. _enter_ ancient. _the._ art sure he sups here? _puts._ sure as 'tis day. _the._ 'tis like then: how now, where hast thou been _ancient_? _anc._ measuring the city: i have left my brooms at gate here; by this time the porter has stole 'em to sweep out rascals. _theod._ bro[o]ms? _anc._ i have been crying brooms all the town over, and such a mart i have made, there's no tread near it. o the young handsom wenches, how they twitter'd, when they but saw me shake my ware, and sing too; come hither master broom-man i beseech ye: good master broom-man hither, cries another. _the._ thou art a mad fellow. _anc._ they are all as mad as i: they all have tra[de]s now, and roar about the streets like bull-beggers. _the._ what company of souldiers are they? _anc._ by this means i have gather'd above a thousand tall and hardy souldiers, if need be colonel. _the._ that need's come _ancient_, and 'twas discreetly done: goe, draw 'em presently, but without suspicion: this night we shall need 'em; let 'em be near the court, let _putskie_ guide 'em; and wait me for occasion: here i'le stay still. _puts._ if it fall out we are ready; if not we are scatter'd: i'le wait ye at an inch. _the._ doe, farewel. [_exeunt._ scena iii. _enter duke_, borosky. _duke._ are the souldiers still so mutinous? _bor._ more than ever, no law nor justice frights 'em: all the town over they play new pranks and gambols: no mans person, of what degree soever, free from abuses: and durst they doe this, (let your grace consider) these monstrous, most offensive things, these villanies, if not set on, and fed? if not by one they honour more than you? and more aw'd by him? _duke._ happily their own wants. _boros._ i offer to supply 'em, and every hour make tender of their moneys: they scorn it, laugh at me that offer it: i fear the next device will be my life sir; and willingly i'le give it, so they stay there. _duke._ do you think lord _archas_ privie? _bor._ more than thought, i know it sir, i know they durst not doe these violent rude things, abuse the state thus, but that they have a hope by his ambitions- _duke._ no more: he's sent for? _boros._ yes, and will be here sure. _duke._ let me talk further with you anon. _boros._ i'le wait sir. _duke._ did you speak to the ladies? _boros._ they'l attend your grace presently. _duke._ how do you like 'em? _boros._ my eyes are too dull judges. they wait here sir. [_exit._ _enter_ honora, _and_ viola. _duke._ be you gone then: come in ladies, welcom to th' court sweet beauties; now the court shines, when such true beams of beauty strike amongst us: welcom, welcom, even as your own joyes welcom. how do you like the court? how seems it to you? is't not a place created for all sweetness? why were you made such strangers to this happiness? barr'd the delights this holds? the richest jewels set ne're so well, if then not worn to wonder, by judging eyes not set off, lose their lustre: your country shades are faint; blasters of beauty; the manners like the place, obscure and heavie; the rose buds of the beauties turn to cankers, eaten with inward thoughts: whilst there ye wander. here ladies, here, you were not made for cloisters, here is the sphere you move in: here shine nobly, and by your powerfull influence command all: what a sweet modestie dwells round about 'em, and like a nipping morn pulls in their blossoms? _hon._ your grace speaks cunningly, you doe not this, i hope sir, to betray us; we are poor triumphs; nor can our loss of honour adde to you sir: great men, and great thoughts, seek things great and worthy, subjects to make 'em live, and not to lose 'em; conquests so nobly won, can never perish; we are two simple maids, untutor'd here sir; two honest maids, is that a sin at court sir? our breeding is obedience, but to good things, to vertuous and to fair: what wou'd you win on us? why do i ask that question, when i have found ye? your preamble has pour'd your heart out to us; you would dishonour us; which in your translation here at the court reads thus, your grace would love us, most dearly love us: stick us up for mistresses: most certain, there are thousands of our sex sir that would be glad of this, and handsom women, and crowd into this favour, fair young women, excellent beauties sir: when ye have enjoy'd 'em, and suckt those sweets they have, what saints are these then? what worship have they won? what name you ghess sir, what storie added to their time, a sweet one? _duke._ a brave spirited wench. _hon._ i'le tell your grace, and tell ye true: ye are deceiv'd in us two, extreamly cozen'd sir: and yet in my eye you are the handsomst man i ever lookt on, the goodliest gentleman; take that hope with ye; and were i fit to be your wife (so much i honour ye) trust me i would scratch for ye but i would have ye. i would wooe you then. _duke._ she amazes me: but how am i deceiv'd? _hon._ o we are too honest, believe it sir, too honest, far too honest, the way that you propound too ignorant, and there is no medling with us; for we are fools too, obstinate, peevish fools: if i would be ill, and had a wantons itch, to kick my heels up, i would not leap into th' sun, and doe't there, that all the world might see me: an obscure shade sir, dark as the deed, there is no trusting light with it, nor that that's lighter far, vain-glorious greatness. _duke._ you will love me as your friend? _ho[n]._ i will honour ye, as your poor humble handmaid serve, and pray for ye. _du._ what sayes my little one; you are not so obstinate? lord how she blushes: here are truly fair souls: come you will be my love? _viol._ good sir be good to me, indeed i'le doe the best i can to please ye; i do beseech your grace: alas i fear ye. _duke._ what shouldst thou fear? _hon._ fie sir, this is not noble. _duke._ why do i stand entreating, where my power- _hon._ you have no power, at least you ought to have none in bad and beastly things: arm'd thus, i'le dye here, before she suffer wrong. _duke._ another _archas_? _hon._ his child sir, and his spirit. _duke._ i'le deal with you then, for here's the honour to be won: sit down sweet, prethee _honora_ sit. _hon._ now ye intreat i will sir. _duke._ i doe, and will deserve it. _hon._ that's too much kindness. _duke._ prethee look on me. _hon._ yes: i love to see ye, and could look on an age thus, and admire ye: whilst ye are good and temperate i dare touch ye, kiss your white hand. _duke._ why not my lips? _hon._ i dare sir. _duke._ i do not think ye dare. _hon._ i am no coward. d[o] you believe me now? or now? or now sir? you make me blush: but sure i mean no ill sir: it had been fitter you had kiss'd me. _du._ that i'le doe too. what hast thou wrought into me? _hon._ i hope all goodness: whilst ye are thus, thus honest, i dare do any thing, thus hang about your neck, and thus doat on ye; bless those fair lights: hell take me if i durst not- but good sir pardon me. sister come hither, come hither, fear not wench: come hither, blush not, come kiss the prince, the vertuous prince, the good prince: certain he is excellent honest. _du._ thou wilt make me- _hon._ sit down, and hug him softly. _du._ fie _honora_, wanton _honora_; is this the modesty, the noble chastity your on-set shew'd me, at first charge beaten back? away. _hon._ thank ye: upon my knees i pray, heaven too may thank ye; ye have deceiv'd me cunningly, yet nobly ye have cozen'd me: in all your hopefull life yet, a scene of greater honour you ne're acted: i knew fame was a lyar, too long, and loud tongu'd, and now i have found it: o my vertuous master. _viol._ my vertuous master too. _hon._ now you are thus, what shall become of me let fortune cast for't. _enter_ alinda. _du._ i'le be that fortune, if i live _honora_, thou hast done a cure upon me, counsel could not. _al._ here take your ring sir, and whom ye mean to ruine, give it to her next; i have paid for't dearly. _hon._ a ring to her? _du._ why frowns my fair _alinda_? i have forgot both these again. _al._ stand still sir, ye have that violent killing fire upon ye, consumes all honour, credit, faith. _hon._ how's this? _al._ my royal mistris favour towards me, woe-worth ye sir, ye have poyson'd, blasted. _duke._ i sweet? _al._ you have taken that unmanly liberty, which in a worse man, is vain glorious feigning, and kill'd my truth. _du._ upon my life 'tis false wench. _al._ ladies, take heed, ye have a cunning gamester, a handsom, and a high; come stor'd with antidotes, he has infections else will fire your blouds. _du._ prethee _alinda_ hear me. _al._ words steept in hony, that will so melt into your minds, buy chastity, a thousand wayes, a thousand knots to tie ye; and when he has bound ye his, a thousand ruines. a poor lost woman ye have made me. _du._ i'le maintain thee, and nobly too. _al._ that gin's too weak to take me: take heed, take heed young ladies: still take heed, take heed of promises, take heed of gifts, of forced feigned sorrows, sighs, take heed. _du._ by all that's mine, _alinda_- _al._ swear by your mischiefs: o whither shall i goe? _duke._ go back again, i'le force her take thee, love thee. _alin._ fare ye well, sir, i will not curse ye; only this dwell with ye, when ever ye love, a false belief light on ye. [_exit._ _hon._ we'll take our leaves too, sir. _duke._ part all the world now, since she is gone. _hon._ you are crooked yet, dear master, and still i fear- [_exeunt._ _duke._ i am vext, and some shall find it. [_exit._ scene iv. _enter_ archas _and a servant_. _ar._ 'tis strange to me to see the court, and welcome: o royal place, how have i lov'd and serv'd thee? who lies on this side, know'st thou? _ser._ the lord _burris_. _ar._ thou hast nam'd a gentleman i stand much bound to: i think he sent the casket, sir? _ser._ the same, sir. _ar._ an honest minded man, a noble courtier: the duke made perfect choice when he took him. go you home, i shall hit the way without a guide now. _ser._ you may want something, sir. _ar._ only my horses, which after supper let the groom wait with: i'le have no more attendance here. _ser._ your will, sir. [_exit._ _enter_ theodore. _theo._ you are well met here, sir. _ar._ how now boy, how dost thou? _the._ i should ask you that question: how do you, sir? how do you feel your self? _ar._ why well, and lusty. _the._ what do you here then? _ar._ why i am sent for to supper with the duke. _the._ have you no meat at home? or do you long to feed as hunted deer do, in doubt and fear? _ar._ i have an excellent stomach, and can i use it better than among my friends, boy? how do the wenches? _the._ they do well enough, sir, they know the worst by this time: pray be rul'd, sir, go home again, and if ye have a supper, eat it in quiet there: this is no place for ye, especially at this time, take my word for't. _ar._ may be they'll drink hard; i could have drunk my share, boy. though i am old, i will not out. _the._ i hope you will. hark in your ear: the court's too quick of hearing. _ar._ not mean me well? thou art abus'd and cozen'd. away, away. _the._ to that end sir, i tell ye. away, if you love your self. _ar._ who dare do these things, that ever heard of honesty? _the._ old gentleman, take a fools counsel. _ar._ 'tis a fools indeed; a very fools: thou hast more of these flams in thee, these musty doubts: is't fit the duke send for me, and honour me to eat within his presence, and i, like a tale fellow, play at bo-peep with his pleasure? _the._ take heed of bo-peep with your pate, your pate, sir, i speak plain language now. _ar._ if 'twere not here, where reverence bids me hold, i would so swinge thee, thou rude, unmanner'd knave; take from his bounty, his honour that he gives me, to beget sawcy, and sullen fears? _the._ you are not mad sure: by this fair light, i speak but what is whisper'd, and whisper'd for a truth. _ar._ a dog: drunken people, that in their pot see visions, and turn states, mad-men and children: prethee do not follow me; i tell thee i am angry: do not follow me. _the._ i am as angry as you for your heart, i and as wilful too: go, like a wood-cock, and thrust your neck i'th' noose. _ar._ i'le kill thee, and thou speakst but three words more. do not follow me. [_exit._ _the._ a strange old foolish fellow: i shall hear yet, and if i do not my part, hiss at me. [_exit._ scene v. _enter two servants preparing a banquet._ _1 serv._ believe me fellow here will be lusty drinking. many a washt pate in wine i warrant thee. _2 ser._ i am glad the old general's come: upon my conscience that joy will make half the court drunk. hark the trumpets, they are coming on; away. _1 ser._ we'll have a rowse too. [_exeunt._ _enter duke_, archas, burris, boroskie, _attend. gent._ _duke._ come seat your selves: lord _archas_ sit you there. _ar._ 'tis far above my worth. _duke._ i'le have it so: are all things ready? _bor._ all the guards are set, the court gates are shut. _duke._ then do as i prescrib'd ye. be sure no further. _bor._ i shall well observe ye. _du._ come bring some wine: here's to my sister, gentlemen; a health, and mirth to all. _ar._ pray fill it full, sir. 'tis a high health to vertue: here lord _burris_, a maiden health: you are most fit to pledge it, you have a maiden soul and much i honour it. passion o' me, ye are sad man. _duke._ how now, _burris_? go to, no more of this. _ar._ take the rowse freely, 'twill warm your bloud, and make ye fit for jollity. your graces pardon: when we get a cup, sir, we old men prate a pace. _du._ mirth makes a banquet; as you love me no more. _bur._ i thank your grace. give me it; lord _boroskie_. _boros._ i have ill brains, sir. _bur._ damnable ill, i know it. _boros._ but i'le pledge, sir, this vertuous health. _bur._ the more unfit for thy mouth. _enter two servants with cloaks._ _du._ come, bring out robes, and let my guests look nobly, fit for my love and presence: begin downward. off with your cloaks, take new. _ar._ your grace deals truly, like a munificent prince, with your poor subjects, who would not fight for you? what cold dull coward durst seek to save his life when you would ask it? begin a new health in your new adornments, the dukes, the royal dukes: ha! what have i got sir? ha! the robe of death? _du._ you have deserv'd it. _ar._ the livery of the grave? do you start all from me? do i smell of earth already? sir, look on me, and like a man; is this your entertainment? do you bid your worthiest guests to bloudy banquets? _enter a guard._ a guard upon me too? this is too foul play boy to thy good, thine honour: thou wretched ruler, thou son of fools and flatterers, heir of hypocrites, am i serv'd in a hearse that sav'd ye all? are ye men or devils? do ye gape upon me, wider, and swallow all my services? entomb them first, my faith next, then my integrity, and let these struggle with your mangy minds, your sear'd, and seal'd up consciences, till they burst. _boros._ these words are death. _ar._ no those deeds that want rewards, sirrah, those battels i have fought, those horrid dangers, leaner than death, and wilder than destruction, i have march'd upon, these honour'd wounds, times story, the bloud i have lost, the youth, the sorrows suffer'd, these are my death, these that can ne're be recompenced, these that ye sit a brooding on like toads, sucking from my deserts the sweets and favours, and render me no pay again but poysons. _bor._ the proud vain souldier thou hast set- _ar._ thou lyest. now by my little time of life lyest basely, malitiously and loudly: how i scorn thee! if i had swel'd the souldier, or intended an act in person, leaning to dishonour, as ye would fain have forced me, witness heaven, where clearest understanding of all truth is, (for these are spightful men, and know no piety) when _olin_ came, grim _olin_, when his marches, his last incursions made the city sweat, and drove before him, as a storm drives hail, such showrs of frosted fears, shook all your heart-strings; then when the _volga_ trembled at his terrour, and hid his seven curl'd heads, afraid of bruising, by his arm'd horses hoofs; had i been false then, or blown a treacherous fire into the souldier, had but one spark of villany liv'd within me, ye'ad had some shadow for this black about me. where was your souldiership? why went not you out? and all your right honourable valour with ye? why met ye not the _tartar_, and defi'd him? drew your dead-doing sword, and buckl'd with him? shot through his squadrons like a fiery meteor? and as we see a dreadful clap of thunder rend the stiffhearted oaks, and toss their roots up: why did not you so charge him? you were sick then, you that dare taint my credit slipt to bed then, stewing and fainting with the fears ye had, a whorson shaking fit opprest your lordship: blush coward, knave, and all the world hiss at thee. _du._ exceed not my command. [_exit._ _bor._ i shall observe it. _ar._ are you gone too? come weep not honest _burris_, good loving lord, no more tears: 'tis not his malice, this fellows malice, nor the dukes displeasure, by bold bad men crowded into his nature, can startle me: fortune ne're raz'd this fort yet: i am the same, the same man, living, dying; the same mind to 'em both, i poize thus equal; only the jugling way that toll'd me to it, the _judas_ way, to kiss me, bid me welcome, and cut my throat, a little sticks upon me. farewel, commend me to his grace, and tell him, the world is full of servants, he may have many: and some i wish him honest: he's undone else: but such another doating _archas_ never, so try'd and touch'd a faith: farewell for ever. _bur._ be strong my lord: you must not go thus lightly. _ar._ now, what's to do? what sayes the law unto me? give me my great offence that speaks me guil[t]y. _bor._ laying aside a thousand petty matters, as scorns, and insolencies both from your self and followers, which you put first fire to, and these are deadly, i come to one main cause, which though it carries a strangeness in the circumstance, it carries death too, not to be pardon'd neither: ye have done a sacriledge. _ar._ high heaven defend me man: how, how _boroskie_? _bor._ ye have took from the temple those vow'd arms, the holy ornament you hung up there, no absolution of your vow, no order from holy church to give 'em back unto you after they were purified from war, and rested from bloud, made clean by ceremony: from the altar you snatch'd 'em up again, again ye wore 'em, again you stain'd 'em, stain'd your vow, the church too, and rob'd it of that right was none of yours, sir, for which the law requires your head, ye know it. _ar._ those arms i fought in last? _bor._ the same. _ar._ god a mercy, thou hast hunted out a notable cause to kill me: a subtle one: i dye, for saving all you; good sir, remember if you can, the necessity, the suddenness of time, the state all stood in; i was entreated to, kneel'd to, and pray'd to, the duke himself, the princes, all the nobles, the cries of infants, bed-rid fathers, virgins; prethee find out a better cause, a handsomer, this will undo thee too: people will spit at thee, the devil himself would be asham'd of this cause; because my haste made me forget the ceremony, the present danger every where, must my life satisfie? _bor._ it must, and shall. _ar._ o base ungrateful people, have ye no other swords to cut my throat with but mine own nobleness? i confess, i took 'em, the vow not yet absolv'd i hung 'em up with: wore 'em, fought in 'em, gilded 'em again in the fierce _tartars_ blouds; for you i took 'em, for your peculiar safety, lord, for all, i wore 'em for my countries health, that groan'd then: took from the temple, to preserve the temple; that holy place, and all the sacred monuments, the reverent shrines of saints, ador'd and honour'd, had been consum'd to ashes, their own sacrifice; had i been slack, or staid that absolution, no priest had liv'd to give it; my own honour, cure of my country murder me? _bor._ no, no sir, i shall force that from ye, will make this cause light too, away with him: i shall pluck down that heart, sir. _ar._ break it thou mayest; but if it bend, for pity, doggs, and kites eat it: come i am honours martyr. [_ex._ scene vi. _enter duke, and_ burris. _du._ exceed my warrant? _bur._ you know he loves him not. _du._ he dares as well eat death, as do it, eat wild-fire, through a few fears i mean to try his goodness, that i may find him fit, to wear here, _burris_; i know boroskie hates him, to death hates him, i know he's a serpent too, a swoln one, [_noise within._ but i have pull'd his sting out: what noise is that? _the. within._ down with 'em, down with 'em, down with the gates. _sold. within._ stand, stand, stand. _puts. within._ fire the palace before ye. _bur._ upon my life the souldier, sir, the souldier, a miserable time is come. _enter gentleman._ _gent._ oh save him, upon my knees, my hearts knees, save lord _archas_, we are undone else. _du._ dares he touch his body? _gent._ he racks him fearfully, most fearfully. _du._ away _burris_, take men, and take him from him; clap him up, and if i live, i'll find a strange death for him. [_ex._ bur. are the souldiers broke in? _gent._ by this time sure they are, sir, they beat the gates extreamly, beat the people. _du._ get me a guard about me; make sure the lodgings, and speak the souldiers fair. _gent._ pray heaven that take, sir. [_exeunt._ _enter_ putskie, _ancient, souldiers, with torches_. _puts._ give us the general, we'll fire the court else, render him safe and well. _anc._ do not fire the cellar, there's excellent wine in't, captain, and though it be cold weather, i do not love it mull'd; bring out the general, we'll light ye such a bone-fire else: where are ye? speak, or we'll toss your turrets, peep out of your hives, we'll smoak ye else: is not that a nose there? put out that nose again, and if thou dar'st but blow it before us: now he creeps out on's burrough. _enter gentleman._ _puts._ give us the general. _gent._ yes, gentlemen; or any thing ye can desire. _anc._ you musk-cat, cordevant-skin we will not take your answer. _puts._ where is the duke? speak suddenly, and send him hither. _anc._ or we'll so frye your buttocks. _gent._ good sweet gentlemen- _anc._ we are neither good nor sweet, we are souldiers, and you miscreants that abuse the general. give fire my boys, 'tis a dark evening, let's light 'em to their lodgings. _enter_ olympia, honora, viola, theodore, _women_. _hon._ good brother be not fierce. _the._ i will not hurt her, fear not sweet lady. _olym._ nay, do what you please, sir, i have a sorrow that exceeds all yours, and more, contemns all danger. _enter duke, above._ _the._ where is the duke? _du._ he's here; what would ye souldiers? wherefore troop ye like mutinous mad-men thus? _the._ give me my father. _puts. anc._ give us our general. _the._ set him here before us, ye see the pledge we have got; ye see the torches; all shall to ashes, as i live, immediately, a thousand lives for one. _du._ but hear me? _puts._ no, we come not to dispute. _enter_ archas, _and_ burris. _the._ by heaven i swear he's rackt and whipt. _hon._ oh my poor father! _puts._ burn, kill and burn. _arc._ hold, hold, i say: hold souldiers, on your allegiance hold. _the._ we must not. _arc._ hold: i swear by heaven he is a barbarous traitor stirs first, a villain, and a stranger to obedience, never my souldier more, nor friend to honour: why did you use your old man thus? thus cruelly torture his poor weak body? i ever lov'd ye. _du._ forget me in these wrongs, most noble _archas_. _arc._ i have balm enough for all my hurts: weep no more sir a satisfaction for a thousand sorrows; i do believe you innocent, a good man, and heaven forgive that naughty thing that wrong'd me: why look ye wild, my friends? why stare ye on me? i charge ye, as ye are men, my men, my lovers, as ye are honest faithful men, fair souldiers, let down your anger: is not this our soveraign? the head of mercy, and of law? who dares then, but rebels, scorning law, appear thus violent? is this a place for swords? for threatning fires? the reverence of this house dares any touch, but with obedient knees, and pious duties? are we not all his subjects? all sworn to him? has not he power to punish our offences? and do we not daily fall into 'em? assure your selves i did offend, and highly, grievously, this good, sweet prince i offended, my life forfeited, which yet his mercy and his old love met with, and only let me feel his light rod this way: ye are to thank him for your general, pray for his life and fortune; swear your bloods for him. ye are offenders too, daily offenders, proud insolencies dwell in your hearts, and ye do 'em, do 'em against his peace, his law, his person; ye see he only sorrows for your sins, and where his power might persecute, forgives ye: for shame put up your swords, for honesty, for orders sake, and whose ye are, my souldiers, be not so rude. _the._ they have drawn blood from you, sir. _arc._ that was the blood rebell'd, the naughty blood, the proud provoking blood; 'tis well 'tis out, boy; give you example first; draw out, and orderly. _hon._ good brother, do. _arc._ honest and high example, as thou wilt have my blessing follow thee, inherit all mine honours: thank ye _theodore_, my worthy son. _the._ if harm come, thank your self, sir, i must obey ye. [_exit._ _arc._ captain, you know the way now: a good man, and a valiant, you were ever, inclin'd to honest things; i thank ye, captain. [_ex. soul._ souldiers, i thank ye all: and love me still, but do not love me so you lose allegiance, love that above your lives: once more i thank ye. _du._ bring him to rest, and let our cares wait on him; thou excellent old man, thou top of honour, where justice, and obedience only build, thou stock of vertue, how am i bound to love thee! in all thy noble ways to follow thee! _bur._ remember him that vext him, sir. _du._ remember? when i forget that villain, and to pay him for all his mischiefs, may all good thoughts forget me. _arc._ i am very sore. _du._ bring him to bed with ease, gentlemen, for every stripe i'll drop a tear to wash 'em, and in my sad repentance- _arc._ 'tis too much, i have a life yet left to gain that love, sir. [_exeunt._ _actus quintus. scena prima._ _enter duke_, burris, _and gentlemen_. _duke._ how does lord _archas_? _bur._ but weak, and't please ye; yet all the helps that art can, are applied to him; his heart's untoucht, and whole yet; and no doubt, sir, his mind being sound, his body soon will follow. _du._ o that base knave that wrong'd him, without leave too; but i shall find an hour to give him thanks for't; he's fast, i hope. _bur._ as fast as irons can keep him: but the most fearful wretch- _du._ he has a conscience, a cruel stinging one i warrant him, a loaden one: but what news of the souldier? i did not like their parting, 'twas too sullen. _bur._ that they keep still, and i fear a worse clap; they are drawn out of the town, and stand in counsels, hatching unquiet thoughts, and cruel purposes: i went my self unto 'em, talkt with the captains, whom i found fraught with nothing but loud murmurs, and desperate curses, sounding these words often like trumpets to their angers: we are ruin'd, our services turn'd to disgraces, mischiefs; our brave old general, like one had pilfer'd, tortur'd, and whipt: the colonels eyes, like torches, blaze every where and fright fair peace. _gent._ yet worse, sir; the news is currant now, they mean to leave ye, leave their allegiance; and under _olins_ charge the bloody enemy march straight against ye. _bur._ i have heard this too, sir. _du._ this must be prevented, and suddenly, and warily. _bur._ 'tis time, sir, but what to minister, or how? _du._ go in with me, and there we'll think upon't: such blows as these, equal defences ask, else they displease. [_exeunt._ scene ii. _enter_ petesca, _and gentlewoman_. _pet._ lord, what a coil has here been with these souldiers! they are cruel fellows. _wom._ and yet methought we found 'em handsome enough; i'll tell thee true, _petesca_, i lookt for other manner of dealings from 'em, and had prepar'd my self; but where's my lady? _pet._ in her old dumps within: monstrous melancholy; sure she was mad of this wench. _wom._ and she had been a man, she would have been a great deal madder, i am glad she is shifted. _pet._ 'twas a wicked thing for me to betray her, and yet i must confess she stood in our lights. _enter_ alinda. what young thing's this? _alin._ good morrow beauteous gentlewomen: 'pray ye is the princess stirring yet? _wom._ he has her face. _pet._ her very tongue, and tone too: her youth upon him. _alin._ i guess ye to be the princess women. _pet._ yes, we are, sir. _alin._ pray is there not a gentlewoman waiting on her grace, ye call _alinda_? _pet._ the devil sure in her shape. _wom._ i have heard her tell my lady of a brother, an only brother that she had: in travel- _pet._ 'mass, i remember that: this may be he too: i would this thing would serve her. _enter_ olympia. _wom._ so would i wench, we should love him better sure: sir, here's the princess, she best can satisfie ye. _alin._ how i love that presence! o blessed eyes, how nobly shine your comforts! _olym._ what gentleman is that? _wom._ we know not, madam: he ask'd us for your grace: and as we guess it, he is _alinda_'s brother. _olym._ ha! let me mark him: my grief has almost blinded me: her brother? by _venus_, he has all her sweetness upon him: two silver drops of dew were never liker. _alin._ gracious lady- _olym._ that pleasant pipe he has too. _alin._ being my happiness to pass by this way, and having as i understand by letters, a sister in your vertuous service, madam- _olym._ o now my heart, my heart akes. _alin._ all the comfort my poor youth has, all that my hopes have built me, i thought it my first duty, my best service, here to arrive first, humbly to thank your grace for my poor sister, humbly to thank your nobleness, that bounteous goodness in ye. _olym._ 'tis he certainly. _alin._ that spring of favour to her; with my life, madam, if any such most happy means might meet me, to shew my thankfulness. _olym._ what have i done, fool! _alin._ she came a stranger to your grace, no courtier; nor of that curious breed befits your service, yet one i dare assure my soul, that lov'd ye before she saw ye; doted on your vertues; before she knew those fair eyes, long'd to read 'em, you only had her prayers, you her wishes; and that one hope to be yours once, preserv'd her. _olym._ i have done wickedly. _alin._ a little beauty, such as a cottage breeds, she brought along with her; and yet our country-eyes esteem'd it much too: but for her beauteous mind, forget great lady, i am her brother, and let me speak a stranger, since she was able to beget a thought, 'twas honest. the daily study how to fit your services, truly to tread that vertuous path you walk in, so fir'd her honest soul, we thought her sainted; i presume she is still the same: i would fain see her, for madam, 'tis no little love i owe her. _olym._ sir, such a maid there was, i had- _alin._ there was, madam? _olym._ o my poor wench: eyes, i will ever curse ye for your credulity, _alinda_. _alin._ that's her name, madam. _olym._ give me a little leave, sir, to lament her. _alin._ is she dead, lady? _olym._ dead, sir, to my service. she is gone, pray ye ask no further. _alin._ i obey madam: gone? now must i lament too: said ye gone madam? _olym._ gone, gone for ever. _alin._ that's a cruel saying: her honour too? _olym._ prithee look angry on me, and if thou ever lovedst her, spit upon me; do something like a brother, like a friend, and do not only say thou lov'st her- _al._ ye amaze me. _oly._ i ruin'd her, i wrong'd her, i abus'd her; poor innocent soul, i flung her; sweet _alinda_, thou vertuous maid, my soul now calls thee vertuous. why do ye not rail now at me? _al._ for what lady? _oly._ call me base treacherous woman. _al._ heaven defend me. _oly._ rashly i thought her false, and put her from me, rashly, and madly i betrai'd her modesty, put her to wander, heaven knows where: nay, more sir, stuck a black brand upon her. _al._ 'twas not well lady. _oly._ 'twas damnable: she loving me so dearly, never poor wench lov'd so: sir believe me, 'twas the most dutious wench, the best companion, when i was pleas'd, the happiest, and the gladdest, the modestest sweet nature dwelt within her: i saw all this, i knew all this, i lov'd it, i doated on it too, and yet i kill'd it: o what have i forsaken? what have i lost? _al._ madam, i'le take my leave, since she is wandring, 'tis fit i know no rest. _oly._ will you go too sir? i have not wrong'd you yet, if you dare trust me, for yet i love _alinda_ there, i honour her, i love to look upon those eyes that speak her, to read that face again, (modesty keep me,) _alinda_, in that shape: but why should you trust me, 'twas i betray'd your sister, i undid her; and believe me, gentle youth, 'tis i weep for her: appoint what penance you please: but stay then, and see me perform it: ask what honour this place is able to heap on ye, or what wealth: if following me will like ye, my care of ye, which for your sisters sake, for your own goodness- _al._ not all the honour earth has, now she's gone lady, not all the favour; yet if i sought preferment, under your bounteous grace i would only take it. peace rest upon ye: one sad tear every day for poor _alindas_. sake, 'tis fit ye pay. [_exit._ _oly._ a thousand noble youth, and when i sleep, even in my silver slumbers still i'le weep. [_exit._ scena iii. _enter_ duke, _and gentlemen_. _duke._ have ye been with 'em? _gent._ yes, and't please your grace, but no perswasion serves 'em, nor no promise, they are fearfull angry, and by this time sir, upon their march to the enemy. _du._ they must be stopt. _enter_ burris. _gent._ i, but what force is able? and what leader- _du._ how now, have you been with _archas_? _bur._ yes, and't please ye, and told him all: he frets like a chaf'd lyon, and calls for his arms: and all those honest courtiers that dare draw swords. _du._ is he able to do any thing? _bur._ his mind is well enough; and where his charge is, let him be ne're so sore, 'tis a full army. _du._ who commands the rebels? _bur._ the young colonel, that makes the old man almost mad: he swears sir, he will not spare his sons head for the dukedom. _du._ is the court in arms? _bur._ as fast as they can bustle, every man mad to goe now: inspir'd strangely, as if they were to force the enemy, i beseech your grace to give me leave. _du._ pray go sir, and look to the old man well; take up all fairly, and let no bloud be spilt; take general pardons, and quench this fury with fair peace. _bur._ i shall sir, or seal it with my service; they are villains: the court is up: good sir, go strengthen 'em, your royal sight will make 'em scorn all dangers; the general needs no proof. _duke._ come let's go view 'em. [_exeunt._ scena iv. _enter_ theodore, putskie, _ancient_, _souldiers_, _drums_, _and colours_. _the._ 'tis known we are up, and marching: no submission, no promise of base peace can cure our maladies, we have suffer'd beyond all repair of honour: your valiant old man's whipt; whipt gentlemen, whipt like a slave: that flesh that never trembled, nor shrunk one sinew at a thousand charges, that noble body rib'd in arms, the enemy so often shook at, and then shun'd like thunder, that body's torn with lashes. _anc._ let's turn head. _put._ turn nothing gentlemen, let's march on fairly, unless they charge us. _the._ think still of his abuses, and keep your angers. _anc._ he was whipt like a top, i never saw a whore so lac'd: court school-butter? is this their diet? i'le dress 'em one running banquet: what oracle can alter us? did not we see him? see him we lov'd? _the._ and though we did obey him, forc'd by his reverence for that time; is't fit gentlemen? my noble friends, is't fit we men, and souldiers, live to endure this, and look on too? _put._ forward: they may call back the sun as soon, stay time, prescribe a law to death, as we endure this. _the._ they will make ye all fair promises. _anc._ we care not. _the._ use all their arts upon ye. _anc._ hang all their arts. _put._ and happily they'l bring him with 'em. _anc._ march apace then, he is old and cannot overtake us. _put._ say he doe. _anc._ we'l run away with him: they shall never see him more: the truth is, we'l hear nothing, stop at nothing, consider nothing but our way; believe nothing, not though they say their prayers: be content with nothing, but the knocking out their brains: and last, do nothing but ban 'em and curse 'em, till we come to kill 'em. _the._ remove then forwards bravely; keep your minds whole, and the next time we face 'em, shall be fatal. [_exeunt._ scena v. _enter_ archas, _duke,_ burris, _gent_, _and sould_. _ar._ peace to your grace; take rest sir, they are before us. _gent._ they are sir, and upon the march. [_exit_ duke. _ar._ lord _burris_, take you those horse and coast 'em: upon the first advantage, if they will not slake their march, charge 'em up roundly, by that time i'le come in. _bur._ i'le do it truly. [_exit._ _gent._ how do you feel your self sir? _ar._ well, i thank ye; a little weak, but anger shall supply that; you will all stand bravely to it? _all._ whilst we have lives sir. _ar._ ye speak like gentlemen; i'le make the knaves know, the proudest, and the strongest hearted rebel, they have a law to live in, and they shall have; beat up a pace, by this time he is upon 'em, [_drum within._ and sword, but hold me now, thou shalt play ever. [_exeunt._ _enter drums beating_, theodore, putskie, _ancient_, _and their souldiers._ _the._ stand, stand, stand close, and sure; _enter_ burris, _and 1 or 2 souldiers_. the horse will charge us. _anc._ let 'em come on, we have provender fit for 'em. _put._ here comes lord _burris_ sir, i think to parly. _the._ you are welcom noble sir, i hope to our part. _bur._ no, valiant colonel, i am come to chide ye, to pity ye; to kill ye, if these fail me; fie, what dishonour seek ye! what black infamy! why do ye draw out thus? draw all shame with ye? are these fit cares in subjects? i command ye lay down your arms again, move in that peace, that fair obedience you were bred in. _put._ charge us: we come not here to argue. _the._ charge up bravely, and hotly too, we have hot spleens to meet ye, hot as the shames are offer'd us. _enter_ archas, _gent. and souldiers_. _bur._ look behind ye. do you see that old man? do you know him souldiers? _put._ your father sir, believe me- _bur._ you know his marches, you have seen his executions: is it yet peace? _the._ we'l dye here first. _bur._ farewel: you'l hear on's presently. _ar._ stay _burris_: this is too poor, too beggerly a body to bear the honour of a charge from me, a sort of tatter'd rebels; go provide gallowses; ye are troubled with hot heads, i'le cool ye presently: these look like men that were my souldiers now i behold 'em nearly, and more narrowly, my honest friends: where got they these fair figures? where did they steal these shapes? _bur._ they are struck already. _ar._ do you see that fellow there, that goodly rebel? he looks as like a captain i lov'd tenderly: a fellow of a faith indeed. _bur._ he has sham'd him. _ar._ and that that bears the colours there, most certain so like an ancient of mine own, a brave fellow, a loving and obedient, that believe me _burris_, i am amaz'd and troubled: and were it not i know the general goodness of my people, the duty, and the truth, the stedfast honestie, and am assur'd they would as soon turn devils as rebels to allegeance, for mine honour. _bur._ here needs no wars. _put._ i pray forgive us sir. _anc._ good general forgive us, or use your sword, your words are double death. _all._ good noble general. _bur._ pray sir be mercifull. _ar._ weep out your shames first, ye make me fool for companie: fie souldiers, my souldiers too, and play these tricks? what's he there? sure i have seen his face too; yes, most certain i have a son, but i hope he is not here now, 'would much resemble this man, wondrous near him, just of his height and making too, you seem a leader. _the._ good sir, do not shame me more: i know your anger, and less than death i look not for. _ar._ you shall be my charge sir, it seems you want foes, when you would make your friends your enemies. a running bloud ye have, but i shall cure ye. _bur._ good sir- _an._ no more good lord: beat forward souldiers: and you, march in the rear, you have lost your places. [_exeunt._ scena vi. _enter duke_, olympia, honora, viola. _du._ you shall not be thus sullen still with me sister, you do the most unnobly to be angry, for as i have a soul, i never touch'd her, i never yet knew one unchast thought in her: i must confess, i lov'd her: as who would not? i must confess i doated on her strangely, i offer'd all, yet so strong was her honour, so fortifi'd as fair, no hope could reach her, and whilst the world beheld this, and confirm'd it, why would you be so jealous? _oly._ good sir pardon me, i feel sufficiently my follies penance, and am asham'd, that shame a thousand sorrows feed on continually, would i had never seen her, or with a clearer judgement look'd upon her, she was too good for me, so heavenly good sir, nothing but heaven can love that soul sufficiently, where i shall see her once again. _enter_ burris. _du._ no more tears, if she be within the dukedom, we'l recover her: welcom lord _burris_, fair news i hope. _bur._ most fair sir, without one drop of bloud these wars are ended, the souldier cool'd again, indeed asham'd sir, and all his anger ended. _du._ where's lord _archas_? _bur._ not far off sir: with him his valiant son, head of this fire, but now a prisoner, and if by your sweet mercy not prevented, i fear some fatal stroke. [_drums._ _enter_ archas, theodore, _gentlemen_, _souldiers_. _du._ i hear the drums beat, welcom, my worthy friend. _ar._ stand where ye are sir, even as you love your country, move not forward, nor plead for peace till i have done a justice, a justice on this villain; none of mine now, a justice on this rebel. _hon._ o my brother. _ar._ this fatal firebrand- _du._ forget not old man, he is thy son, of thine own bloud. _ar._ in these veins no treacherie e're harbour'd yet, no mutinie, i ne're gave life to lewd and headstrong rebels. _du._ 'tis his first fault. _ar._ not of a thousand sir, or were it so, it is a fault so mightie, so strong against the nature of all mercy, his mother were she living, would not weep for him, he dare not say he would live. _the._ i must not sir, whilst you say 'tis not fit: your graces mercy not to my life appli'd, but to my fault sir, the worlds forgiveness next, last, on my knees sir, i humbly beg, do not take from me yet the name of father, strike me a thousand blows, but let me dye yours. _ar._ he moves my heart: i must be suddain with him, i shall grow faint else in my execution; come, come sir, you have seen death; now meet him bravely. _du._ hold, hold i say, a little hold, consider thou hast no more sons _archas_ to inherit thee. _ar._ yes sir, i have another, and a nobler: no treason shall inherit me: young _archas_ a boy, as sweet as young, my brother breeds him, my noble brother _briskie_ breeds him nobly, him let your favour find: give him your honour. _enter_ putskie (_alias_ briskie) _and_ alinda, (_alias_ archas.) _pu._ thou hast no child left _archas_, none to inherit thee if thou strikst that stroke now: behold young _archas_; behold thy brother here, thou bloudy brother, as bloody to this sacrifice as thou art: heave up thy sword, and mine's heav'd up: strike _archas_, and i'le strike too as suddenly, as deadly: have mercy, and i'le have mercy: the duke gives it. look upon all these, how they weep it from thee, choose quickly, and begin. _du._ on your obedience, on your allegeance save him. _ar._ take him to ye, [_soul. shout._ and sirrah, be an honest man, ye have reason: i thank ye worthy brother: welcom child, mine own sweet child. _du._ why was this boy conceal'd thus? _put._ your graces pardon: fearing the vow you made against my brother, and that your anger would not only light on him, but find out all his familie, this young boy, to preserve from after danger, like a young wench, hither i brought; my self in the habit of an ordinarie captain disguis'd, got entertainment, and serv'd here that i might still be ready to all fortunes: that boy your grace took, nobly entertain'd him, but thought a girle, _alinda_, madam. _ol._ stand away, and let me look upon him. _du._ my young mistris? this is a strange metamorphosis, _alinda_? _al._ your graces humble servant. _du._ come hither sister: i dare yet scarce believe mine eyes: how they view one another? dost thou not love this boy well? _oly._ i should lye else, trust me, extreamly lye sir. _du._ didst thou never wish _olympia_, it might be thus? _oly._ a thousand times. _du._ here take him: nay, do not blush: i do not jest; kiss sweetly: boy, ye kiss faintly boy; heaven give ye comfort; teach him, he'l quickly learn: there's two hearts eas'd now. _ar._ you do me too much honour sir. _du._ no _archas_, but all i can, i will; can you love me? speak truly. _hon._ yes sir, dearly. _du._ come hither _viola_, can you love this man? _vio._ i'le do the best i can sir. _du._ seal it _burris_, we'l all to church together instantly: and then a vie for boyes; stay, bring _boroskie_. _enter_ boroskie. i had almost forgot that lump of mischief. there _archas_, take the enemie to honour, the knave to worth: do with him what thou wilt. _ar._ then to my sword again; you to your prayers; wash off your villanies, you feel the burthen. _bor._ forgive me e're i die, most honest _archas_; 'tis too much honour that i perish thus; o strike my faults to kill them, that no memorie, no black and blasted infamy hereafter--- _ar._ come, are ye ready? _bor._ yes. _ar._ and truly penitent, to make your way straight? _bor._ thus i wash off my sins. _ar._ stand up, and live then, and live an honest man; i scorn mens ruines: take him again, sir, trie him: and believe this thing will be a perfect man. _du._ i take him. _bor._ and when i fail those hopes, heavens hopes fail me. _du._ you are old: no more wars father: _theodore_ take you the charge, be general. _the._ all good bless ye. _du._ and my good father, you dwell in my bosom, from you rise all my good thoughts: when i would think and examine time for one that's fairly noble, and the same man through all the streights of vertue, upon this silver book i'le look, and read him. now forward merrily to _hymens_ rites, to joyes, and revels, sports, and he that can most honour _archas_, is the noblest man. [_exeunt._ prologue. _we need not noble gentlemen to invite attention, preinstruct you who did write this worthy story, being confident the mirth join'd with grave matter, and intent to yield the hearers profit, with delight, will speak the maker: and to do him right, would ask a genius like to his; the age mourning his loss, and our now widdowed stage in vain lamenting. i could adde, so far behind him the most modern writers are, that when they would commend him, their best praise ruins the buildings which they strive to raise to his best memory, so much a friend presumes to write, secure 'twill not offend the living that are modest, with the rest that may repine he cares not to contest. this debt to_ fletcher _paid; it is profest by us the actors, we will do our best to send such favouring friends, as hither come to grace the scene, pleas'd, and contented home._ epilogue. _though something well assur'd, few here repent three hours of pretious time, or money spent on our endeavours, yet not to relye too much upon our care, and industrie, 'tis fit we should ask, but a modest way how you approve our action in the play. if you vouchsafe to crown it with applause, it is your bountie, and you give us cause hereafter with a general consent to study, as becomes us, your content._ * * * * * p. #47#, l. 9. _adds_ finis actus tertii. l. 11. servant and r. bax, and. l. 12. a stirs a stirs. l. 26. barkes. p. #48#, l. 34. and whom. p. #49#, l. 26. his fierce. l. 29. roome then. l. 30. and old. l. 33. your rare. l. 37. her ladies. p. #50#, l. 12. i must. p. #51#, l. 2. has. l. 7. 2nd folio _misprints_] philax. p. #52#, l. 1. _adds as follows_] _clo._ why that ye wo't of, _chi._ the turne the good turne? _clo._ any turne the roche turne; _chi._ that's the right turne for that turnes up the bellie, i cannot, _etc._ l. 17. as brickle. l. 20. that think no. p. #55#, l. 7. ath'. l. 8. ath' the. l. 17. weaker. l. 29. a that. l. 38. a will. p. #56#, l. 26. 2nd folio _misprints_] ne's. l. 29. a comes. l. 35. stand up my. p. #57#, l. 14. rogue. l. 21. art ta? l. 23. art ta? l. 32. thou art a. l. 39. doe ye. p. #58#, l. 18. lyons. l. 26. _adds_ finis actus quarti. l. 28. priest. l. 30. a your. p. #60#, l. 9. cure this. l. 10. he's man. l. 12. is now. l. 16. oracle, arras. p. #61#, l. 36. therefore, thy. p. #62#, l. 3. therefore be. l. 9. i shall. l. 19. a had. l. 36. 2nd folio] ha'! p. #63#, l. 6. a will. l. 14. makes he. l. 28. battell. p. #64#, l. 2. _omits_ and. l. 7. in boyes in boyes. l. 38. 2nd folio _misprints_] cle. p. #65#, l. 17. _omits_ her. p. #67#, l. 10. 2nd folio _omits_] chi. (_char._). l. 10. chickens. l. 24. weepes. l. 26. a was. l. 27. ye have. p. #69#, l. 8. and like. l. 33. cleanthe, curtisan, lords. p. #70#, l. 6. my glorious. l. 34. a sight. l. 36. ye could. _adds as next line_] roome before there. _knock._ p. #71#, l. 8. _prints_ to the, etc., _as a separate line and as a heading_. l. 9. _for_ eum. _reads_ 1. cap. p. #73#, l. 15. lov'st her. l. 31. 2nd folio] sister! p. #75#, l. 13. the saylors sing. l. 28. utters. l. 32. _adds_ finis. the loyal subject. p. #76#, ll. 3-40. not in 1st folio. p. #78#, l. 14. archus. l. 15. souldier. l. 23. archus. l. 37. now you. p. #79#, l. 4. 2nd folio _misprints_] pet. p. #80#, l. 24. eyes. p. #82#, l. 4. but to. l. 31. 2nd folio _misprints_] augel. p. #84#, l. 35. 2nd folio _misprints_] gentlenem. p. #86#, l. 2. pray ye be. l. 38. thanke high heaven. p. #87#, l. 1. 2nd folio] in'? l. 30. _omits_ exit. p. #90#, l. 4. a pieces. l. 30. beseech yee. p. #91#, l. 6. marvelous fine. p. #92#, l. 8. too late to. l. 10. tremble. l. 30. _adds_ exeunt. p. #94#, l. 14. of every. p. #96#, l. 18. 2nd folio _misprints_] may. l. 34. and 'has. l. 38. and noise. p. #97#, l. 23. who, for. l. 25. and shewrd. p. #103#, l. 35. 2nd folio _misprints_] lorship. p. #106#, l. 16. 2nd folio] feed then. p. #107#, l. 18. it fits so. p. #112#, l. 8. fishmarket. l. 28. paintings. l. 32. 2nd folio _misprints_] aac. p. #113#, l. 30. 'has. l. 34. blame ye. p. #114#, l. 34. 'has. p. #115#, l. 3. ye see. l. 28. me armes. l. 38. none, none my lord. p. #116#, l. 1. thanke ye. l. 18. me too far. l. 31. he is. p. #117#, l. 21. content like harmles. p. #118#, l. 17. the fashion to. p. #119#, l. 21. ungrased. l. 38. 2nd folio _misprints_] is. p. #120#, l. 34. art not mad. p. #123#, l. 37. serv'd yee. p. #124#, l. 11. _omits_ do. l. 15. women. l. 21. thinke ye. p. #125#, l. 1. it; 'sod if. l. 24. wickedly. p. #127#, l. 16. yeare. p. #128#, l. 9. _reads stage direction_] exit. p. #130#, l. 6. 2nd folio _misprints_] bur. l. 10. _omits_ please. p. #134#, l. 31. hast ruine. p. #136#, l. 31. _the catchword at the foot of the page in the 1st folio is_ and. p. #138#, l. 37. 2nd folio] broms. p. #139#, l. 1. no trade. l. 7. 2nd folio] traeds. p. #140#, l. 27. of your. p. #141#, l. 37. thats that. l. 39. 2nd folio _misprints_] hoa. p. #142#, l. 30. 2nd folio _misprints_] dou. p. #146#, l. 18. tal. p. #147#, l. 22. _omits_ are. p. #148#, l. 36. till ye. p. #149#, l. 40. _adds_ exit. p. #150#, l. 8. that told. l. 18. 2nd folio _misprints_] guily. p. #151#, l. 13. sword. l. 31. and kits. l. 36. well meet. p. #153#, l. 15. 'may do. l. 25. see these. p. #154#, l. 9. beleeve ye. l. 22. not we. p. #155#, l. 31. archas yet? p. #157#, l. 10. pray you. l. 27. shines. p. #162#, l. 29. not slacke. p. #167#, l. 22. the boy. p. #168#, l. 38. hymens rights. p. #169#, l. 34. _adds_ finis. rule a wife, and have a wife. the dramatis personã¦ are not given in the quarto of 1640 nor in the 2nd folio. they are as follows:--duke of medina. juan de castro, sanchio, alonzo, michael perez, officers. leon, altea's brother. cacafogo, a userer. lorenzo. coachman, etc. margarita. altea. estifania. clara. three old ladies. old woman. maids, etc. unless where otherwise stated the following variations are from the quarto of 1640, the title-page of which runs thus:- rule a wife | and have a wife. | a comoedy. | acted by his | majesties servants. | written by | john fletcher | gent. | oxford, | printed by leonard lichfield | printer to the university. | anno 1640. p. #170#, l. 30. mouth. p. #171#, l. 14. most sublest. l. 18. with yee. l. 19. them. l. 38. _and often elsewhere_] um _for_ 'em. p. #172#, l. 2. the picke. p. #173#, l. 22. thank ye. p. #175#, l. 1. yes i. l. 29. exit. l. 31. mine ayme. p. #176#, l. 30. 2nd folio _prints_] calling. | and p. #178#, l. 10. a starv'd. l. 22. look'st. l. 24. 2nd folio _misprints_] hear. p. #179#, l. 33. or any. p. #182#, ll. 6, etc. quarto _frequently prints_ 4. _for_ altea _here and in similar places_. l. 33. doubty. p. #183#, l. 2. has not. l. 3. 2nd folio _misprints_] hin. l. 5. has no. l. 38. 2nd folio _misprints_] compaines. p. #184#, l. 13. a house. p. #185#, l. 2. altea, the ladies. l. 4. has been. p. #187#, l. 26. i finde. p. #189#, l. 28. enter'd here. l. 39. salute him. p. #190#, l. 25. if she. p. #194#, ll. 8 and 11. _omits_ lady _here and often similarly elsewhere_. p. #196#, l. 26. exit. p. #197#, l. 20. basinesse. the humourous lieutenant, a tragi-comedy. persons represented in the play. _king_ antigonus, _an old man with young desires._ demetrius, _son to_ antigonus, _in love with_ celia. seleucus, lysimachus, ptolomie, _three kings equal sharers with_ antigonus _of what_ alexander _had, with united powers opposing_ antigonus. leontius, _a brave old merry souldier, assistant_ to demetrius. timon, charinthus, menippus, _servants to_ antigonus, _and his vices._ _the_ humourous lieutenant. _gentlemen, friends and followers of_ demetrius. _3 embassadors, from the three kings. gentlemen-ushers._ _grooms._ _citizens._ _physicians._ _herald._ _magician._ _souldiers._ _host._ _women._ celia _alias_ e[n]anthe, _daughter to_ seleucus, _mistris to_ demetrius. leucippe, _a bawd, agent for the king's lust._ _ladies._ _citizens wives._ _governesse to_ celia. _a country-woman._ phoebe, _her daughter._ _2 servants of the game._ _the scene_ greece. the principal actors were, _henry condel._ _john lowin._ _richard sharpe._ _robert benfeild._ _joseph taylor._ _william eglestone._ _john underwood._ _thomas polard._ _actus primus. scena prima._ _enter_ 2 ushers, _and_ grooms _with perfumes._ _1 usher_. round, round, perfume it round, quick, look ye diligently the state be right, are these the richest cushions? fie, fie, who waits i'th' wardrobe? _2 ush_. but pray tell me, do you think for certain these embassadours shall have this morning audience? _1 ush_. they shall have it: lord that you live at court and understand not! i tell you they must have it. _2 ush_. upon what necessity? _1 ush_. still you are out of the trick of court, sell your place, _enter_ ladies _and_ gentlemen. and sow your grounds, you are not for this tillage. madams, the best way is the upper lodgings, there you may see at ease. _ladies_. we thank you, sir. [_ex._ ladies, gent. _1 ush._ would you have all these slighted? who should report then, the embassadors were handsome men? his beard a neat one? the fire of his eyes quicker than lightning, and when it breaks, as blasting? his legs, though little ones, yet movers of a mass of understanding? who shall commend their cloaths? who shall take notice of the most wise behaviour of their feathers? ye live a raw man here. _2 ush._ i think i do so. _enter 2 citizens, and wives._ _1 ush._ why, whither would ye all press? _1 cit._ good master usher. _2 cit._ my wife, and some few of my honest neighbours, here. _1 ush._ prethee begone thou and thy honest neighbours, thou lookst like an ass, why, whither would you fish face? _2 cit._ if i might have but the honour to see you at my poor house, sir, a capon bridled and sadled, i'le assure your worship, a shoulder of mutton and a pottle of wine, sir, i know your brother, he was like ye, and shot the best at buts-_1 ush._ a ---upon thee. _2 cit._ some musick i'le assure you too, my toy, sir, can play o'th' virginals. _1 ush._ prethee good toy, take away thy shoulder of mutton, it is flie-blown, and shoulder take thy flap along, here's no place for ye; nay then you had best be knock'd. [_ex. cit._ _enter_ celia. _cel._ i wou'd fain see him, the glory of this place makes me remember, but dye those thoughts, dye all but my desires, even those to death are sick too; he's not here, nor how my eyes may guide me-_1 ush._ what's your business? who keeps the outward door there? here's fine shuffling, you wastcoateer you must go back. _cel._ there is not, there cannot be, six days and never see me? there must not be desire; sir, do you think that if you had a mistris-_1 ush._ death, she is mad. _cel_. and were yourself an honest man? it cannot-_1 ush._ what a devil hast thou to do with me or my honesty? will you be jogging, good nimble tongue, my fellow door-keeper. _2 ush._ prethee let her alone, _1 ush._ the king is coming, and shall we have an agent from the suburbs come to crave audience too? _cel._ before i thought ye to have a little breeding, some tang of gentry; but now i take ye plainly, without the help of any perspective, for that ye cannot alter. _1 ush._ what's that? _cel._ an ass, sir, you bray as like one, and by my troth, me thinks as ye stand now, considering who to kick next, you appear to me just with that kind of gravity, and wisdom; your place may bear the name of gentleman, but if ever any of that butter stick to your bread-_2 ush._ you must be modester. _cel._ let him use me nobler, and wear good cloaths to do good offices; they hang upon a fellow of his vertue, as though they hung on gibbets. _2 ush._ a perillous wench. _1 ush._ thrust her into a corner, i'le no more on her. _2 ush._ you have enough, go pretty maid, stand close, and use that little tongue, with a little more temper. _cel._ i thank ye, sir. _2 ush._ when the show's past, i'le have ye into the cellar, there we'll dine. a very pretty wench, a witty rogue, and there we'll be as merry; can ye be merry? _cel._ o very merry. _2 ush._ only our selves; this churlish fellow shall not know. _cel._ by no means. _2 ush._ and can you love a little? _cel._ love exceedingly: i have cause to love you, dear sir. _2 ush._ then i'le carry ye, and shew you all the pictures, and the hangings, the lodgings, gardens, and the walks: and then, sweet, you shall tell me where you lye. _cel._ yes marry will i. _2 ush._ and't shall go hard but i'le send ye a venison pasty, and bring a bottle of wine along. _1 ush._ make room there, _2 ush._ room there afore; stand close, the train is coming. _enter king_ antigonus, timon, charinthus, menippus. _cel._ have i yet left a beauty to catch fools? yet, yet, i see him not. o what a misery is love, expected long, deluded longer! _ant._ conduct in the embassadors. _1 ush._ make room there. _ant._ they shall not wait long answer- [_flourish._ _cle._ yet he comes not. _enter_ 3 _embassadors._ why are eyes set on these, and multitudes follow to make these wonders? o good gods! what would these look like if my love were here? but i am fond, forgetful. _ant._ now your grievance, speak short, and have as short dispatch. _1 emb._ then thus, sir: in all our royal masters names, we tell you, ye have done injustice, broke the bonds of concord, and from their equal shares, from _alexander_ parted, and so possess'd, not like a brother, but as an open enemy, ye have hedged in whole provinces, man'd and maintain'd these injuries; and daily with your sword (though they still honour ye) make bloudy inroads, take towns, and ruin castles, and still their sufferance feels the weight. _2 em._ think of that love, great sir, that honor'd friendship your self held with our masters, think of that strength when you were all one body, all one mind; when all your swords struck one way, when your angers, like so many brother billows rose together, and curling up your foaming crests, defied even mighty kings, and in their falls entomb'd 'em; o think of these; and you that have been conquerours, that ever led your fortunes open ey'd, chain'd fast by confidence; you that fame courted, now ye want enemies and men to match ye, let not your own swords seek your ends to shame ye. _enter_ demetrius _with a javelin, and gentlemen._ _3 em._ choose which you will, or peace or war, we come prepar'd for either. _1 ush._ room for the prince there. _cel._ was it the prince they said? how my heart trembled! 'tis he indeed; what a sweet noble fierceness dwells in his eyes! young _meleager_ like, when he return'd from slaughter of the boar, crown'd with the loves and honours of the people, with all the gallant youth of _greece_, he looks now, who could deny him love? _dem._ hail royal father. _ant._ ye are welcome from your sport, sir, do you see this gent. you that bring thunders in your mouths, and earthquakes to shake and totter my designs? can you imagine (you men of poor and common apprehensions) while i admit this man, my son, this nature that in one look carries more fire, and fierceness, than all your masters in their lives; dare i admit him, admit him thus, even to my side, my bosom, when he is fit to rule, when all men cry him, and all hopes hang about his head; thus place him, his weapon hatched in bloud, all these attending when he shall make their fortunes, all as sudden in any expedition he shall point 'em, as arrows from a tartars bow, and speeding, dare i do this, and fear an enemy? fear your great master? yours? or yours? _dem._ o _hercules_! who saies you do, sir? is there any thing in these mens faces, or their masters actions, able to work such wonders? _cel._ now he speaks: o i could dwell upon that tongue for ever. _dem._ you call 'em kings, they never wore those royalties, nor in the progress of their lives arriv'd yet at any thought of king: imperial dignities, and powerful god-like actions, fit for princes they can no more put on, and make 'em sit right, than i can with this mortal hand hold heaven: poor petty men, nor have i yet forgot the chiefest honours time, and merit gave 'em: _lisimachus_ your master, at the best, his highest, and his hopeful'st dignities was but grand-master of the _elephants_; _seleuchus_ of the treasure; and for _ptolomey_, a thing not thought on then, scarce heard of yet, some master of ammunition: and must these men-_cel._ what a brave confidence flows from his spirit! o sweet young man! _dem._ must these, hold pace with us, and on the same file hang their memories? must these examine what the wills of kings are? prescribe to their designs, and chain their actions to their restraints? be friends, and foes when they please? send out their thunders, and their menaces, as if the fate of mortal things were theirs? go home good men, and tell your masters from us, we do 'em too much honour to force from 'em their barren countries, ruin their vast cities, and tell 'em out of love, we mean to leave 'em (since they will needs be kings) no more to tread on, than they have able wits, and powers to manage, and so we shall befriend 'em. ha! what does she there? _emb._ this is your answer king? _ant._ 'tis like to prove so. _dem._ fie, sweet, what makes you here? _cel._ pray ye do not chide me. _dem._ you do your self much wrong and me. i feel my fault which only was committed through my dear love to you: i have not seen ye, and how can i live then? i have not spoke to ye-_dem._ i know this week ye have not; i will redeem all. you are so tender now; think where you are, sweet. _cel._ what other light have i left? _dem._ prethee _celia_, indeed i'le see you presently. _cel._ i have done, sir: you will not miss? _dem._ by this, and this, i will not. _cel._ 'tis in your will and i must be obedient. _dem._ no more of these assemblies. _cel._ i am commanded. _1 ush._ room for the lady there: madam, my service-_1 gent._ my coach an't please you lady. _2 ush._ room before there. _2 gent._ the honour, madam, but to wait upon you-my servants and my state. _cel._ lord, how they flock now! before i was afraid they would have beat me; how these flies play i'th' sun-shine! pray ye no services, or if ye needs must play the hobby-horses, seek out some beauty that affects 'em: farewel, nay pray ye spare: gentlemen i am old enough to go alone at these years, without crutches. [_exit._ _2 ush._ well i could curse now: but that will not help me, i made as sure account of this wench now, immediately, do but consider how the devil has crost me, meat for my master she cries, well-_3 em._ once more, sir, we ask your resolutions: peace or war yet? _dem._ war, war, my noble father. _1 em._ thus i fling it: and fair ey'd peace, farewel. _ant._ you have your answer; conduct out the embassadours, and give 'em convoyes. _dem._ tell your high hearted masters, they shall not seek us, nor cool i'th' field in expectation of us, we'l ease your men those marches: in their strengths, and full abilities of mind and courage, we'l find 'em out, and at their best trim buckle with 'em. _3 em._ you will find so hot a souldier's welcome, sir, your favour shall not freeze. _2 em._ a forward gentleman, pity the wars should bruise such hopes-_ant._ conduct em- [_ex._ em. now, for this preparation: where's _leontius_? call him in presently: for i mean in person gentlemen my self, with my old fortune-_dem._ royal sir: thus low i beg this honour: fame already hath every where rais'd trophies to your glory, and conquest now grown old, and weak with following the weary marches and the bloody shocks you daily set her in: 'tis now scarce honour for you that never knew to fight, but conquer, to sparkle such poor people: the royal eagle when she hath tri'd [h]er young ones 'gainst the sun, and found 'em right; next teacheth 'em to prey, how to command on wing, and check below her even birds of noble plume; i am your own, sir, you have found my spirit, try it now, and teach it to stoop whole kingdoms: leave a little for me: let not your glory be so greedy, sir, to eat up all my hopes; you gave me life, if to that life you add not what's more lasting a noble name, for man, you have made a shadow: bless me this day: bid me go on, and lead, bid me go on, no less fear'd, than _antigonus_, and to my maiden sword, tye fast your fortune: i know 'twill fight it self then: dear sir, honour me: never fair virgin long'd so. _ant._ rise, and command then, and be as fortunate, as i expect ye: i love that noble will; your young companions bred up and foster'd with ye, i hope _demetrius_, you will make souldiers too: they must not leave ye. _enter_ leontius. _2 gent._ never till life leave us, sir. _ant._ o _leontius_, here's work for you in hand. _leon._ i am ev'n right glad, sir. for by my troth, i am now grown old with idleness; i hear we shall abroad, sir. _ant._ yes, and presently, but who think you commands now? _leon._ who commands, sir? methinks mine eye should guide me: can there be (if you your self will spare him so much honour) any found out to lead before your armies, so full of faith, and fire, as brave _demetrius_? king _philips_ son, at his years was an old souldier, 'tis time his fortune be o' wing, high time, sir, so many idle hours, as here he loyters, so many ever-living names he loses, i hope 'tis he. _ant._ 'tis he indeed, and nobly he shall set forward: draw you all those garrisons upon the frontiers as you pass: to those joyn these in pay at home, our ancient souldiers, and as you go press all the provinces. _leo._ we shall not [need]; believe, this hopefull gentleman can want no swords, nor honest hearts to follow him, we shall be full, no fear sir. _ant._ you _leontius_, because you are an old and faithfull servant, and know the wars, with all his vantages, be near to his instructions, lest his youth lose valours best companion, staid discretion, shew where to lead, to lodge, to charge with safetie; in execution not to break, nor scatter, but with a provident anger, follow nobly: not covetous of blood, and death, but honour, be ever near his watches; cheer his labours, and where his hope stands fair, provoke his valour; love him, and think it no dishonour (my _demetrius_) to wear this jewel near thee; he is a tri'd one, and one that even in spight of time, that sunk him, and frosted up his strength, will yet stand by thee, and with the proudest of thine enemies exchange for bloud, and bravely: take his counsel. _leo._ your grace hath made me young again, and wanton. _ant._ she must be known and suddenly: do ye know her? [_to minippus._ _gent. char._ no, believe sir. _ant._ did you observe her, _timon_? _tim_. i look'd on her, but what she is-_ant_. i must have that found. come in and take your leave. _tim._ and some few prayers along. _dem._ i know my duty, [_exit_ ant. you shall be half my father. _leo._ all your servant: come gentlemen, you are resolv'd i am sure to see these wars. _1 gent._ we dare not leave his fortunes, though most assur'd death hung round about us. _leo._.= that bargain's yet to make; be not too hasty, when ye face the enemie, nor too ambitious to get honour instantly, but charge within your bounds, and keep close bodies, and you shall see what sport we'l make these mad-caps; you shall have game enough, i warrant ye, every mans cock shall fight. _dem._ i must go see sir: brave sir, as soon as i have taken leave, i'le meet you in the park; draw the men thither, wait you upon _leontius_. _gen._ we'l attend sir. _leo._ but i beseech your grace, with speed; the sooner we are i'th' field.-_dem._ you could not please me better. [_exit_. _leo._ you never saw the wars yet? _gent._ not yet colonel. _leo._ these foolish mistresses do so hang about ye, so whimper, and so hug, i know it gentlemen, and so intice ye, now ye are i'th' bud; and that sweet tilting war, with eyes and kisses, th' alarms of soft vows, and sighs, and fiddle faddles, spoils all our trade: you must forget these knick knacks, a woman at some time of year, i grant ye she is necessarie; but make no business of her. how now lieutenant? _enter_ lieutenant. _lieu._ oh sir, as ill as ever; we shall have wars they say; they are mustring yonder: would we were at it once: fie, how it plagues me. _leo._ here's one has served now under captain _cupid_, and crackt a pike in's youth: you see what's come on't. _lieu._ no, my disease will never prove so honourable. _leo._ why sure, thou hast the best pox. _lieu._ if i have 'em, i am sure i got 'em in the best company; they are pox of thirty coats. _leo._ thou hast mewed 'em finely: here's a strange fellow now, and a brave fellow, if we may say so of a pocky fellow, (which i believe we may) this poor lieutenant; whether he have the scratches, or the scabs, or what a devil it be, i'le say this for him, there fights no braver souldier under sun, gentlemen; show him an enemie, his pain's forgot straight; and where other men by beds and bathes have ease, and easie rules of physick; set him in a danger, a danger, that's a fearfull one indeed, ye rock him, and he will so play about ye, let it be ten to one he ne'er comes off again, ye have his heart: and then he works it bravely, and throughly bravely: not a pang remembre'd: i have seen him do such things, belief would shrink at. _gent._ 'tis strange he should do all this, and diseas'd so. _leo._ i am sure 'tis true: lieutenant, canst thou drink well? _lieu._ would i were drunk, dog-drunk, i might not feel this backward? _gent._ i would take physick. _lieu._ but i would know my disease first. _leon._ why? it may be the colique: canst thou blow _lieu._ there's never a bag-pipe in the kingdom better. _gent._ is't not a pleuresie? _lieu._ 'tis any thing that has the devil, and death in't: will ye march gentlemen? the prince has taken leave. _leo._ how know ye that? _lieu._ i saw him leave the court, dispatch his followers, and met him after in a by street: i think he has some wench, or such a toy, to lick over before he go: would i had such another to draw this foolish pain down. _leo._ let's away gentlemen, for sure the prince will stay on us. _gent._ we'l attend sir. [exeunt. _scena ii._ _enter_ demetrius, _and_ celia. _cel_. must ye needs go? _dem_. or stay with all dishonour. _cel_. are there not men enough to fight? _dem_. fie _celia_. this ill becomes the noble love you bear me; would you have your love a coward? _cel_. no; believe sir, i would have him fight, but not so far off from me. _dem_. wouldst have it thus? or thus? _cel_. if that be fighting-_dem_. ye wanton fool: when i come home again i'le fight with thee, at thine own weapon _celia_, and conquer thee too. _cel_. that you have done already, you need no other arms to me, but these sir; but will you fight your self sir? _dem_. thus deep in bloud wench, and through the thickest ranks of pikes. _cel_. spur bravely your firie courser, beat the troops before ye, and cramb the mouth of death with executions. _dem_. i would do more than these: but prethee tell me, tell me my fair, where got'st thou this male spirit? i wonder at thy mind. _cel_. were i a man then, you would wonder more. _dem_. sure thou wouldst prove a souldier, and some great leader. _cel_. sure i should do somewhat; and the first thing i did, i should grow envious, extreamly envious of your youth, and honour. _dem_. and fight against me? _cel_. ten to one, i should do it. _dem_. thou wouldst not hurt me? _cel_. in this mind i am in i think i should be hardly brought to strike ye, unless 'twere thus; but in my mans mind-_dem_. what? _cel_. i should be friends with you too, now i think better. _dem_. ye are a tall souldier: here, take these, and these; this gold to furnish ye, and keep this bracelet; why do you weep now? you a masculine spirit? _cel_. no, i confess, i am a fool, a woman: and ever when i part with you-_dem_. you shall not, these tears are like prodigious signs, my sweet one, i shall come back, loaden with fame, to honour thee. _cel_. i hope you shall: but then my dear _demetrius_, when you stand conquerour, and at your mercy all people bow, and all things wait your sentence; say then your eye (surveying all your conquest) finds out a beautie, even in sorrow excellent, a constant face, that in the midst of ruine with a forc'd smile, both scorns at fate, and fortune: say you find such a one, so nobly fortified, and in her figure all the sweets of nature? _dem_. prethee, no more of this, i cannot find her. _cel_. that shews as far beyond my wither'd beauty; and will run mad to love ye too. _dem_. do you fear me, and do you think, besides this face, this beauty, this heart, where all my hopes are lock'd-_cel_. i dare not: no sure, i think ye honest; wondrous honest. pray do not frown, i'le swear ye are. _dem_. ye may choose. _cel_. but how long will ye be away? _dem_. i know not. _cel_. i know you are angry now: pray look upon me: i'le ask no more such questions. _dem_. the drums beat, i can no longer stay. _cel_. they do but call yet: how fain you would leave my company? _dem_. i wou'd not, unless a greater power than love commanded, commands my life, mine honour. _cel_. but a little. _dem_. prethee farewel, and be not doubtfull of me. _cel_. i would not have ye hurt: and ye are so ventrous-but good sweet prince preserve your self, fight nobly, but do not thrust this body, 'tis not yours now, 'tis mine, 'tis only mine: do not seek wounds, sir, for every drop of blood you bleed-_dem_. i will _celia_, i will be carefull. _cel_. my heart, that loves ye dearly. _dem_. prethee no more, we must part: [_drums a march._ hark, they march now. _cel_. pox on these bawling drums: i am sure you'l kiss me, but one kiss? what a parting's this? _dem_. here take me, and do what thou wilt with me, smother me; but still remember, if your fooling with me, make me forget the trust-_cel_. i have done: farewel sir, never look back, you shall not stay, not a minute. _dem_. i must have one farewel more. _cel_. no, the drums beat; i dare not slack your honour; not a hand more, only this look; the gods preserve, and save ye. _actus secundus. scena prima._ _enter_ antigonus, carinthus, timon. _ant_. what, have ye found her out? _char_. we have hearkned after her. _ant_. what's that to my desire? _char_. your grace must give us time, and a little means. _tim_. she is sure a stranger, if she were bred or known here-_ant_. your dull endeavours _enter_ menippus. should never be employ'd. welcom _menippus_. _men_. i have found her sir, i mean the place she is lodg'd in; her name is _celia_, and much adoe i had to purchase that too. _ant_. dost think _demetrius_ loves her? _men_. much i fear it, but nothing that way yet can win for certain. i'le tell your grace within this hour. _ant_. a stranger? _men_. without all doubt. _ant_. but how should he come to her? _men_. there lies the marrow of the matter hid yet. _ant_. hast thou been with thy wife? _men_. no sir, i am going to her. _ant_. go and dispatch, and meet me in the garden, and get all out ye can. [_exit._ _men_. i'le doe my best sir. [_exit._ _tim._ blest be thy wife, thou wert an arrant ass else. _char_. i, she is a stirring woman indeed: there's a brain brother. _tim_. there's not a handsom wench of any mettle within an hundred miles, but her intelligence reaches her, and out-reaches her, and brings her as confidently to court, as to a sanctuary: what had his mouldy brains ever arriv'd at, had not she beaten it out o'th' flint to fasten him? they say she keeps an office of concealments: there is no young wench, let her be a saint, unless she live i'th' center, but she finds her, and every way prepares addresses to her: if my wife would have followed her course _charinthus_, her lucky course, i had the day before him: o what might i have been by this time, brother? but she (forsooth) when i put these things to her, these things of honest thrift, groans, o my conscience, the load upon my conscience, when to make us cuckolds, they have no more burthen than a brood-[goose], brother; but let's doe what we can, though this wench fail us, another of a new way will be lookt at: come, let's abroad, and beat our brains, time may for all his wisdom, yet give us a day. [_exeunt_. _scena ii._ drum _within, alarm, enter_ demetrius, _and_ leontius. _dem_. i will not see 'em fall thus, give me way sir, i shall forget you love me else. _leo_. will ye lose all? for me to be forgotten, to be hated, nay never to have been a man, is nothing, so you, and those we have preserv'd from slaughter come safely off. _dem_. i have lost my self. _leo_. you are cozen'd. _dem_. and am most miserable. _leo_. there's no man so, but he that makes himself so. _dem_. i will goe on. _leo_. you must not: i shall tell you then, and tell you true, that man's unfit to govern, that cannot guide himself: you lead an army? that have not so much manly suff'rance left ye, to bear a loss? _dem_. charge but once more _leontius_, my friends and my companions are engag'd all. _leo_. nay give 'em lost, i saw 'em off their horses, and the enemy master of their arms; nor could then the policie, nor strength of man redeem 'em. _dem_. and shall i know this, and stand fooling? _leo_. by my dead fathers soul you stir not, sir, or if you doe, you make your way through me first. _dem_. thou art a coward. _leo_. to prevent a madman. none but your fathers son, durst call me so, 'death if he did--must i be scandal'd by ye, that hedg'd in all the helps i had to save ye? that, where there was a valiant weapon stirring, both search'd it out, and singl'd it, unedg'd it, for fear it should bite you, am i a coward? go, get ye up, and tell 'em ye are the kings son; hang all your ladys favours on your crest, and let them fight their shares; spur to destruction, you cannot miss the way: be bravely desperate, and your young friends before ye, that lost this battel, your honourable friends, that knew no order, cry out, _antigonus_, the old _antigonus_, the wise and fortunate _antigonus_, the great, the valiant, and the fear'd _antigonus_, has sent a desperate son, without discretion to bury in an hour his age of honour. _dem_. i am ashamed. _leo_. 'tis ten to one, i die with ye: the coward will not long be after ye; i scorn to say i saw you fall, sigh for ye, and tell a whining tale, some ten years after to boyes and girles in an old chimney corner, of what a prince we had, how bravely spirited; how young and fair he fell: we'l all go with ye, and ye shall see us all, like sacrifices in our best trim, fill up the mouth of ruine. will this faith satisfie your folly? can this show ye 'tis not to die we fear, but to die poorly, to fall, forgotten, in a multitude? if you will needs tempt fortune now she has held ye, held ye from sinking up. _dem_. pray do not kill me, these words pierce deeper than the wounds i suffer, the smarting wounds of loss. _leo_. ye are too tender; fortune has hours of loss, and hours of honour, and the most valiant feel them both: take comfort, the next is ours, i have a soul descries it: the angry bull never goes back for breath but when he means to arm his fury double. let this day set, but not the memorie, and we shall find a time: how now lieutenant? _enter_ lieutenant. _lieu_. i know not: i am mall'd: we are bravely beaten, all our young gallants lost. _leo_. thou art hurt. _lieu_. i am pepper'd, i was i'th' midst of all: and bang'd of all hands: they made an anvile of my head, it rings yet; never so thresh'd: do you call this fame? i have fam'd it; i have got immortal fame, but i'le no more on't; i'le no such scratching saint to serve hereafter; o' my conscience i was kill'd above twenty times, and yet i know not what a devil's in't, i crawled away, and lived again still; i am hurt plaguily, but now i have nothing near so much pain colonel, they have sliced me for that maladie. _dem_. all the young men lost? _lie_. i am glad you are here: but they are all i'th' pound sir, they'l never ride o're other mens corn again, i take it, such frisking, and such flaunting with their feathers, and such careering with their mistres favours; and here must he be pricking out for honour, and there got he a knock, and down goes pilgarlick, commends his soul to his she-saint, and _exit_. another spurs in there, cryes make room villains, i am a lord, scarce spoken, but with reverence a rascal takes him o're the face, and fells him; there lyes the lord, the lord be with him. _leo_. now sir, do you find this truth? _dem_. i would not. _lieu_. pox upon it, they have such tender bodies too; such culisses, that one good handsom blow breaks 'em a pieces. _leo_. how stands the enemy? _lieu_. even cool enough too: for to say truth he has been shrewdly heated, the gentleman no doubt will fall to his jewlips. _leo_. he marches not i'th' tail on's. _lieu_. no, plague take him, he'l kiss our tails as soon; he looks upon us, as if he would say, if ye will turn again, friends, we will belabor you a little better, and beat a little more care into your coxcombs. now shall we have damnable ballads out against us, most wicked madrigals: and ten to one, colonel, sung to such lowsie, lamentable tunes. _leo_. thou art merry, how e're the game goes: good sir be not troubled, a better day will draw this back again. pray go, and cheer those left, and lead 'em off, they are hot, and weary. _dem_. i'le doe any thing. _leo_. lieutenant, send one presently away to th' king, and let him know our state: and hark ye, be sure the messenger advise his majestie to comfort up the prince: he's full of sadness. _lieu_. when shall i get a surgeon? this hot weather, unless i be well pepper'd, i shall stink, colonel. _leo_. go, i'le prepare thee one. _lieu_. if ye catch me then, fighting again, i'le eat hay with a horse. [_exit_. _scena iii._ _enter_ leucippe _(reading) and two maids at a table writing._ _leu_. have ye written to _merione_? _1 ma_. yes, madam. _leu_. and let her understand the hopes she has, if she come speedilie-_1 ma_. all these are specified. _leu_. and of the chain is sent her, and the rich stuff to make her shew more handsom here? _1 maid_. all this is done, madam. _leu_. what have you dispatcht there? _2 maid_. a letter to the country maid, and't please ye. _leu_. a pretty girle, but peevish, plaguy peevish: have ye bought the embroydered gloves, and that purse for her, and the new curle? _2 maid_. they are ready packt up madam. _leu_. her maiden-head will yield me; let me see now; she is not fifteen they say: for her complexion-_cloe, cloe, cloe,_ here, i have her, _cloe_, the daughter of a country gentleman; her age upon fifteen: now her complexion, a lovely brown; here 'tis; eyes black and rolling, the body neatly built: she strikes a lute well, sings most inticingly, these helps consider'd, her maiden-head will amount to some three hundred, or three hundred and fifty crowns, 'twill bear it handsomly. her father's poor, some little share deducted, to buy him a hunting nag; i, 'twill be pretty. who takes care of the merchants wife? _1 ma_. i have wrought her. _leu_. you know for whom she is? _1 ma_. very well, madam, though very much ado i had to make her apprehend that happiness. _leu_. these kind are subtile; did she not cry and blubber when you urg'd her? _1 ma_. o most extreamly, and swore she would rather perish. _leu_. good signs, very good signs, symptoms of easie nature. had she the plate? _1 ma_. she lookt upon't, and left it, and turn'd again, and view'd it. _leu_. very well still. _1 ma_. at length she was content to let it lye there, till i call'd for't, or so. _leu_. she will come? _1 ma_. do you take me for such a fool, i would part without that promise? _leu_. the chamber's next the park. _1 ma_. the widow, madam, you bad me look upon. _leu_. hang her, she is musty: she is no mans meat; besides, she's poor and sluttish: where lyes old _thisbe_ now, you are so long now-_2 ma_. _thisbe, thisbe, thisbe,_ agent _thisbe_, o i have her, she lyes now in _nicopolis_. _leu_. dispatch a packet, and tell her, her superiour here commands her the next month not to fail, but see deliver'd here to our use, some twenty young and handsom, as also able maids, for the court service, as she will answer it: we are out of beauty, utterly out, and rub the time away here with such blown stuff, i am asham'd to send it. [_knock within_ who's that? look out, to your business, maid, there's nothing got by idleness: there is a lady, which if i can but buckle with, _altea_, _a, a, a, a, altea_ young, and married, and a great lover of her husband, well, not to be brought to court! say ye so? i am sorry, the court shall be brought to you then; how now, who is't? _1 ma_. an ancient woman, with a maid attending, a pretty girl, but out of cloaths; for a little money, it seems she would put her to your bringing up, madam. _enter_ woman _and_ phebe. _leu_. let her come in. would you ought with us, good woman? i pray be short, we are full of business. _wo_. i have a tender girl here, an't please your honour. _leu_. very well. _wom_. that hath a great desire to serve your worship. _leu_. it may be so; i am full of maids. _wom_. she is young forsooth-and for her truth; and as they say her bearing. _leu_. ye say well; come ye hither maid, let me feel your pulse, 'tis somewhat weak, but nature will grow stronger, let me see your leg, she treads but low i'th' pasterns. _wom_. a cork heel, madam. _leu_, we know what will do it, without your aim, good woman; what do you pitch her at? she's but a slight toy--cannot hold out long. _wom_. even what you think is meet. _leu_. give her ten crowns, we are full of business, she is a poor woman, let her take a cheese home. enter the wench i' th' office. [_ex. wom. and 1 ma._ _2 ma_. what's your name, sister? _phe_. _phebe_, forsooth. _leu_. a pretty name; 'twill do well: go in, and let the other maid instruct you, _phebe_. [_ex. phe._ let my old velvet skirt be made fit for her. i'll put her into action for a wast-coat; and when i have rigg'd her up once, this small pinnace shall sail for gold, and good store too; who's there? [_knock within_ lord, shall we never have any ease in this world! still troubled! still molested! what would you have? _enter_ menipp[us]. i cannot furnish you faster than i am able, and ye were my husband a thousand times, i cannot do it. at least a dozen posts are gone this morning for several parts of the kingdom: i can do no more but pay 'em, and instruct 'em. _men_. prithee, good sweet heart, i come not to disturb thee, nor discourage thee, i know thou labour'st truly: hark in thine ear. _leu_. ha! what do you make so dainty on't? look there i am an ass, i can do nothing. _men_. _celia_? i, this is she; a stranger born. _leu_. what would you give for more now? _men_. prithee, my best _leucippe_, there's much hangs on't, lodg'd at the end of _mars_'s street? that's true too; at the sack of such a town, by such a souldier preserv'd a prisoner: and by prince _demetrius_ bought from that man again, maintain'd and favour'd: how came you by this knowledg? _leu_. poor, weak man, i have a thousand eyes, when thou art sleeping, abroad, and full of business. _men_. you never try'd her? _leu_. no, she is beyond my level; so hedg'd in by the princes infinite love and favour to her-_men_. she is a handsome wench. _leu_. a delicate, and knows it; and out of that proof arms her self. _men_. come in then; i have a great design from the king to you, and you must work like wax now. _leu_. on this lady? _men_. on this, and all your wits call home. _leu_. i have done toys in my time of some note; old as i am, i think my brains will work without barm; take up the books. _men_. as we go in, i'le tell ye. [_exeunt_. _scena iv._ _enter_ antigonus, timon, lords _and a_ souldier. _ant_. no face of sorrow for this loss, 'twill choak him, nor no man miss a friend, i know his nature so deep imprest with grief, for what he has suffer'd, that the least adding to it adds to his ruine; his loss is not so infinite, i hope, souldier. _soul_. faith neither great, nor out of indiscretion. the young men out of heat. _enter_ demetrius, leontius, _and_ lieutenant. _ant_. i guess the manner. _lord_. the prince and't like your grace. _ant_. you are welcome home, sir: come, no more sorrow, i have heard your fortune, and i my self have try'd the like: clear up man, i will not have ye take it thus; if i doubted your fear had lost, and that you had turn'd your back to 'em, basely besought their mercies-_leo_. no, no, by this hand, sir, we fought like honest and tall men. _antig_. i know't _leontius_: or if i thought neglect of rule, having his counsel with ye, or too vain-glorious appetite of fame, your men forgot and scatter'd. _leo_. none of these, sir, he shew'd himself a noble gentleman, every way apt to rule. _ant_. these being granted; why should you think you have done an act so hainous, that nought but discontent dwells round about ye? i have lost a battel. _leo_. i, and fought it hard too. _ant_. with as much means as man-_leo_. or devil could urge it. _ant_. twenty to one of our side now. _leo_. turn tables, beaten like dogs again, like owls, you take it to heart for flying but a mile before 'em; and to say the truth, 'twas no flight neither, sir, 'twas but a walk, a handsome walk, i have tumbl'd with this old body, beaten like a stock-fish, and stuck with arrows, like an arming quiver, blouded and bang'd almost a day before 'em, and glad i have got off then. here's a mad shaver, he fights his share i am sure, when e'r he comes to't; yet i have seen him trip it tithly too, and cry the devil take the hindmost ever. _lieu_. i learnt it of my betters. _leo_. boudge at this? _ant_. has fortune but one face? _lieu_. in her best vizard methinks she looks but lowzily. _ant_. chance, though she faint now, and sink below our expectations, is there no hope left strong enough to buoy her? _dem_. 'tis not, this day i fled before the enemy, and lost my people, left mine honour murder'd, my maiden honour, never to be ransom'd, (which to a noble soul is too too sensible) afflicts me with this sadness; most of these, time may turn straight again, experience perfect, and new swords cut new ways to nobler fortunes. o i have lost-_ant_. as you are mine forget it: i do not think it loss. _dem_. o sir, forgive me, i have lost my friends, those worthy souls bred with me, i have lost my self, they were the pieces of me: i have lost all arts, my schools are taken from me, honour and arms, no emulation left me: i liv'd to see these men lost, look'd upon it: these men that twin'd their loves to mine, their vertues; o shame of shames! i saw and could not save 'em, this carries sulphur in't, this burns, and boils me, and like a fatal tomb, bestrides my memory. _ant_. this was hard fortune, but if alive, and taken, they shall be ransom'd: let it be at millions. _dem_. they are dead, they are dead. _lieu_. when wou'd he weep for me thus? i may be dead and powder'd. _leo_. good prince, grieve not: we are not certain of their deaths: the enemy, though he be hot, and keen, yet holds good quarter. what noise is this? [_great shout within: enter gentlemen._ _lieu_. he does not follow us? give me a steeple top. _leo_. they live, they live, sir. _ant_. hold up your manly face. they live, they are here, son. _dem_. these are the men. _1 gent_. they are, and live to honour ye. _dem_. how 'scap'd ye noble friends? methought i saw ye even in the jaws of death. _2 gent_. thanks to our folly, that spur'd us on; we were indeed hedg'd round in't; and ev'n beyond the hand of succour, beaten, unhors'd, disarm'd: and what we lookt for then, sir, let such poor weary souls that hear the bell knoll, and see the grave a digging, tell. _dem_. for heavens sake delude mine eyes no longer! how came ye off? _1 gent_. against all expectation, the brave _seleucus_, i think this day enamour'd on your vertue, when, through the troops, he saw ye shoot like lightning; and at your manly courage all took fire; and after that, the misery we fell to the never-certain fate of war, considering, as we stood all before him, fortunes ruines, nothing but death expecting, a short time he made a stand upon our youths and fortunes. then with an eye of mercy inform'd his judgment, how yet unripe we were, unblown, unharden'd, unfitted for such fatal ends; he cryed out to us, go gentlemen, commend me to your master, to the most high, and hopeful prince, _demetrius_; tell him the valour that he showed against me this day, the virgin valour, and true fire, deserves even from an enemy this courtesie; your lives, and arms freely. i'll give 'em: thank him. and thus we are return'd, sir. _leo_. faith, 'twas well done; 'twas bravely done; was't not a noble part, sir? _lieu_. had i been there, up had i gone, i am sure on't; these noble tricks i never durst trust 'em yet. _leo_. let me not live, and't were not a famed honesty; it takes me such a tickling way: now would i wish heaven, but e'n the happiness, e'n that poor blessing for all the sharp afflictions thou hast sent me, but e'n i'th' head o'th' field, to take _seleucus_. i should do something memorable: fie, sad still? _1 gent_. do you grieve, we are come off? _dem_. unransom'd, was it? _2 gent_. it was, sir. _dem_. and with such a fame to me? said ye not so? _leo_. ye have heard it. _dem_. o _leontius_! better i had lost 'em all: my self had perish'd, and all my fathers hopes. _leo_. mercy upon you; what ails you, sir? death, do not make fools on's, neither go to church, nor tarry at home, that's a fine horn-pipe? _ant_. what's now your grief, _demetrius_? _dem_. did he not beat us twice? _leo_. he beat, a pudding; beat us but once. _dem_. h'as beat me twice, and beat me to a coward. beat me to nothing. _lieu_. is not the devil in him? _leo_. i pray it be no worse. _dem_. twice conquer'd me. _leo_. bear witness all the world, i am a dunce here. _dem_. with valour first he struck me, then with honour, that stroak _leontius_, that stroak, dost thou not feel it? _leo_. whereabouts was it? for i remember nothing yet. _dem_. all these gentlemen that were his prisoners-_leo_. yes, he set 'em free, sir, with arms and honour. _dem_. there, there, now thou hast it; at mine own weapon, courtesie has beaten me, at that i was held a master in, he has cow'd me, hotter than all the dint o'th' fight he has charg'd me: am i not now a wretched fellow? think on't; and when thou hast examin'd all wayes honorable, and find'st no door left open to requite this, conclude i am a wretch, and was twice beaten. _ant_. i have observ'd your way, and understand it, and equal love it as _demetrius_, my noble child thou shalt not fall in vertue, i and my power will sink first: you _leontius_, wait for a new commission, ye shall out again, and instantly: you shall not lodge this night here, not see a friend, nor take a blessing with ye, before ye be i'th' field: the enemy is up still, and still in full design: charge him again, son, and either bring home that again thou hast lost there, or leave thy body by him. _dem_. ye raise me, and now i dare look up again, _leontius_. _leo_. i, i, sir, i am thinking who we shall take of 'em, to make all straight; and who we shall give to th' devil. what saist thou now lieutenant? _lieu_. i say nothing. lord what ail i, that i have no mind to fight now? i find my constitution mightily alter'd since i came home: i hate all noises too, especially the noise of drums; i am now as well as any living man; why not as valiant? to fight now, is a kind of vomit to me, it goes against my stomach. _dem_. good sir, presently; you cannot doe your son so fair a favour. _ant_. 'tis my intent: i'le see ye march away too. come, get your men together presently, _leontius_, and press where please you, as you march. _leo_. we goe sir. _ant_. wait you on me, i'le bring ye to your command, and then to fortune give you up. _dem_. ye love me. [_exit._ _leo_. goe, get the drums, beat round, lieutenant. _lieu_. hark ye, sir, i have a foolish business they call marriage. _leo_. after the wars are done. _lieu_. the partie staies sir, i have giv'n the priest his mony too: all my friends sir, my father, and my mother. _leo_. will you goe forward? _lieu_. she brings a pretty matter with her. _leo_. half a dozen bastards. _lieu_. some fortie sir. _leo_. a goodly competency. _lieu_. i mean sir, pounds a year; i'le dispatch the matter, 'tis but a night or two; i'le overtake ye sir. _leo_. the 2 old legions, yes: where lies the horse-quarter? _lieu_. and if it be a boy, i'le even make bold sir. _leo_. away with your whore, a plague o' your whore, you damn'd rogue, now ye are cur'd and well; must ye be clicketing? _lieu_. i have broke my mind to my ancient, in my absence, he's a sufficient gentleman. _leo_. get forward. _lieu_. only receive her portion. _leo_. get ye forward; else i'le bang ye forward. _lieu_. strange sir, a gentleman and an officer cannot have the liberty to doe the office of a man. _leo_. shame light on thee, how came this whore into thy head? _lieu_. this whore sir? 'tis strange, a poor whore. _leo_. do not answer me, troop, troop away; do not name this whore again, or think there is a whore. _lieu_. that's very hard sir. _leo_. for if thou dost, look to't, i'le have thee guelded, i'le walk ye out before me: not a word more. [_exeunt_. _scena v._ _enter_ leucippe, _and_ governess. _leu_. ye are the mistris of the house ye say, where this young lady lies. _gov_. for want of a better. _leu_. you may be good enough for such a purpose: when was the prince with her? answer me directly. _gov_. not since he went a warring. _leu_. very well then: what carnal copulation are you privie to between these two? be not afraid, we are women, and may talk thus amongst our selves, no harm in't. _gov_. no sure, there's no harm in't, i conceive that; but truly, that i ever knew the gentlewoman otherwise given, than a hopefull gentlewoman-_leu_. you'l grant me the prince loves her? _gov_. there i am with ye. and the gods bless her, promises her mightily. _leu_. stay there a while. and gives her gifts? _gov_. extreamly; and truly makes a very saint of her. _leu_. i should think now, (good woman let me have your judgement with me, i see 'tis none of the worst: come sit down by me) that these two cannot love so tenderly. _gov_. being so young as they are too. _leu_. you say well-but that methinks some further promises-_gov_. yes, yes, i have heard the prince swear he would marry her. _leu_. very well still: they do not use to fall out? _gov_. the tenderest chickens to one another, they cannot live an hour asunder. _leu_. i have done then; and be you gone; you know your charge, and do it. you know whose will it is; if you transgress it-that is, if any have access, or see her, before the kings will be fulfill'd-_gov_. not the prince, madam? _leu_. you'i be hang'd if you doe it, that i'le assure ye. _gov_. but ne'retheless, i'le make bold to obey ye. _leu_. away, and to your business then. _gov_. 'tis done, madam. [_exeunt._ _actus tertius. scena prima_ _enter_ antigonus, _and_ menippus. _ant_. thou hast taken wondrous pains; but yet _menippus_, you understand not of what bloud and country. _men_. i labour'd that, but cannot come to know it. a _greek_ i am sure she is, she speaks this language. _ant_. is she so excellent handsom? _men_. most inticing. _ant_. sold for a prisoner? _men_. yes sir, some poor creature. _ant_. and he loves tenderly? _men_. they say extreamly. _ant_. 'tis well prevented then: yes, i perceiv'd it: when he took leave now, he made a hundred stops, desir'd an hour, but half an hour, a minute, which i with anger cross'd; i knew his business, i knew 'twas she he hunted on; this journey, man, i beat out suddenly for her cause intended, and would not give him time to breath. when comes she? _men_. this morning sir. _ant_. lodge her to all delight then: for i would have her try'd to th' test: i know, she must be some crackt coyn, not fit his traffique, (her, which when we have found, the shame will make him leave or we shall work a nearer way: i'le bury him, and with him all the hopes i have cast upon him, e're he shall dig his own grave in that woman: you know which way to bring her: i'le stand close there, to view her as she passes: and do you hear _menippus_, observe her with all sweetness: humour her, 'twill make her lie more careless to our purposes. away, and take what helps you please. _men_. i am gone sir. [_exeunt_. _scena ii._ _enter_ celia, _and_ governess. _cel_. governess, from whom was this gown sent me? prethee be serious true; i will not wear't else: 'tis a handsom one. _gov_. as though you know not? _cel_. no faith: but i believe, for certain too, yet i wonder, because it was his caution, this poor way, still to preserve me from the curious searchings of greedy eyes. _gov_. you have it: does it please you? _cel_. 'tis very rich, methinks too, prethee tell me? _gov_. from one that likes you well, never look coy, lady; these are no gifts, to be put off with powtings. _cel_. powtings, and gifts? is it from any stranger? _gov_. you are so curious, that there is no talk to ye. what if it be i pray ye? _cel_. unpin good governess, quick, quick. _gov_. why, what's the matter? _cel_. quick, good governess: fie on't, how beastly it becomes me! poorly! a trick put in upon me? well said governess: i vow i would not wear it--out, it smells musty. are these your tricks? now i begin to smell it, abominable musty; will you help me? the prince will come again-_gov_. you are not mad sure? _cel_. as i live i'le cut it off: a pox upon it; for sure it was made for that use; do you bring me liveries? stales to catch kites? dost thou laugh too, thou base woman? _gov_. i cannot chuse, if i should be hang'd. _cel_. abuse me, and then laugh at me too? _gov_. i do not abuse ye: is it abuse, to give him drink that's thirsty? you want cloaths; is it such a hainous sin i beseech ye, to see you stor'd? _cel_. there is no greater wickedness than this way. _gov_. what way? _cel_. i shall curse thee fearfully, if thou provok'st me further: and take heed, woman; my curses never miss. _gov_. curse him that sent it. _cel_. tell but his name-_gov_. you dare not curse him. _cel_. dare not? by this fair light-_gov_. you are so full of passion-_cel_. dare not be good? be honest? dare not curse him? _gov_. i think you dare not: i believe so. _cel_. speak him. _gov_. up with your valour then, up with it bravely, and take your full charge. _cel_. if i do not, hang me; tell but his name. _gov_. 'twas prince demetrius sent it: now, now, give fire, kill him i'th' eye now lady. _cel_. is he come home? _gov_. it seems so; but your curse now. _cel_. you do not lie, i hope. _gov. you dare not curse him. _cel_. prethee do not abuse me: is he come home indeed? for i would now with all my heart believe thee. _gov_. nay, you may chuse: alas, i deal for strangers, that send ye scurvie musty gowns, stale liveries: i have my tricks. _cel_. 'tis a good gown, a handsome one; i did but jest; where is he? _gov_. he that sent it-_cel_. how? he that sent it? is't come to that again? thou canst not be so foolish: prethee speak out, i may mistake thee. _gov_. i said he that sent it. _cel_. curse o' my life: why dost thou vex me thus? i know thou meanest demetrius, dost thou not? i charge thee speak truth: if it be any other, thou knowst the charge he gave thee, and the justice his anger will'inflift, if e're he know this, as know he shall, he shall, thou spightfull woman, thou beastly woman; and thou shalt know too late too, and feel too sensible, i am no ward, no sale stuff for your money merchants that sent if? who dare send me, or how durst thou, thou-_gov_. what you please: for this is ever the reward of service. the prince shall bring the next himself. _cel_. 'tis strange that you should deal so peevishly: beshrew ye, you have put me in a heat. _gov_. i am sure ye have kill'd me: i ne're receiv'd such language: i can but wait upon ye, and be your drudge; keep a poor life to serve ye. _cel_. you know my nature is too easie, governess, and you know now, i am sorry too: how does he? _gov_. o god, my head. _cel_. prethee be well, and tell me, did he speak of me, since he came? nay, see now, if thou wilt leave this tyranny? good sweet governess, did he but name his _celia_? look upon me, upon my faith i meant no harm: here, take this, and buy thy self some trifles: did he good wench? _gov_. he loves ye but too dearly. _cel_. that's my good governess. _gov_. there's more cloaths making for ye. _cel_. more cloaths? _gov_. more: richer and braver; i can tell ye that news; and twenty glorious things. _cel_. to what use sirrah? _gov_. ye are too good for our house now: we poor wretches shall lose the comfort of ye. _cel_. no, i hope not. _gov_. for ever lose ye lady. _cel_. lose me? wherefore? i hear of no such thing. _gov_. 'tis sure it must be so: you must shine now at court: such preparation, such hurry, and such hanging rooms-_cel_. to th' court wench? was it to th' court thou saidst? _gov_. you'l find it so. _cel_. stay, stay, this cannot be. _gov_. i say it must be: i hope to find ye still the same good lady. _cel_. to th' court? this stumbles me: art sure for me wench, this preparation is? _gov_. she is perilous crafty: i fear too honest for us all too. am i sure i live? _cel_. to th' court? this cannot down: what should i do there? why should he on a suddain change his mind thus, and not make me acquainted? sure he loves me; his vow was made against it, and mine with him: at least while this king liv'd: he will come hither, and see me e're i goe? _gov_. wou'd some wise woman had her in working. that i think he will not, because he means with all joy there to meet ye. ye shall hear more within this hour. _cel_. a courtier? what may that meaning be? sure he will see me if he be come, he must: hark ye good governess, what age is the king of? _gov_. he's an old man, and full of business. _cel_. i fear too full indeed: what ladys are there? i would be loth to want good company. _gov_. delicate young ladys, as you would desire; and when you are acquainted, the best company. _cel_. 'tis very well: prethee goe in, let's talk more. for though i fear a trick, fie bravely try it. _gov_. i see he must be cunning, knocks this doe down. [_exeunt_. _scena iii._ _enter_ lieutenant, _and_ leontius, _drums within_. _leo_. you shall not have your will, sirrah, are ye running? have ye gotten a toy in your heels? is this a season, when honour pricks ye on, to prick your ears up, after your whore, your hobby-horse? _lieu_. why look ye now: what a strange man are you? would you have a man fight at all hours all alike? _leo_. do but fight something; but half a blow, and put thy stomach to't: turn but thy face, and do-make mouths at 'em. _lieu_. and have my teeth knockt out; i thank ye heartily, ye are my dear friend. _leo_. what a devil ails thee? dost long to be hang'd? _lieu_. faith sir, i make no suit for't: but rather fhan i would live thus out of charity, continually in brawling-_leo_. art thou not he? i may be cosen'd-_lieu_, i shall be discover'd. _leo_. that in the midst of thy most hellish pains, when thou wert crawling sick, didst aim at wonders, when thou wert mad with pain? _lieu_. ye have found the cause out; i had ne're been mad to fight else: i confess sir, the daily torture of my side that vext me, made me as daily careless what became of me, till a kind sword there wounded me, and eas'd me; 'twas nothing in my valour fought; i am well now, and take some pleasure in my life, methinks now, it shews as mad a thing to me to see you scuffle, and kill one another foolishly for honour, as 'twas to you, [t]o see me play the coxcomb. _leo_. and wilt thou ne're fight more? _lieu_. i'th' mind i am in. _leo_. nor never be sick again? _lieu_. i hope i shall not. _leo_. prethee be sick again: prethee, i beseech thee, be just so sick again. _lieu_. i'le just be hang'd first. _leo_. if all the arts that are can make a colique, therefore look to't: or if imposthumes, mark me, as big as foot-balls-_lieu_. deliver me. _leo_. or stones of ten pound weight i'th' kidneys, through ease and ugly dyets may be gather'd; i'le feed ye up my self sir, i'le prepare ye, you cannot fight, unless the devil tear ye, you shall not want provocations, i'le scratch ye, i'le have thee have the tooth-ach, and the head-ach. _lieu_. good colonel, i'le doe any thing. _leo_. no, no, nothing-then will i have thee blown with a pair of smiths bellows, because ye shall be sure to have a round gale with ye, fill'd full of oyle o'devil, and _aqua-fortis_, and let these work, these may provoke. _lieu_. good colonel. _leo_. a coward in full bloud; prethee be plain with me, will roasting doe thee any good? _lieu_. nor basting neither, sir. _leo_. marry that goes hard. _enter_ 1 gentleman. _1 gent_. where are you colonel? the prince experts ye sir; h'as hedg'd the enemy within a streight, where all the hopes and valours of all men living cannot force a passage, he has 'em now. _leo_. i knew all this before sir, i chalk'd him out his way: but do you see that thing there? _lieu_. nay good sweet colonel, i'le fight a little. _leo_. that thing? _1 gent_. what thing? i see the brave lieutenant. _leo_. rogue, what a name hast thou lost? _lieu_. you may help it, yet you may help't: i'le doe ye any courtesie: i know you love a wench well. _enter_ 2 gentlemen. _leo_. look upon him; do you look too. _2 gent_. what should i look on? i come to tell ye, the prince stayes your direction, we have 'em now i'th' coop, sir. _leo_. let 'em rest there, and chew upon their miseries: but look first-_lieu_. i cannot fight for all this. _leo_. look on this fellow. _2 gent_. i know him; 'tis the valiant brave lieutenant. leo. canst thou hear this, and play the rogue? steal off quickly, behind me quickly neatly do it, and rush into the thickest of the enemy, and if thou kill'st but two. _lieu_. you may excuse me, 'tis not my fault: i dare not fight. _leo_. be rul'd yet, i'le beat thee on; goe wink and fight: a plague upon your sheeps heart. _2 gent_. what's all this matter? _1 gent_. nay i cannot shew ye. _leo_. here's twenty pound, goe but smell to 'em. _lieu_. alas sir, i have taken such a cold i can smell nothing. _leo_. i can smell a rascal, a rank rascal: fye, how he stinks, stinks like a tyred jade. _2 gent_. what sir? _leo_. why, that sir, do not you smell him? _2 gent_. smell him? _lieu_. i must endure. _leo_. stinks like a dead dog, carrion-there's no such damnable smell under heaven, as the faint sweat of a coward: will ye fight yet? _lieu_. nay, now i defie ye; ye have spoke the worst ye can of me, and if every man should take what you say to the heart.-_leo_. god ha' mercy, god ha' mercy with all my heart; here i forgive thee; and fight, or fight not, do but goe along with us, and keep my dog. _lieu_. i love a good dog naturally. _1 gent_. what's all this stir, lieutenant? _lieu_. nothing sir, but a slight matter of argument. _leo_. pox take thee. sure i shall love this rogue, he's so pretty a coward. come gentlemen, let's up now, and if fortune dare play the slut again, i'le never more saint her, come play-fellow, come, prethee come up; come chicken, i have a way shall fit yet: a tame knave, come, look upon us. _lieu_. i'le tell ye who does best boyes. [_exeunt._ _scena iv._ _enter_ antigonus, _and_ menippus, _above_. _men_. i saw her coming out. _ant_. who waits upon her? _men_. _timon_, _charinthus_, and some other gentlemen, by me appointed. _ant_. where's your wife? _men_. she's ready to entertain her here sir; and some ladies fit for her lodgings. _ant_. how shews she in her trim now? _men_. oh most divinely sweet. _ant_. prethee speak softly. how does she take her coming? _men_. she bears it bravely; but what she thinks--for heaven sake sir preserve me-if the prince chance to find this. _ant_. peace ye old fool; she thinks to meet him here. _men_. that's all the project. _ant_. was she hard to bring? _men_. no she believ'd it quickly, and quickly made her self fit, the gown a little, and those new things she has not been acquainted with, at least in this place, where she liv'd a prisoner, troubled and stirr'd her mind. but believe me sir, she has worn as good, they sit so apted to her; and she is so great a mistris of disposure: here they come now: but take a full view of her. _enter_ celia, timon, charinthus, _and_ gent. _ant_. how cheerfully she looks? how she salutes all? and how she views the place? she is very young sure: that was an admirable smile, a catching one, the very twang of cupids bow sung in it: she has two-edg'd eyes, they kill o' both sides. _men_. she makes a stand, as though she would speak. _ant_. be still then. _cel_. good gentlemen, trouble your selves no further, i had thought sure to have met a noble friend here. _tim_. ye may meet many lady. _cel_. such as you are i covet few or none, sir. _char_. will you walk this way, and take the sweets o'th' garden? cool and close, lady. _cel_. methinks this open air's far better, tend ye that way pray where's the woman came along? _char_. what woman? _cel_. the woman of the house i lay at. _tim_. woman? here was none came along sure. _cel_. sure i am catcht then: pray where's the prince? _char_. he will not be long from ye, we are his humble servants. _cel_. i could laugh now, to see how finely i am cozen'd: yet i fear not, for sure i know a way to scape all dangers. _tim_. madam, your lodgings lye this way. _cel_. my lodgings? for heaven sake sir, what office do i bear here? _tim_. the great commander of all hearts. _enter_ leucippe, _and_ ladies. _cel_. you have hit it. i thank your sweet heart for it. who are these now? _char_. ladies that come to serve ye. _cel_. well consider'd, are you my servants? _lady_. servants to your pleasures. _cel_. i dare believe ye, but i dare not trust ye: catch'd with a trick? well, i must bear it patiently: methinks this court's a neat place: all the people of so refin'd a size-_tim_. this is no poor rogue. _leu_. were it a paradise to please your fancy, and entertain the sweetness you bring with ye. _cel_. take breath; you are fat, and many words may melt ye, this is three bawdes beaten into one; bless me heaven, what shall become of me? i am i'th' pitfall: o' my conscience, this is the old viper, and all these little ones creep every night into her belly; do you hear plump servant and you my little sucking ladies, you must teach me, for i know you are excellent at carriage, how to behave my self, for i am rude yet: but you say the prince will come? _lady_. will flie to see you. _cel_. for look you if a great man, say the king now should come and visit me? _men_. she names ye. _ant_. peace fool. _cel_. and offer me a kindness, such a kindness. _leu_. i, such a kindness. _cel_. true lady such a kindness, what shall that kindness be now? _leu_. a witty lady, learn little ones, learn. _cel_. say it be all his favour. _leu_. and a sweet saying 'tis. _cel_. and i grow peevish? _leu_. you must not be negleftfull. _cel_. there's the matter, there's the main doctrine now, and i may miss it, or a kind handsom gentleman? _leu_. you say well. _cel_. they'i count us basely bred. _leu_. not freely nurtur'd. _cel_. i'le take thy counsel. _leu_. 'tis an excellent woman. _cel_. i find a notable volum here, a learned one; which way? for i would fain be in my chamber; in truth sweet ladies, i grow weary; fie, how hot the air beats on me! _lady_. this way madam. _cel_. now by mine honour, i grow wondrous faint too. _leu_. your fans sweet gentlewomen, your fans. _cel_. since i am fool'd, i'le make my self some sport, though i pay dear for't. [_ex._ _men_. you see now what a manner of woman she is sir. _ant_. thou art an ass. _men_. is this a fit love for the prince: _ant_. a coxcombe: now by my crown a daintie wench, a sharp wench, and/a matchless spirit: how she jeer'd 'em? how carelesly she scoff'd 'em? use her nobly; i would i had not seen her: wait anon, and then you shall have more to trade upon. [_exeunt._ _scena v._ _enter_ leontius, _and the_ 2 gentlemen. _leo_. we must keep a round, and a strong watch to night, the prince will not charge the enemy till the morning: but for the trick i told ye for this rascal, this rogue, that health and strong heart makes a coward. _1 gent_. i, if it take. _leo_. ne're fear it, the prince has it, and if he let it fall, i must not know it; he will suspecl: me presently: but you two may help the plough. _2 gent_. that he is sick again. _leo_. extreamly sick: his disease grown incurable, never yet found, nor touch'd at. _enter_ lieutenant. _2 gent_. well, we have it, and here he comes. _leo_. the prince has been upon him, what a flatten face he has now? it takes, believe it; how like an ass he looks? _lieu_. i feel no great pain, at least, i think i do not; yet i feel sensibly i grow extreamly faint: how cold i sweat now! _leo_. so, so, so. _lieu_. and now 'tis ev'n too true, i feel a pricking, a pricking, a strange pricking: how it tingles! and as it were a stitch too: the prince told me, and every one cri'd out i was a dead man; i had thought i had been as well-_leo_. upon him now boys, and do it most demurely. _1 gent_. how now _lieutenant_? _lieu_. i thank ye gentlemen. _1 gent_. 'life, how looks this man? how dost thou good _lieutenant_? _2 gent_. i ever told ye this man was never cur'd, i see it too plain now; how do you feel your self? you look not perfect, how dull his eye hangs? _1 gent_. that may be discontent. _2 gent_. believe me friend, i would not suffer now the tith of those pains this man feels; mark his forehead what a cloud of cold dew hangs upon't? _lieu_. i have it, again i have it; how it grows upon me! a miserable man i am. _leo_. ha, ha, ha, a miserable man thou shall be, this is the tamest trout i ever tickl'd. _enter_ 2 physicians. _1 phy_. this way he went. _2 phy_. pray heaven we find him living, he's a brave fellow, 'tis pity he should perish thus. _1 phy_. a strong hearted man, and of a notable sufferance. _lieu_. oh, oh. _1 gent_. how now? how is it man? _lieu_. oh gentlemen, never so full of pain. _2 gent_. did i not tell ye? _lieu_. never so full of pain, gentlemen. _1 phy_. he is here; how do you, sir? _2 phy_. be of good comfort, souldier, the prince has sent us to you. _lieu_. do you think i may live? _2 phy_. he alters hourly, strangely. _1 phy_. yes, you may live: but-_leo_. finely butted, doctor. _1 gent_. do not discourage him. _1 phy_. he must be told truth, 'tis now too late to trifle. _enter_ demetrius, _and_ gent. _2 gent_. here the prince comes. _dem_. how now gentlemen? _2 gent_. bewailing, sir, a souldier, and one i think, your grace will grieve to part with, but every living thing-_dem_. 'tis true, must perish, our lives are but our marches to our graves, how dost thou now _lieutenant?_ _lieu_. faith 'tis true, sir, we are but spans, and candles ends. _leo_. he's finely mortified. _dem_. thou art heart whole yet i see he alters strangely, and that apace too; i saw it this morning in him, when he poor man, i dare swear-_lieu_. no believ't, sir, i never felt it. _dem_. here lies the pain now: how he is swel'd? _1 phy_. the impostume fed with a new malignant humour now, will grow to such a bigness, 'tis incredible, the compass of a bushel will not hold it. and with such a hell of torture it will rise too-_dem_. can you endure me touch it? _lieu_. oh, i beseech you, sir: i feel you sensibly ere you come near me. _dem_. he's finely wrought, he must be cut, no cure else, and suddenly, you see how fast he blows out. _lieu_. good master doctors, let me be beholding to you, i feel i cannot last. _2 phy_. for what _lieutenant?_ _lieu_. but ev'n for half a dozen cans of good wine, that i may drink my will out: i faint hideously. (men, _dem_. fetch him some wine; and since he must go gentle--why let him take his journey merrily. _enter_ servant _with wine._ _lieu_. that's ev'n the nearest way. _leo_. i could laugh dead now. _dem_. here, off with that. _lieu_. these two i give your grace, a poor remembrance of a dying man, sir, and i beseech you wear 'em out. _dem_._ i will souldier, these are fine legacies. _lieu_. among the gentlemen, even all i have left; i am a poor man, naked, yet something for remembra[n]ce: four a piece gentlemen, and so my body where you please. _leo_. it will work. _lieu_. i make your grace my executor, and i beseech ye see my poor will fulfill'd: sure i shall walk else. _dem_. as full as they can be fill'd, here's my hand, souldier. _1 gent_. the wine will tickle him. _lieut_. i would hear a drum beat, but to see how i could endure it. _dem_. beat a drum there. [_drum within_. _lieu_. oh heavenly musick, i would hear one sing to't; i am very full of pain. _dem_. sing? 'tis impossible. _lieu_. why, then i would drink a drum full: where lies the enemy? _2 gent_. why, here close by. _leo_. now he begins to muster. _lieu_. and dare he fight? dare he fight gentlemen? _1 phy_. you must not cut him: he's gone then in a moment; all the hope left, is to work his weakness into suddain anger, and make him raise his passion above his pain, and so dispose him on the enemy; his body then, being stir'd with violence, will purge it self and break the sore. _dem_. 'tis true, sir. _1 phy_. and then my life for his. _lieu_. i will not dye thus. _dem_. but he is too weak to do-_lieu_. dye like a dog? _2 phy_. i, he's weak, but yet he's heart whole. _lieu_. hem. _dem_. an excellent sign. _lieu_. hem. _dem_. stronger still, and better. _lieu_. hem, hem; ran, tan, tan, tan, tan. [_exit_. _1 phy_. now he's i'th' way on't. _dem._ well go thy waies, thou wilt do something certain. _leo._ and some brave thing, or let mine ears be cut off. he's finely wrought. _dem._ let's after him. _leo._ i pray, sir; but how this rogue, when this cloud's melted in him, and all discover'd-_dem._ that's for an after mirth, away, away, away. [_ex._ _scena vi._ _enter seleucus, lysimachus, ptolomie, souldiers._ _sel_. let no man fear to dye: we love to sleep all, and death is but the sounder sleep; all ages, and all hours call us; 'tis so common, easie, that little children tread those paths before us; we are not sick, nor our souls prest with sorrows, nor go we out like tedious tales, forgotten; high, high we come, and hearty to our funerals, and as the sun that sets, in bloud let's fall. _lysi_. 'tis true, they have us fast, we cannot scape 'em nor keeps the brow of fortune one smile for us, dishonourable ends we can scape though, and (worse than those captivities) we can die, and dying nobly, though we leave behind us these clods of flesh, that are too massie burthens, our living souls flie crown'd with living conquests. _ptol_. they have begun, fight bravely, and fall bravely; and may that man that seeks to save his life now by price, or promise, or by fear falls from us, never again be blest with name of souldier. _enter a souldier._ _sel_. how now? who charged first? i seek a brave hand to set me off in death. _soul_. we are not charg'd, sir, the prince lies still. _sel_. how comes this larum up then? _soul_. there is one desperate fellow, with the devil in him (he never durst do this else) has broke into us, and here he bangs ye two or three before him, there five or six; ventures upon whole companies. _ptol_. and is not seconded? _soul_. not a man follows. _sel_. nor cut i' pieces? _soul_. their wonder yet has staid 'em. _sel_. let's in, and see this miracle? _ptol_. i admire it. [_ex._ _enter leontius, and gentlemen._ _leon_. fetch him off, fetch him off; i am sure he's clouted; did i hot tell you how 'twould take? _1 gent_. 'tis admirable. _enter lieutenant with colours in his hand, pursuing 3 or 4 souldiers._ _lie_. follow that blow, my friend, there's at your coxcombs, i fight to save me from the surgions miseries. _leo_. how the knave curries 'em? _lieu_. you cannot rogues, till you have my diseases, flie my fury, ye bread and butter rogues, do ye run from me? and my side would give me leave, i would so hunt ye, ye porridg gutted slaves, ye veal broth-boobies. _enter demetrius, and physicians, and gentlemen._ _leo_. enough, enough _lieutenant_, thou hast done bravely. _dem_. mirrour of man. _lieu_. there's a flag for ye, sir, i took it out o'th' shop, and never paid for't, i'le to 'em again, i am not come to th' text yet. _dem_. no more my souldier: beshrew my heart he is hurt sore. _leo_. hang him, he'l lick all th^se whole. _1 phy_. now will we take him, and cure him in a trice. _dem_. be careful of him. _lieu_. let me live but two years, and do what ye will with me; i never had but two hours yet of happiness; pray ye give me nothing to provoke my valour, for i am ev'n as weary of this fighting-_2 phy_. ye shall have nothing; come to the princes tent and there the surgions presently shall search ye, then to your rest. _lieu_. a little handsome litter to lay me in, and i shall sleep. _leo_. look to him. _dem_. i do believe a horse begot this fellow, he never knew his strength yet; they are our own. _leo_. i think so, i am cozen'd else; i would but see now a way to fetch these off, and save their honours. _dem_. only their lives. _leo_. pray ye take no way of peace now, unless it be with infinite advantage. _dem_. i shall be rul'd; let the battels now move forward, our self will give the signal: _enter_ trumpet _and_ herald. now herald, what's your message? _her_. from my masters, this honourable courtesie, a parley for half an hour, no more, sir. _dem_. let 'em come on, they have my princely word. _enter_ seleucus, lysimacus, ptolomie, _attendants, souldiers._ _her_. they are here to attend ye. _dem_. now princes, your demands? _sel_. peace, if it may be without the too much tainture of our honour: peace, and we'l buy it too. _dem_. at what price? _lysi_. tribute. _ptol_. at all the charge of this war. _leo_. that will not do. _sel_. _leontius_, you and i have serv'd together, and run through many a fortune with our swords, brothers in wounds and health; one meat has fed us, one tent a thousand times from cold night cover'd us: our loves have been but one; and had we died then, one monument had held our names, and actions: why do you set upon your friends such prices? and sacrifice to giddy chance such trophies? have we forgot to dye? or are our vertues less in afflictions constant, than our fortunes? ye are deceiv'd old souldier. _leo_. i know your worths, and thus low bow in reverence to your vertues: were these my wars, or led my power in chief here, i knew then how to meet your memories: they are my kings imployments; this man fights now, to whom i ow all duty, faith, and service; this man that fled before ye; call back that, that bloudy day again, call that disgrace home, and then an easie peace may sheath our swords up. i am not greedy of your lives and fortunes, nor do i gape ungratefully to swallow ye. honour, the spur of all illustrious natures, that made you famous souldiers, and next kings, and not ambitious envy strikes me forward. will ye unarm, and yield your selves his prisoners? _sel_. we never knew what that sound meant: no gyves shall ever bind this body, but embraces; nor weight of sorrow here, till earth fall on me. _leo_. expect our charge then. _lysi_. 'tis the nobler courtesie: and so we leave the hand of heaven to bless us. _dem_. stay, have you any hope? _sel_. we have none left us, but that one comfort of our deaths together; give us but room to fight. _leo_. win it, and wear it. _ptol_. call from the hills those companies hang o're us, like bursting clouds; and then break in, and take us. _dem_. find such a souldier will forsake advantage, and we'll draw off to shew i dare be noble, and hang a light out to ye in this darkness, the light of peace; give up those cities, forts, and all those frontier countries to our uses. _sel_. is this the peace? traitors to those that feed us, our gods and people? give our countries from us? _lysi_. begin the knell, it sounds a great deal sweeter. _ptol_. let loose your servant, death. _sel_. fall fate upon us, our memories shall never stink behind us. _dem_. seleucus_, great _seleucus_. _sol_. the prince calls, sir. _dem_. thou stock of nobleness, and courtesie, thou father of the war-_leo_. what means the prince now? _dem_. give me my standard here. _lysi_. his anger's melted. _dem_. you gentlemen that were his prisoners, and felt the bounty of that noble nature, lay all your hands, and bear these colours to him, the standard of the kingdom; take it souldier. _ptol_. what will this mean? _dem_. thou hast won it, bear it off, and draw thy men home whilest we wait upon thee. _sel_. you shall have all our countries. _lysi. ptol_. all by heaven, sir. _dem_. i will not have a stone, a bush, a bramble, no, in the way of courtesie, i'le start ye; draw off, and make a lane through all the army, that these that have subdu'd us, may march through us. _sel_. sir, do not make me surfeit with such goodness, i'le bear your standard for ye; follow ye. _dem_. i swear it shall be so, march through me fairly, and thine be this days honour, great _seleucus_. _ptol_. mirrour of noble minds. _dem_. nay then ye hate me. _leo_. i cannot speak now: _ [ex. with drums, and shouts._ well, go thy wayes; at a sure piece of bravery thou art the best, these men are won by th' necks now: i'le send a post away. _actus quartus. scena prima._ _enter antigonus, and menippus._ _ant_. no aptness in her? _men_. not an immodest motion, and yet when she is courted, makes as wild witty answers. _ant_. this more fires me, i must not have her thus. _men_. we cannot alter her. _ant_. have ye put the youths upon her? _men_. all that know any thing, and have been studied how to catch a beauty, but like so many whelps about an elephant-the prince is coming home, sir. _ant_. i hear that too, but that's no matter; am i alter'd well? _men_. not to be known i think, sir. _ant_. i must see her. _enter 2 gentlemen, or lords._ _1 gent_. i offered all i had, all i could think of, i tri'd her through all the points o'th' compass, i think. _2 gent_. she studies to undo the court, to plant here the enemy to our age, chastity; she is the first, that e're bauk'd a close arbour, and the sweet contents within: she hates curl'd heads too, and setting up of beards she swears is idolatry. _1 gent_. i never knew so fair a face so froze; yet she would make one think-_2 gent_. true by her carriage, for she's as wanton as a kid to th' out side, as full of mocks and taunts: i kiss'd her hand too, walkt with her half an hour. _1 gent_. she heard me sing, and sung her self too; she sings admirably; but still when any hope was, as 'tis her trick to minister enough of those, then presently with some new flam or other, nothing to the matter, and such a frown, as would sink all before her, she takes her chamber; come, we shall not be the last fools. _2 gent_. not by a hundred i hope; 'tis a strange wench. _ant_. this screws me up still higher. _enter celia, and ladies behind her._ _men_. here she comes, sir. _ant_. then be you gone; and take the women with ye, and lay those jewels in her way. _cel_. if i stay longer i shall number as many lovers as _lais_ did; how they flock after me! upon my conscience, i have had a dozen horses given me this morning, i'le ev'n set up a troop, and turn she-souldier, a good discreet wench now, that were not hidebound might raise a fine estate here, and suddenly: for these warm things will give their souls--i can go no where without a world of offerings to my excellence: i am a queen, a goddesse, i know not what-and no constellation in all heaven, but i out-shine it; and they have found out now i have no eyes of mortal lights, but certain influences, strange vertuous lightnings, humane nature starts at, and i can kill my twenty in a morning, with as much ease now-ha! what are these? new projects? where are my honourable ladies? are you out too? nay then i must buy the stock, send me good carding: i hope the princes hands be not in this sport; i have not seen him yet, cannot hear from him, and that troubles me: all these were recreations had i but his sweet company to laugh with me: what fellow's that? another apparition? this is the lovingst age: i should know that face, sure i have seen't before, not long since neither. _ant_. she sees me now: o heaven, a most rare creature! _cel_. yes, 'tis the same: i will take no notice of ye, but if i do not fit ye, let me fry for't; is all this cackling for your egg? they are fair ones, excellent rich no doubt too; and may stumble a good staid mind, but i can go thus by 'em; my honest friend; do you set off these jewels? _ant_. set 'em off, lady? _cel_. i mean, sell 'em here, sir? _ant_. she's very quick; for sale they are not meant sure. _cel_. for sanctity i think much less: good even sir. _ant_. nay noble lady, stay: 'tis you must wear 'em: never look strange, they are worthy your best beauty. _cel_. did you speak to me? _ant_. to you or to none living: to you they are sent, to you they are sacrificed. _cel_. i'le never look a horse i'th' mouth that's given: i thank ye, sir: i'le send one to reward ye. _ant_. do you never ask who sent 'em? _cel_. never i: nor never care, if it be an honest end, that end's the full reward, and thanks but slubber it; if it be ill, i will not urge the acquaintance. _ant_. this has a soul indeed: pray let me tell ye-_cel_. i care not if ye do, so you do it hansomly, and not stand picking of your words. _ant_. the king sent 'em. _cel_. away, away, thou art some foolish fellow, and now i think thou hast stole 'em too: the king sent 'em? alas good man, wouldst thou make me believe he has nothing to do with things of these worths, but wantonly to fling 'em? he's an old man, a good old man, they say too: i dare swear full many a year ago he left these gambols: here, take your trinkets. _ant_. sure i do not lye, lady. _cel_. i know thou lyest extreamly, damnably: thou hast a lying face. _ant_. i was never thus ratled. _cel_. but say i should believe: why are these sent me? and why art thou the messenger? who art thou? _ant_. lady, look on 'em wisely, and then consider who can send such as these, but a king only? and, to what beauty can they be oblations, but only yours? for me that am the carrier, 'tis only fit you know i am his servant, and have fulfil'd his will. _cel_. you are short and pithy; what must my beauty do for these? _ant. _sweet lady, you cannot be so hard of understanding, when a king's favour shines upon ye gloriously, and speaks his love in these-_cel_. o then love's the matter; sir-reverence love; now i begin to feel ye: and i should be the kings whore, a brave title; and go as glorious as the sun, o brave still: the chief commandress of his concubines, hurried from place to place to meet his pleasures. _ant_. a devilish subtil wench, but a rare spirit. (dry, _cel_. and when the good old spunge had suckt my youth and left some of his royal aches in my bones: when time shall tell me i have plough'd my life up, and cast long furrows in my face to sink me. _ant_. you must not think so, lady. _cel_. then can these, sir, these precious things, the price of youth and beauty; this shop here of sin-offerings set me off again? can it restore me chaste, young, innocent? purge me to what i was? add to my memory an honest and a noble fame? the kings device; the sin's as universal as the sun is, and lights an everlasting torch to shame me. _ant_. do you hold so sleight account of a great kings favour, that all knees bow to purchase? _cel_. prethee peace: if thou knewst how ill favouredly thy tale becomes thee, and what ill root it takes-_ant_. you will be wiser. _cel_. could the king find no shape to shift his pander into, but reverend age? and one so like himself too? _ant_. she has found me out. _cel_. cozen the world with gravity? prethee resolve me one thing, do's the king love thee? _ant_. i think he do's. _cel_. it seems so by thy office: he loves thy use, and when that's ended, hates thee: thou seemest to me a souldier. _ant_. yes, i am one. _cel_. and hast fought for thy country? _ant_. many a time. _cel_. may be, commanded too? _ant_. i have done, lady. _cel_. o wretched man, below the state of pity! canst thou forget thou wert begot in honour? a free companion for a king? a souldier? whose nobleness dare feel no want, but enemies? canst thou forget this, and decline so wretchedly, to eat the bread of bawdry, of base bawdry? feed on the scum of sin? fling thy sword from thee? dishonour to the noble name that nursed thee? go, beg diseases: let them be thy armours, thy fights, the flames of lust, and their foul issues. _ant_. why then i am a king, and mine own speaker. _cel_. and i as free as you, mine own disposer: there, take your jewels; let them give them lustres that have dark lives and souls; wear 'em your self, sir, you'l seem a devil else. _ant_. i command ye stay. _cel_. be just, i am commanded. _ant_. i will not wrong ye. _cel_. then thus low falls my duty. _ant_. can ye love me? say i, and all i have-_cel_. i cannot love ye; without the breach of faith i cannot hear ye; ye hang upon my love, like frosts on lilies: i can dye, but i cannot love: you are answer'd. _ant_. i must find apter means, i love her truly. _scena ii._ _enter_ demetr. leon. lieu. gent. sould. _and_ host. _dem_. hither do you say she is come? _host_. yes sir, i am sure on't: for whilest i waited upon ye, putting my wife in trust, i know not by what means, but the king found her, and hither she was brought; how, or to what end-_dem_. my father found her? _host_. so my wife informs me. _dem_. _leontius_, pray draw off the souldiers, i would a while be private. _leon_. fall off gentlemen, the prince would be alone. [ex. leo _and_ soul. _dem_. is he so cunning? there is some trick in this, and you must know it, and be an agent too: which if it prove so-_host_. pull me to pieces, sir. _dem_. my father found her? my father brought her hither? went she willingly? _host_. my wife sayes full of doubts. _dem_. i cannot blame her, no more: there's no trust, no faith in mankind. _enter_ antigonus, menippus, leontius, and souldiers. _ant_. keep her up close, he must not come to see her: you are welcome nobly now, welcome home gentlemen; you have done a courteous service on the enemy has tyed his faith for ever; you shall find it; ye are not now in's debt son: still your sad looks? _leontius_, what's the matter? _leo_. truth sir, i know not. we have been merry since we went. _lieu_. i feel it. _ant_. come, what's the matter now? do you want mony? sure he has heard o'th' wench. _dem_. is that a want, sir? i would fain speak to your grace. _ant_. you may do freely. _dem_. and not deserve your anger? _ant_. that ye may too. _dem_. there was a gentlewoman, and sometimes my prisoner, which i thought well of sir: your grace conceives me. _ant_. i do indeed, and with much grief conceive ye; with full as much grief as your mother bare you. there was such a woman: would i might as well say, there was no such, _demetrius._ _dem_. she was vertuous, and therefore not unfit my youth to love her: she was as fair-_ant_. her beauty i'le proclaim too, to be as rich as ever raign'd in woman; but how she made that good, the devil knows. _dem_. she was--o heaven! _ant_. the hell to all thy glories, swallow'd thy youth, made shipwrack of thine honour: she was a devil. _dem_. ye are my father, sir. _ant_. and since ye take a pride to shew your follies, i'le muster 'em, and all the world shall view 'em. _leo_. what heat is this? the kings eyes speak his anger. _ant_. thou hast abus'd thy youth, drawn to thy fellowship instead of arts and arms, a womans kisses, the subtilties, and soft heats of a harlot. _dem_. good sir, mistake her not. _ant_. a witch, a sorceress: i tell thee but the truth; and hear _demetrius_, which has so dealt upon thy bloud with charms, devilish and dark; so lockt up all thy vertues; so pluckt thee back from what thou sprungst from, glorious. _dem_. o heaven, that any tongue but his durst say this! that any heart durst harbour it! dread father, if for the innocent the gods allow us to bend our knees-_ant_. away, thou art bewitch'd still; though she be dead, her power still lives upon thee. _dem_. dead? o sacred sir: dead did you say? _ant_. she is dead, fool. _dem_. it is not possible: be not so angry, say she is faln under your sad displeasure, or any thing but dead, say she is banished, invent a crime, and i'le believe it, sir. _ant_. dead by the law: we found her hell, and her, i mean her charms and spells, for which she perish'd; and she confest she drew thee to thy ruine, and purpos'd it, purpos'd my empires overthrow. _dem_. but is she dead? was there no pity sir? if her youth err'd, was there no mercy shown her? did ye look on her face, when ye condemn'd her? _ant_. i look'd into her heart, and there she was hideous. _dem_. can she be dead? can vertue fall untimely? _ant_. she is dead, deservingly she died. _dem_. i have done then. o matchless sweetness, whither art thou vanished? o thou fair soul of all thy sex, what paradise hast thou inrich'd and blest? i am your son, sir, and to all you shall command stand most obedient, only a little time i must intreat you to study to forget her; 'twill not be long, sir, nor i long after it: art thou dead _celia_, dead my poor wench? my joy, pluckt green with violence: o fair sweet flower, farewel; come, thou destroyer sorrow, thou melter of the soul, dwell with me; dwell with me solitary thoughts, tears, cryings, nothing that loves the day, love me, or seek me, nothing that loves his own life haunt about me: and love, i charge thee, never charm mine eyes more, nor ne're betray a beauty to my curses: for i shall curse all now, hate all, forswear all, and all the brood of fruitful nature vex at, for she is gone that was all, and i nothing- [_ex. & gent_. _ant_. this opinion must be maintained. _men_. it shall be, sir. _ant_. let him go; i can at mine own pleasure draw him to th' right again: wait your instructions, and see the souldier paid, _leontius_: once more ye are welcome home all. _all_. health to your majesty. [_ex. antig. &c._ _leo_. thou wentest along the journey, how canst thou tell? _host_. i did, but i am sure 'tis so: had i staid behind, i think this had not proved. _leo_. a wench the reason? _lieu_. who's that talks of a wench there? _leo_. all this discontent about a wench? _lieu_. where is this wench, good colonel? _leo_. prithee hold thy peace: who calls thee to counsel? _lieu_. why, if there be a wench-_leo_. 'tis fit thou know her: _enter_ 2 gentlemen. that i'le say for thee, and as fit thou art for her, let her be mewed or stopt: how is it gentlemen? _1 gent_. he's wondrous discontent, he'l speak to no man. _2 gent_. h'as taken his chamber close, admits no entrance; tears in his eyes, and cryings out. _host_. 'tis so, sir, and now i wish myself half hang'd ere i went this journey. _leo_. what is this woman? _lieu_. i. _host_. i cannot tell ye, but handsome as heaven. _lieu_. she is not so high i hope, sir. _leo_. where is she? _lieu_. i, that would be known. _leo_. why, sirrah. _host_. i cannot show ye neither; the king has now dispos'd of her. _leo_. there lyes the matter: will he admit none to come to comfort him? _1 gent_. not any near, nor, let 'em knock their hearts out, will never speak. _lieu_. 'tis the best way if he have her; for look you, a man would be loth to be disturb'd in's pastime; 'tis every good mans case. _leo_. 'tis all thy living, we must not suffer this, we dare not suffer it: for when these tender souls meet deep afflictions, they are not strong enough to struggle with 'em, but drop away as snow does, from a mountain, and in the torrent of their own sighs sink themselves: i will, and must speak to him. _lieu_. so must i too: he promised me a charge. _leo_. of what? of children upon my conscience, thou hast a double company, and all of thine own begetting already. _lieu_. that's all one, i'le raise 'em to a regiment, and then command 'em, when they turn disobedient, unbeget 'em: knock 'em o'th' head, and put in new. _leo_. a rare way; but for all this, thou art not valiant enough to dare to see the prince now? _lieu_. do ye think he's angry? _1 gent_. extreamly vext. _2 gent_. to the endangering of any man comes near him. _1 gent_. yet, if thou couldst but win him out, what e're thy suit were, believe it granted presently. _leo_. yet thou must think though, that in the doing he may break upon ye, and-_lieu_. if he do not kill me. _leo_. there's the question. _lieu_. for half a dozen hurts. _leo_. art thou so valiant? _lieu_. not absolutely so neither: no it cannot be, i want my impostumes, and my things about me, yet i'le make danger, colonel. _leo_. 'twill be rare sport, howe're it take; give me thy hand; if thou dost this, i'le raise thee up a horse troop, take my word for't. _lieu_. what may be done by humane man. _leo_. let's go then. _1 gent_. away before he cool: he will relapse else. [_ex._ _scena iii._ _enter antigonus, menippus, and leucippe._ _ant_. will she not yield? _leu_. for all we can urge to her; i swore you would marry her, she laugh'd extreamly, and then she rail'd like thunder. _ant_. call in the _magician_. _enter_ magician _with a bowl._ i must, and will obtain her, i am ashes else. are all the philters in? charms, powders, roots? _mag_. they are all in; and now i only stay the invocation of some helping spirits. _ant_. to your work then, and dispatch. _mag_. sit still, and fear not. _leu_. i shall ne'r endure these sights. _ant_. away with the woman: go wait without. [_exit._ _leu_. when the devil's gone, pray call me. _ant_. be sure you make it powerful enough. _mag_. pray doubt not- _he conjures._ a song. _rise from the shades below, all you that prove the helps of looser love; rise and bestow upon this cup, what ever may compel by powerful charm, and unresisted spell, a heart un-warm'd to melt in loves desires. distill into this liquor all your fires: heats, longings, tears, but keep back frozen fears; that she may know, that has all power defied, art is a power that will not be denied._ the answer. _i obey, i obey, and am come to view the day, brought along, all may compel, all the earth has, and our hell: here's a little, little flower, this will make her sweat an hour, then unto such flames arise, a thousand joys will not suffice. here's the powder of the moon, with which she caught_ endymion; _the powerful tears that_ venus _cryed, when the boy_ adonis _dyed, _here's _medea'_s charm, with which_ jasons _heart she did bewitch,_ omphale _this spell put in, when she made the _libyan_ spin. this dull root pluckt from _lethe_ flood, purges all pure thoughts, and good. these i stir thus, round, round, round, whilst our light feet beat the ground._ _mag_. now sir, 'tis full, and whosoever drinks this shall violently doat upon your person, and never sleep nor eat unsatisfied: so many hours 'twill work, and work with violence; and those expired, 'tis done. you have my art, sir. _enter leucippe._ _ant_. see him rewarded liberally--_leucippe_. here, take this bowl, and when she calls for wine next, be sure you give her this, and see her drink it; delay no time when she calls next. _leu_. i shall, sir. _ant_. let none else touch it on your life. _leu_. i am charg'd, sir. _ant_. now if she have an antidote art let her 'scape me. [_exeunt._ _scena iv._ _enter leontius, lieutenant, gent._ _1 gent_. there's the door, lieutenant, if you dare do any thing. _leo_. here's no man waits. _1 gent_. h' as given a charge that none shall, nor none shall come within the hearing of him: dare ye go forward? _lieu_. let me put on my skull first. my head's almost beaten into th' pap of an apple. are there no guns i'th' door? _leo_. the rogue will do it. and yet i know he has no stomach to't. _lieu_. what loop-holes are there when i knock for stones, for those may pepper me? i can perceive none. _leo_. how he views the fortification. _lieu_. farewel gentlemen, if i be kill'd-_leo_. we'll see thee buried bravely. _lieu_. away, how should i know that then? i'll knock softly. pray heaven he speak in a low voice now to comfort me: i feel i have no heart to't:--is't well, gentlemen? colonel, my troop-_leo_. a little louder. _lieu_. stay, stay; here is a window, i will see, stand wide. by ---he's charging of a gun. _leo_. there's no such matter. there's no body in this room. _lieu_. o 'twas a fire-shovel: now i'll knock louder; if he say who's there? as sure he has so much manners, then will i answer him so finely & demurely; my troop colonel- [knocks louder. _1 gent_. knock louder, fool, he hears not. _lieu_. you fool, do you. do and you dare now. _1 gent_. i do not undertake it. _lieu_. then hold your peace, and meddle with your own matters. _leo_. now he will knock. [knocks louder. _lieu_. sir, sir, will't please you hear sir? your grace, i'll look again, what's that? _leo_. he's there now. lord! how he stares! i ne'r yet saw him thus alter'd: stand now, and take the troop. _lieu_. would i were in't, and a good horse under me: i must knock again, the devil's at my fingers ends: he comes now. now colonel, if i live-_leo_. the troop's thine own boy. _enter_ demetrius, _a pistol._ _dem_. what desperate fool, ambitious of his ruine? _lieu_. your father would desire ye, sir, to come to dinner. _dem_. thou art no more. _lieu_. now, now, now, now. _dem_. poor coxcomb: why do i aim at thee? [_exit._ _leo_. his fear has kill'd him. _enter leucippe with a bowl._ _2 gent_. i protest he's almost stiff: bend him and rub him, hold his nose close, you, if you be a woman, help us a little: here's a man near perish'd. _leu_. alas alas, i have nothing here about me. look to my bowl; i'll run in presently and fetch some water: bend him, and set him upwards. _leo_. a goodly man- [_exit._ here's a brave heart: he's warm again: you shall not leave us i'th' lurch so, sirrah. _2 gent_. now he breaths too. _leo_. if we had but any drink to raise his spirits. what's that i'th' bowl? upon my life, good liquor, she would not own it else. _1 gent_. he sees. _leo_. look up boy. and take this cup, and drink it off; i'll pledge thee. guide it to his mouth, he swallows heartily. _2 gent_. oh! fear and sorrow's dry; 'tis off-_leo_. stand up man. _lieu_. am i not shot? _leo_. away with him, and chear him: thou hast won thy troop. _lieu_. i think i won it bravely. _leo_. go, i must see the prince, he must not live thus; and let me hear an hour hence from ye. well, sir- [_exeunt gent. and lieu._ _enter leucippe with water._ _leu_. here, here: where's the sick gentleman? _leo_. he's up, and gone, lady. _leu_. alas, that i came so late. _leo_. he must still thank ye; ye left that in a cup here did him comfort. _leu_. that in the bowl? _leo_. yes truly, very much comfort, he drank it off, and after it spoke lustily. _leu_. did he drink it all? _leo_. all off. _leu_. the devil choak him; i am undone: h'as twenty devils in him; undone for ever, left he none? _leo_. i think not. _leu_. no, not a drop: what shall become of me now? had he no where else to swound? a vengeance swound him: undone, undone, undone: stay, i can lye yet and swear too at a pinch, that's all my comfort. look to him; i say look to him, & but mark what follows. [_ex._ _enter demetrius._ _leo_. what a devil ails the woman? here comes the prince again, with such a sadness on his face, as sorrow, sorrow her self but poorly imitates. sorrow of sorrows on that heart that caus'd it. _dem_. why might she not be false and treacherous to me? and found so by my father? she was a woman, and many a one of that sex, young and fair, as full of faith as she, have fallen, and foully. _leo_. it is a wench! o that i knew the circumstance. _dem_. why might not, to preserve me from this ruine, she having lost her honour, and abused me, my father change the forms o'th' coins, and execute his anger on a fault she ne'r committed, only to keep me safe? why should i think so? she never was to me, but all obedience, sweetness, and love. _leo_. how heartily he weeps now! i have not wept this thirty years, and upward; but now, if i should be hang'd i cannot hold from't it grieves me to the heart. _dem_. who's that that mocks me? _leo_. a plague of him that mocks ye: i grieve truly, truly, and heartily to see you thus, sir: and if it lay in my power, gods are my witness, who e'r he be that took your sweet peace from you; i am not so old yet, nor want i spirit-_dem_.no more of that, no more _leontius_, revenges are the gods: our part is sufferance: farewell, i shall not see thee long. _leo_. good sir, tell me the cause, i know there is a woman in't; do you hold me faithful? dare you trust your souldier? sweet prince, the cause? _dem_. i must not, dare not tell it, and as thou art an honest man, enquire not. _leo_. will ye be merry then? _dem_. i am wondrous merry. _leo_. 'tis wondrous well: you think now this becomes ye. shame on't, it does not, sir, it shews not handsomely; if i were thus; you would swear i were an ass straight; a wooden ass; whine for a wench? _dem_. prithee leave me. _leo_. i will not leave ye for a tit. _dem. leontius?_ _leo_. for that you may have any where for six pence, and a dear penny-worth too. _dem_. nay, then you are troublesome. _leo_. not half so troublesom as you are to your self, sir; was that brave heart made to pant for a placket: and now i'th' dog-days too, when nothing dare love! that noble mind to melt away and moulder for a hey nonny, nonny! would i had a glass here, to shew ye what a pretty toy ye are turn'd to. _dem_. my wretched fortune. _leo_. will ye but let me know her? i'll once turn bawd: go to, they are good mens offices, and not so contemptible as we take 'em for: and if she be above ground, and a woman; i ask no more; i'll bring her o' my back, sir, by this hand i will, and i had as lieve bring the devil, i care not who she be, nor where i have her; and in your arms, or the next bed deliver her, which you think fittest, and when you have danc'd your galliard. _dem_. away, and fool to them are so affected: o thou art gone, and all my comfort with thee! wilt thou do one thing for me? _leo_. all things i'th' world, sir, of all dangers. _dem_. swear. _leo_. i will. _dem_. come near me no more then. _leo_. how? _dem_. come no more near me: thou art a plague-sore to me. [_exit._ _leo_. give you good ev'n sir; if you be suffer'd thus, we shall have fine sport. i will be sorry yet. _enter 2 gentlemen._ _1 gent_. how now, how does he? _leo_. nay, if i tell ye, hang me, or any man else that hath his nineteen wits; he has the bots i think, he groans, and roars, and kicks. _2 gent_. will he speak yet? _leo_. not willingly: shortly he will not see a man; if ever i look'd upon a prince so metamorphos'd, so juggl'd into i know not what, shame take me; this 'tis to be in love. _1 gent_. is that the cause on't? _leo_. what is it not the cause of but bear-baitings? and yet it stinks much like it: out upon't; what giants, and what dwarffs, what owls and apes, what dogs, and cats it makes us? men that are possest with it, live as if they had a legion of devils in 'em, and every devil of a several nature; nothing but hey-pass, re-pass: where's the _lieutenant_? has he gather'd up the end on's wits again? _1 gent_. he is alive: but you that talk of wonders, shew me but such a wonder as he is now. _leo_. why? he was ever at the worst a wonder. _2 gent_. he is now most wonderful; a blazer now, sir. _leo_. what ails the fool? and what star reigns now gentlemen we have such prodigies? _2 gent_. 'twill pose your heaven-hunters; he talks now of the king, no other language, and with the king as he imagines, hourly. courts the king, drinks to the king, dies for the king, buys all the pictures of the king, wears the kings colours. _leo_. does he not lye i'th' king street too? _1 gent_. he's going thither, makes prayers for the king, in sundry languages, turns all his proclamations into metre; is really in love with the king, most dotingly, and swears _adonis_ was a devil to him: a sweet king, a most comely king, and such a king-_2 gent_. then down on's marrow-bones; o excellent king thus he begins, thou light, and life of creatures, angel-ey'd king, vouchsafe at length thy favour; and so proceeds to incision: what think ye of this sorrow? _1 gent_. will as familiarly kiss the king['s] horses as they pass by him: ready to ravish his footman. _leo_. why, this is above ela? but how comes this? _1 gent_. nay that's to understand yet, but thus it is, and this part but the poorest, 'twould make a man leap over the moon to see him act these. _2 gent_. with sighs as though his heart would break: cry like a breech'd boy, not eat a bit. _leo_. i must go see him presently, for this is such a gig, for certain, gentlemen, the fiend rides on a fiddle-stick. _2 gent_. i think so. _leo_. can ye guide me to him for half an hour? i am his to see the miracle. _1 gent_. we sure shall start him. [_exeunt._ _scena v._ _enter antigonus and leucippe._ _ant_. are you sure she drank it? _leu_. now must i lye most confidently. yes sir, she has drunk it off. _ant_. how works it with her? _leu_. i see no alteration yet. _ant_. there will be, for he is the greatest artist living made it. where is she now? _leu_. she is ready to walk out, sir. _ant_. stark mad, i know she will be. _leu_. so i hope, sir. _ant_. she knows not of the prince? _leu_. of no man living-_ant_. how do i look? how do my cloaths become me? i am not very grey. _leu_. a very youth, sir, upon my maiden-head as smug as _april_: heaven bless that sweet face, 'twill undo a thousand; many a soft heart must sob yet, e'r that wither, your grace can give content enough. _enter celia with a book._ _ant_. i think so. _leu_. here she comes, sir. _ant_. how shall i keep her off me? go, & perfume the room: make all things ready. [_ex. leu._ _cel_. no hope yet of the prince! no comfort of him! they keep me mew'd up here, as they mew mad folks, no company but my afflictions. this royal devil again! strange, how he haunts me! how like a poyson'd potion his eyes fright me! has made himself handsome too. _ant_. do you look now, lady? you will leap anon. _cel_. curl'd and perfum'd? i smell him; he looks on's legs too, sure he will cut a caper; god-a-mercy, dear _december_. _ant_. o do you smile now; i knew it would work with you; come hither pretty one. _cel_. sir. _ant_. i like those courtesies well; come hither and kiss me. _cel_. i am reading, sir, of a short treatise here, that's call'd the vanity of lust: has your grace seen it? he says here, that an old mans loose desire is like the glow-worms light, the apes so wonder'd at: which when they gather'd sticks, and laid upon't, and blew, and blew, turn'd tail, and went out presently: and in another place he calls their loves, faint smells of dying flowers, carry no comforts; they're doting, stinking foggs, so thick and muddy, reason with all his beams cannot beat through 'em. _ant_. how's this? is this the potion? you but fool still; i know you love me. _cel_. as you are just and honest; i know i love and honour you: admire you. _ant_. this makes against me, fearfully against me. _cel_. but as you bring your power to persecute me, your traps to catch mine innocence to rob me, as you lay out your lusts to overwhelm me, hell never hated good, as i hate you, sir; and i dare tell it to your face: what glory now after all your conquests got, your titles, the ever-living memories rais'd to you, can my defeat be? my poor wrack, what triumph? and when you crown your swelling cups to fortune, what honourable tongue can sing my story? be as your emblem is, a g[l]orious lamp set on the top of all, to light all perfectly: be as your office is, a god-like justice, into all shedding equally your vertues. _ant_. she has drencht me now; now i admire her goodness; so young, so nobly strong, i never tasted: can nothing in the power of kings perswade ye? _cel_. no, nor that power command me. _ant_. say i should force ye? i have it in my will. _cel_. your will's a poor one; and though it be a king's will, a despised one. weaker than infants legs, your will's in swadling clouts, a thousand ways my will has found to check ye; a thousand doors to 'scape ye, i dare dye, sir; as suddenly i dare dye, as you can offer: nay, say you had your will, say you had ravish'd me, perform'd your lust, what had you purchas'd by it? what honour won? do you know who dwells above, sir, and what they have prepar'd for men turn'd devils? did you never hear their thunder? start and tremble, death sitting on your bloud, when their fires visit us. will nothing wring you then do you think? sit hard here, and like a snail curl round about your conscience, biting and stinging: will you not roar too late then? then when you shake in horrour of this villainy, then will i rise a star in heaven, and scorn ye. _ant_. lust, how i hate thee now! and love this sweetness! will you be my queen? can that price purchase ye? _cel_. not all the world, i am a queen already, crown'd by his love, i must not lose for fortune; i can give none away, sell none away, sir, can lend no love, am not mine own exchequer; for in anothers heart my hope and peace lies. _ant_. your fair hands, lady? for yet i am not pure enough to touch these lips, in that sweet peace ye spoke of. live now for ever, and i to serve your vertues-_cel_. why now you show a god! now i kneel to ye; this sacrifice of virgins joy send to ye: thus i hold up my hands to heaven that touch'd ye, and pray eternal blessings dwell about ye. _ant_. vertue commands the stars: rise more than vertue; your present comfort shall be now my business. _cel_. all my obedient service wait upon ye. [_ex. severally._ _scena vi._ _enter leontius, gentlemen, and lieutenant._ _leo_. hast thou clean forgot the wars? _lieu_. prithee hold thy peace. _1 gent_. his mind's much elevated now. _leo_. it seems so. sirrah. _lieu_. i am so troubled with this fellow. _leo_. he will call me rogue anon. _1 gent_. 'tis ten to one else. _lieu_. o king that thou knew'st i lov'd thee, how i lov'd thee. and where o king, i barrel up thy beauty. _leo_. he cannot leave his sutlers trade, he woos in't. _lieu_. o never, king. _leo_. by this hand, when i consider-_lieu_. my honest friend, you are a little sawcy. _1 gent_. i told you you would have it. _lieu_. when mine own worth-_leo_. is flung into the ballance, and found nothing. _lieu_. and yet a soldier. _leo_. and yet a sawcy one. _lieu_. one that has followed thee. _leo_. fair and far off. _lieu_. fought for thy grace. _leo_. 'twas for some grief, you lye sir. _lieu_. he's the son of a whore denies this: will that satisfie ye? _leo_. yes, very well. _lieu_. shall then that thing that honours thee? how miserable a thing soever, yet a thing still; and though a thing of nothing, thy thing ever. _leo_. here's a new thing. _2 gent_. he's in a deep dump now. _leo_. i'le fetch him out on't. when's the king's birth-day? _lieu_. when e're it be, that day i'le dye with ringing. and there's the resolution of a lover. [_exit._ _leo_. a goodly resolution sure i take it. he is bewitch'd, or moop'd, or his brains melted, could he find no body to fall in love with; but the king, the good old king, to doat upon him too? stay, now i remember, what the fat woman warn'd me, bid me remember, and look to him too: i'le hang if she have not a hand in this: he's conjured, goe after him, i pity the poor rascal, in the mean time i'le wait occasion to work upon the prince. _2 gent_. pray doe that seriously. [_ex. severally._ _scena vii._ _enter antigonus, menippus, lords._ _lord_. he's very ill. _ant_. i am very sorry for't, and much ashamed i have wronged her innocence, _menippus_, guide her to the princes lodgings, there leave her to his love again. _men_. i am glad sir. _lord_. he will speak to none. _ant_. o i shall break that silence; be quick, take fair attendance. _men_. yes sir presently. [_exit._ _ant_. he will find his tongue, i warrant ye; his health too; i send a physick will not fail. _lord_. fair work it. _ant_. we hear the princes mean to visit us in way of truce. _lord_. 'tis thought so. _ant_. come: let's in then, and think upon the noblest wayes to meet 'em. [_exeunt._ _scena viii._ _enter leontius._ _leo_. there's no way now to get in: all the light stopt too; nor can i hear a sound of him, pray heaven he use no violence: i think he has more soul, stronger, and i hope nobler: would i could but see once, this beauty he groans under, or come to know but any circumstance. what noise is that there? i think i heard him groan: here are some coming; a woman too, i'le stand aloof, and view 'em. _enter menippus, celia, lords._ _cel_. well, some of ye have been to blame in this point, but i forgive ye: the king might have pickt out too some fitter woman to have tri'd his valour. _men_. 'twas all to the best meant, lady. _cel_. i must think so, for how to mend it now: he's here you tell me? _men_. he's madam, and the joy to see you only will draw him out. _leo_. i know that womans tongue, i think i have seen her face too: i'le goe nearer: if this be she, he has some cause of sorrow: 'tis the same face; the same, most excellent woman. _cel_. this should be lord _leontius_: i remember him. _leo_. lady, i think ye know me. _cel_. speak soft, good souldier: i do, and know ye worthy, know ye noble; know not me yet openly, as you love me; but let me see ye again, i'le satisfie ye: i am wondrous glad to see those eyes. _leo_. you have charged me. _cel_. you shall know where i am. _leo_. i will not off yet: she goes to knock at's door: this must be she the fellow told me of: right glad i am on't, he will bolt now for certain. _cel_. are ye within sir? i'le trouble you no more: i thank your courtesie, pray leave me now. _all_. _me_. we rest your humble servants. [_ex. me. &c._ _cel_. so now my jives are off: pray heaven he be here! master, my royal sir: do you hear who calls ye? love, my _demetrius_. _leo_. these are pretty quail-pipes, the cock will crow anon. _cel_. can ye be drowsie, when i call at your window? _leo_. i hear him stirring: now he comes wondring out. _enter demetrius._ _dem_. 'tis _celias_ sound sure: the sweetness of that tongue draws all hearts to it; there stands the shape too. _le[o]_. how he stares upon her! _dem_. ha? do mine eyes abuse me? 'tis she, the living _celia_: your hand lady? _cel_. what should this mean? _dem_. the very self same _celia_. _cel_. how do ye sir? _dem_. only turn'd brave. i heard you were dead my dear one, compleat, she is wondrous brave, a wondrous gallant courtier. _cel_. how he surveyes me round? here has been foul play. _dem_. how came she thus? _cel_. it was a kind of death sir, i suffered in your absence, mew'd up here, and kept conceal'd i know not how. _dem_. 'tis likely: how came you hither _celia_? wondrous gallant: did my father send for ye? _cel_. so they told me sir, and on command too. _dem_. i hope you were obedient? _cel_. i was so ever. _dem_. and ye were bravely us'd? _cel_. i wanted nothing: my maiden-head to a mote i'th' sun, he's jealous: i must now play the knave with him, though i dye for't, 'tis in my nature. _dem_. her very eyes are alter'd: jewels, and rich ones too, i never saw yet-and what were those came for ye? _cel_. monstrous jealous: have i liv'd at the rate of these scorn'd questions? they seem'd of good sort, gentlemen. _dem_. kind men? _cel_. they were wondrous kind: i was much beholding to 'em; there was one _menippus_ sir. _dem_. ha? _cel_. one _menippus_, a notable merry lord, and a good companion. _dem_. and one _charinthus_ too? _cel_. yes, there was such a one. _dem_. and _timon_? _cel_. 'tis most true. _dem_. and thou most treacherous: my fathers bawds by----they never miss course; and were these daily with ye? _cel_. every hour sir. _dem_. and was there not a lady, a fat lady? _cel_. o yes; a notable good wench. _dem_. the devil fetch her. _cel_. 'tis ev'n the merriest wench-_dem_. did she keep with ye too? _cel_. she was all in all; my bed-fellow, eat with me, brought me acquainted. _dem_. you are well know[n] here then? _cel_. there is no living here a stranger i think. _dem_. how came ye by this brave gown? _cel_. this is a poor one: alas, i have twenty richer: do you see these jewels? why, they are the poorest things, to those are sent me, and sent me hourly too. _dem_. is there no modestie? no faith in this fair sex? _leo_. what will this prove too? for yet with all my wits, i understand not. _dem_. come hither; thou art dead indeed, lost, tainted; all that i left thee fair, and innocent, sweet as thy youth, and carrying comfort in't; all that i hoped for vertuous, is fled from thee, turn'd black, and bankrupt. _leo_. 'by'r lady, this cuts shrewdly. _dem_. thou art dead, for ever dead; sins surfeit slew thee; the ambition of those wanton eyes betrai'd thee; go from me, grave of honour; go thou foul one, thou glory of thy sin; go thou despis'd one, and where there is no vertue, nor no virgin; where chastity was never known, nor heard of; where nothing reigns but impious lust, and looser faces. go thither, child of bloud, and sing my doating. _cel_. you do not speak this seriously i hope sir; i did but jest with you. _dem_. look not upon me, there is more hell in those eyes, than hell harbours; and when they flame, more torments. _cel_. dare ye trust me? you durst once even with all you had: your love sir? by this fair light i am honest. _dem_. thou subtle _circe_, cast not upon the maiden light eclipses: curse not the day. _cel_. come, come, you shall not do this: how fain you would seem angry now, to fright me; you are not in the field among your enemies; come, i must cool this courage. _dem_. out thou impudence, thou ulcer of thy sex; when i first saw thee, i drew into mine eyes mine own destruction, i pull'd into my heart that sudden poyson, that now consumes my dear content to cinders: i am not now _demetrius_, thou hast chang'd me; thou, woman, with thy thousand wiles hast chang'd me; thou serpent with thy angel-eyes hast slain me; and where, before i touch'd on this fair ruine, i was a man, and reason made, and mov'd me, now one great lump of grief, i grow and wander. _cel_. and as you are noble, do you think i did this? _dem_. put all the devils wings on, and flie from me. _cel_. i will go from ye, never more to see ye: i will flie from ye, as a plague hangs o're me; and through the progress of my life hereafter; where ever i shall find a fool, a false man, one that ne're knew the worth of polish'd vertue; a base suspecter of a virgins honour, a child that flings away the wealth he cri'd for, him will i call _demetrius_: that fool _demetrius_, that mad man a _demetrius_; and that false man, the prince of broken faiths, even prince _demetrius_. you think now, i should cry, and kneel down to ye, petition for my peace; let those that feel here the weight of evil, wait for such a favour, i am above your hate, as far above it, in all the actions of an innocent life, as the pure stars are from the muddy meteors, cry when you know your folly: howl and curse then, beat that unmanly breast, that holds a false heart when ye shall come to know, whom ye have flung from ye. _dem_. pray ye stay a little. _cel_. not your hopes can alter me. then let a thousand black thoughts muster in ye, and with those enter in a thousand doatings; those eyes be never shut, but drop to nothing: my innocence for ever haunt and fright ye: those arms together grow in folds; that tongue, that bold bad tongue that barks out these disgraces. when you shall come to know how nobly vertuous i have preserv'd my life, rot, rot within ye. _dem_. what shall i doe? _cel_. live a lost man for ever. go ask your fathers conscience what i suffered, and through what seas of hazards i sayl'd through: mine honour still advanced in spight of tempests, then take your leave of love; and confess freely, you were never worthy of this heart that serv'd ye, and so farewel ungratefull- [_exit._ _dem_. is she gone? _leo_. i'le follow her, and will find out this matter.- [_exit._ _enter_ antigonus, _and_ lords. _ant_. are ye pleas'd now? have you got your heart again? have i restor'd ye that? _dem_. sir even for heaven sake, and sacred truth sake, tell me how ye found her. _ant_. i will, and in few words. before i tri'd her, 'tis true, i thought her most unfit your fellowship, and fear'd her too: which fear begot that story i told ye first: but since, like gold i toucht her. _dem_. and how dear sir? _ant_. heavens holy light's not purer: the constancy and goodness of all women that ever liv'd, to win the names of worthy, this noble maid has doubled in her: honour, all promises of wealth, all art to win her, and by all tongues imploy'd, wrought as much on her as one may doe upon the sun at noon day by lighting candles up: her shape is heavenly, and to that heavenly shape her thoughts are angels. _dem_. why did you tell me sir? _ant_. 'tis true, i err'd in't: but since i made a full proof of her vertue, i find a king too poor a servant for her. love her, and honour her; in all observe her. she must be something more than time yet tells her: and certain i believe him b[l]est, enjoyes her: i would not lose the hope of such a daughter, to adde another empire to my honour.- [_exit._ _dem_. o wretched state! to what end shall i turn me? and where begins my penance? now, what service will win her love again? my death must doe it: and if that sacrifice can purge my follies, be pleas'd, o mightie love, i dye thy servant- [_exit._ _actus quintus. scena prima._ _enter_ leontius, _and_ celia. _leo_. i know he do's not deserve ye; h'as us'd you poorly: and to redeem himself-_cel_. redeem? _leo_. i know it-there's no way left. _cel_. for heavens sake do not name him, do not think on him sir, he's so far from me in all my thoughts now, methinks i never knew him. _leo_. but yet i would see him again. _cel_. no, never, never. _leo_. i do not mean to lend him any comfort; but to afflict him, so to torture him; that even his very soul may shake within him: to make him know, though he be great and powerfull, 'tis not within his aim to deal dishonourably, and carry it off; and with a maid of your sort. _cel_. i must confess, i could most spightfully afflict him; now, now, i could whet my anger at him; now arm'd with bitterness, i could shoot through him; i long to vex him. _leo_. and doe it home, and bravely. _cel_. were i a man! _leo_. i'le help that weakness in ye: i honour ye, and serve ye. _cel_. not only to disclaim me, when he had seal'd his vowes in heaven, sworn to me, and poor believing i became his servant: but most maliciously to brand my credit, stain my pure name. _leo_. i would not suffer it: see him i would again, and to his teeth too: od's precious, i would ring him such a lesson-_cel_. i have done that already. _leo_. nothing, nothing: it was too poor a purge; besides, by this time he has found his fault, and feels the hells that follow it. that, and your urg'd on anger to the highest, why, 'twill be such a stroak-_cel_. say he repent then, and seek with tears to soften, i am a woman; a woman that have lov'd him, sir, have honour'd him: i am no more. _leo_. why, you may deal thereafter. _cel_. if i forgive him, i am lost. _leo_. hold there then, the sport will be to what a poor submission-but keep you strong. _cel_. i would not see him. _leo_. yes, you shall ring his knell. _cel_. how if i kill him? _leo_. kill him? why, let him dye. _cel_. i know 'tis fit so. but why should i that lov'd him once, destroy him? o had he scap't this sin, what a brave gentleman-_leo_. i must confess, had this not faln, a nobler, a handsomer, the whole world had not show'd ye: and to his making such a mind-_cel_. 'tis certain: but all this i must now forget. _leo_. you shall not if i have any art: goe up sweet lady, and trust my truth. _cel_. but good sir bring him not. _leo_. i would not for the honour ye are born to, but you shall see him, and neglect him too, and scorn him. _cel_. you will be near me then. _leo_. i will be with ye; yet there's some hope to stop this gap, i'le work hard. [_ex._ _scena ii._ _enter antigonus, menip. two gent. lieutenant, and lords._ _ant_. but is it possible this fellow took it? _2 gent_. it seems so by the violence it wrought with, yet now the fits ev'n off. _men_. i beseech your grace. _ant_. nay, i forgive thy wife with all my heart, and am right glad she drank it not her self, and more glad that the vertuous maid escap't it, i would not for the world 'thad hit: but that this souldier, lord how he looks, that he should take this vomit; can he make rimes too? _2 gent_. h'as made a thousand sir, and plaies the burthen to 'em on a jews-trump, _ant_. he looks as though he were bepist: do you love me sir? _lieu_. yes surely even with all my heart. _ant_. i thank ye; i am glad i have so good a subject: but pray ye tell me, how much did ye love me, before ye drank this matter? _lieu_. even as much as a sober man might; and a souldier that your grace owes just half a years pay to. _ant_. well remembred; and did i seem so young and amiable to ye? _lieu_. methought you were the sweetest youth-_ant_. that's excellent. _lieu_. i truly sir: and ever as i thought on ye, i wished, and wished-_ant_. what didst thou wish prethee? _lieu_. ev'n, that i had been a wench of fifteen for ye, a handsom wench sir. _ant_. why? god a mercy souldier: i seem not so now to thee. _lieu_. not all out: and yet i have a grudging to your grace still. _ant_. thou wast never in love before? _lieu_. not with a king, and hope i shall never be again: truly sir, i have had such plunges, and such bickrings, and as it were such runnings atilt within me, for whatsoever it was provok't me toward ye. _ant_. god a-mercy still. _lieu_. i had it with a vengeance, it plaid his prize. _ant_. i would not have been a wench then, though of this age. _lieu_. no sure, i should have spoil'd ye. _ant_. well, goe thy waies, of all the lusty lovers that e're i saw--wilt have another potion? _lieu_. if you will be another thing, have at ye. _ant_. ha, ha, ha: give me thy hand, from henceforth thou art my souldier, do bravely, i'le love thee as much. _lieu_. i thank ye; but if you were mine enemy, i would not wish it ye: i beseech your grace, pay me my charge. _2 gent_. that's certain sir; ha's bought up all that e're he found was like ye, or any thing you have lov'd, that he could purchase; old horses, that your grace has ridden blind, and foundr'd; dogs, rotten hawks, and which is more than all this, has worn your grace's gauntlet in his bonnet. _ant_. bring in your bills: mine own love shall be satisfi'd; and sirrah, for this potion you have taken, i'le point ye out a portion ye shall live on. _men_. 'twas the best draught that e're ye drunk. _lieu_. i hope so. _ant_. are the princes come to th' court? _men_. they are all, and lodg'd sir. _ant_. come then, make ready for their entertainment, which presently we'l give: wait you on me sir. _lieu_. i shall love drink the better whilst i live boyes. [_exeunt._ _scena iii._ _enter demetrius, and leontius. _dem_. let me but see her, dear _leontius_; let me but dye before her. _leo_. would that would doe it: if i knew where she lay now, with what honestie, you having flung so main a mischief on her, and on so innocent and sweet a beauty, dare i present your visit? _dem_. i'le repent all: and with the greatest sacrifice of sorrow, that ever lover made. _leo_. 'twill be too late sir: i know not what will become of you. _dem_. you can help me. _leo_. it may be to her sight: what are you nearer? she has sworn she will not speak to ye, look upon ye, and to love ye again, o she cries out, and thunders, she had rather love--there is no hope-_dem_. yes _leontius_, there is a hope, which though it draw no love to it, at least will draw her to lament my fortune, and that hope shall relieve me. _leo_. hark ye sir, hark ye: say i should bring ye-_dem_. do [not] trifle with me? _leo_. i will not trifle; both together bring ye, you know the wrongs ye' done. _dem_. i do confess 'em. _leo_. and if you should then jump into your fury, and have another querk in your head. _dem_. i'le dye first. _leo_. you must say nothing to her; for 'tis certain, the nature of your crime will admit [no] excuse. _dem_. i will not speak, mine eyes shall tell my penance. _leo_. you must look wondrous sad too. _dem_. i need not look so, i am truly sadness self. _leo_. that look will do it: stay here, i'le bring her to you instantly: but take heed how you bear your self: sit down there, the more humble you are, the more she'l take compassion. women are per'lous thing[s] to deal upon. [_exit._ _dem_. what shall become of me? to curse my fortune, were but to curse my father; that's too impious; but under whatsoever fate i suffer, bless i beseech thee heaven her harmless goodness. _enter leontius, and celia._ _leo_. now arm your self. _cel_. you have not brought him? _leo_. yes faith, and there he is: you see in what poor plight too, now you may doe your will, kill him, or save him. _cel_. i will goe back. _leo_. i will be hang'd then lady, are ye a coward now? _cel_. i cannot speak to him. _dem_. o me. _leo_. there was a sigh to blow a church down; so, now their eyes are fixt, the small shot playes, they will come to th' batterie anon. _cel_. he weeps extreamly. _leo_. rail at him now. _cel_. i dare not. _leo_. i am glad on't. _cel_. nor dare believe his tears. _dem_. you may, blest beauty, for those thick streams that troubled my repentance, are crept out long agoe. _leo_. you see how he looks. _cel_. what have i to doe how he looks? how lookt he then, when with a poisoned tooth he bit mine honour? it was your counsel too, to scorn and slight him. _leo_. i, if ye saw fit cause; and you confest too, except this sin, he was the bravest gentleman, the sweetest, noblest: i take nothing from ye, nor from your anger; use him as you please: for to say truth, he has deserved your justice; but still consider what he has been to you. _cel_. pray do not blind me thus. _dem_. o gentle mistris, if there were any way to expiate a sin so great as mine, by intercession, by prayers, by daily tears, by dying for ye: o what a joy would close these eyes that love ye. _leo_. they say women have tender hearts, i know not, i am sure mine melts. _cel_. sir, i forgive ye heartily, and all your wrong to me i cast behind me, and wish ye a fit beauty to your vertues: mine is too poor, in peace i part thus from you; i must look back: gods keep your grace: he's here still. [_ex._ _dem_. she has forgiven me. _leo_. she has directed ye: up, up, and follow like a man: away sir, she lookt behind her twice: her heart dwells here sir, ye drew tears from her too: she cannot freeze thus; the door's set open too, are ye a man? are ye alive? do ye understand her meaning? have ye bloud and spirit in ye? _dem_. i dare not trouble her. _leo_. nay, and you will be nip't i'th' head with nothing, walk whining up and down; i dare not, i cannot: strike now or never: faint heart, you know what sir-be govern'd by your fear, and quench your fire out. a devil on't, stands this door ope for nothing? so get ye together, and be naught: now to secure all, will i go fetch out a more soveraign plaister. [_exeunt._ _scena iv._ _enter antigonus, seleucus, lysimachus, ptolomy, lieutenant, gentlemen, lords._ _ant_. this peace is fairly made. _seleu_. would your grace wish us to put in more: take what you please, we yield it; the honour done us by your son constrains it, your noble son. _ant_. it is sufficient, princes; and now we are one again, one mind, one body, and one sword shall strike for us. _lys_. let prince _demetrius_ but lead us on: for we are his vowed servants; against the strength of all the world we'l buckle. _ptol_. and even from all that strength we'l catch at victory. _sel_. o had i now recover'd but the fortune i lost in _antioch_, when mine unckle perish'd; but that were but to surfeit me with blessings. _lys_. you lost a sweet child there. _sel_. name it no more sir; this is no time to entertain such sorrows; will your majesty do us the honour, we may see the prince, and wait upon him? _enter leon._ _ant_. i wonder he stayes from us: how now _leontius_, where's my son? _sel_. brave captain. _lys_. old valiant sir. _leo_. your graces are welcom: your son and't please you sir, is new cashiered yonder, cast from his mistris favour: and such a coil there is; such fending, and such proving; she stands off, and will by no means yield to composition: he offers any price; his body to her. _sel_. she is a hard lady, denies that caution. _leo_. and now they whine, and now they rave: faith princes, 'twere a good point of charity to piece 'em; for less than such a power will doe just nothing: and if you mean to see him, there it must be, for there will he grow, till he be transplanted. _sel_. beseech your grace, let's wait upon you thither, that i may see that beauty dares deny him, that scornfull beauty. _ptol_. i should think it worse now; ill brought up beauty. _ant_. she has too much reason for't; which with too great a grief, i shame to think of, but we'll go see this game. _lys_. rather this wonder. _ant_. be you our guide _leontius_, here's a new peace. [_ex._ _scena v._ _enter demetrius and celia._ _cel_. thus far you shall perswade me, still to honour ye, still to live with ye, sir, or near about ye; for not to lye, you have my first and last love: but since you have conceiv'd an evil against me, an evil that so much concerns your honour, that honour aim'd by all at for a pattern: and though there be a false thought, and confest too, and much repentance faln in showrs to purge it; yet, whilest that great respect i ever bore ye, dwells in my bloud, and in my heart that duty; had it but been a dream, i must not touch ye. _dem_. o you will make some other happy? _cel_. never, upon this hand i'le seal that faith. _dem_. we may kiss, put not those out o'th' peace too. _cel_. those i'le give ye, so there you will be pleas'd to pitch your _ne ultra_, i will be merry with ye; sing, discourse with ye, be your poor mistris still: in truth i love ye. _enter leontius, antigonus, seleucus, lysimachus, ptolomie, lieutenant, and gentleman._ _dem_. stay, who are these? _lys_. a very handsom lady. _leo_. as e're you saw. _sel_. pity her heart's so cruel. _lys_. how does your grace? he stands still, will not hear us. _ptol_. we come to serve ye, sir, in all our fortunes. _lys_. he bows a little now; he's strangely alter'd. _sel_. ha? pray ye a word _leontius_, pray ye a word with ye, _lysimachus_? you bo'th knew mine _enanthe_, i lost in _antioch_, when the town was taken, mine uncle slain, _antigonus_ had the sack on't? _lys_. yes, i remember well the girl. _sel_. methinks now that face is wondrous like her: i have her picture, the same, but more years on her; the very same. _lys_. a cherry to a chery is not liker. _sel_. look on her eyes. _leo_. most certain she is like her: many a time have i dandled her in these arms, sir, and i hope who will more. _ant_. what's that ye look at, pr[in]ces? _sel_. this picture, and that lady, sir. _ant_. ha! they are near: they only err in time. _lys_. did you mark that blush there? that came the nearest. _sel_. i must speak to her. _leo_. you'll quickly be resolved. _sel_. your name sweet lady? _cel_. _enanthe_, sir: and this to beg your blessing. _sel_. do you know me? _cel_. if you be the king _seleucus_, i know you are my father. _sel_. peace a little, where did i lose ye? _cel_. at the sack of _antioch_, where my good unckle di'd, and i was taken, by a mean souldier taken: by this prince, this noble prince, redeem'd from him again, where ever since i have remain'd his servant. _sel_. my joys are now too full: welcome _enanthe_, mine own, my dearest, and my best _enanthe_. _dem_. and mine too desperate. _sel_. you shall not think so, this is a peace indeed. _ant_. i hope it shall be, and ask it first. _cel_. most royal sir, ye have it. _dem_. i once more beg it thus. _sel_. you must not be deny'd, sir. _cel_. by me, i am sure he must not: sure he shall not; kneeling i give it too; kneeling i take it; and from this hour, no envious spight e're part us. _all_. the gods give happy joyes; all comforts to ye. _dem_. my new _enanthe_. _ant_. come, beat all the drums up, and all the noble instruments of war: let 'em fill all the kingdom with their sound, and those the brazen arch of heaven break through, while to the temple we conduct these two. _leo_. may they be ever loving, ever young, and ever worthy of those lines they sprung; may their fair issues walk with time along. _lieu_. and hang a coward now; and there's my song. [_exeunt._ * * * * * prologue. _would some man would instruct me what to say for this same prologue, usual to a play, is tied to such an old form of petition; men must say nothing now beyond commission: the cloaks we wear, the leggs we make, the place we stand in, must be one; and one the face. nor alter'd nor exceeded; if it be, a general hisse hangs on our levitie: we have a play, a new play to play now, and thus low in our playes behalf we bow; we bow to beg your suffrage, and kind ear; if it were naught, or that it might appear, a thing buoy'd up by prayer, gentlemen, believe my faith, you should not see me then. let them speak then have power to stop a storm: i never lov'd to feel a house so warm: but for the play if you dare credit me, i think it well: all new things you shall see, and these disposed to all the mirth that may; and short enough we hope: and such a play you were wont to like: sit nobly then, and see: if it miscarry, pray look not for me._ * * * * * epilogue, spoke by the _lieutenant_. _i am not cur'd yet throughly; for believe i feel another passion that may grieve, all over me i feel it too: and now it takes me cold, cold, cold, i know not how: as you are good men help me, a carowse may make me love you all, all here i'th' house, and all that come to see me doatingly; now lend your hands; and for your courtesie, the next imployment i am sent upon, i'le swear you are physicians, the war's none._ the humourous lieutenant. (a) the first folio. (b) the second folio. (c) the manuscript dated novemb. 27. 1625. this ms. is a beautiful specimen of ralph crane's caligraphy. it is bound in vellum, with gilt lines and a gilt design on the cover. the following particulars are written on a leaf before the title-page:-'k. digby margrit this manuscript belonged to the celebrated sir kenelm digby. his grand-daughter (one of the daughters & co-heiresses of his eldest son, john digby) was married to richard mostyn esq're of penbedw in denbighshire, & their daughter & coheiress to richard williams esq., my great grandfather. thro' this connection of my family with that of digby, several of sir kenelm's books & manuscripts have come into my possession. wm w.e. wynne. given by w.w.e. wynne esqre to me w. ormsby gore april 8. 1837.' the title-page is as follows:-'demetrius and enanthe, a pleasant comedie written by john fletcher gent.' surrounding the title are rough decorations drawn in ink in the form of corkscrew scrolls. the following dedication is written on the leaf following the title-page:-to the honorable sir kelham digbie knight. worthie sir. i know, that to a man of your religious inclination, a devine argument would have byn much more wellcom; and such a one (good sir) have i upon the anvile for you, but it requires some-what a more consolatorie time to fashion it: being therefore by the wise-mans rule (that sales there is a time for all thinges) encouraged, i hope it will not be much in-oportune, after a season so sad, to present you with a matter recreative. well knowing, that you that know well how to bestow all your howers, will (in yo'r release from higher studies) not think a litle peece of time lost, in casting, upon this comedie, yo'r smile, and upon him, that (in all dutie) submits it to yo'r generous acceptaunce, your noble favo'r, as upon one that shall still rejoyce to be esteemed your commaunded beades-man ralph crane. novemb. 27. 1625. p. 281, omitted in c. also omitted in a save the title, the humourous lieutenant. l. 34. b _misprints_] evanthe. p. 282, l. 2. c] 2 gent. ushers, & servants with. l. 3. c _omits_] quick. l. 6. c] 'pray ye tell. l. 7. c] mornings. l. 8. c _omits_] lord. c] you should live. l. 11. c] are off the. a] are of the. l. 12. _omitted in_ c. l. 13. c _adds_] (make all things perfect) would you have theis ladies, they that come here to see the show, theis beuties (enter 2. or that have byn labouring to sett-off their sweetnes, (3. ladies and washed, and curld; perfum'd, and taken glisters, for feare a flaw of wind might over-take 'em, loose theis, and all theire expectations? l. 19. c] eie. l. 20. c] and where. l. 22. c] shall survey their. l. 26. c] enter divers cittizens, & their wives. ll. 28 and 29. c _gives these 2 ll. simply to_ citt. l. 36. _omitted in_ c. a] was as like. p. 283, ll. 1 and 2. _omitted in_ c. l. 6. c] he is. l. 7. _omitted in_ c. l. 9. c] enter celia, (in poore attire). l. 13. c] are lost too. l. 14. c] mine eies. l. 16. c] dores. l. 22. c _omits_] death. l. 24. c _omits_] a devil...mine honestie? _and adds_] cel. i crave your mercy: i meant no such thing to ye: but if ye were a gentleman: 2. alas (poore woman:) 'pray doe not thrust her soe: cel. nay: even continue: and doe not let your office fall (sir) i beseech ye: for want of indiscretion, and ill-manners; you would have made a notable sturdy beadle: 1. she must goe out: cel. i am out already (sir) out of my witts, you say: 'pray heaven it prove not; if this fell ffitt afflict me. l. 29. c] agent for the. l. 32. c] of gentleman and did forgive that hereditary folly belongs to your place: but now, etc. l. 37. c _omits_] one. p. 284, l. 8. c] in gibbitts. l. 9. c] par'lous. l. 14. c] showes are past ye. a] shews are past. l. 18. c] merry, (sir). l. 23. c] you deare (sir). l. 32. c. _gives the first three words to_ 1 ush. l. 33. c] antigonus: and his traine. p. 285, l. 2. c's _stage direction reads_ enter ye embassadors. from seleucus, lysimachus, & ptolomey: l. 7. c] greivances? _and omits_ l. 8. ll. 13 and 14. c _prints_ (not like...open enemie) _after_ ye' have hedg'd in _and omits_ as. l. 17. c] bloody roades. l. 18. c _adds_] 2. emb. we therefore, as yet the ministers of peace, of ffriendship, as yet our masters swords, and angers sleeping, all former injuries forgot, and buried, as yet to stop that swelling tide of blood, (o mightie sir) that when it comes, like tempests broke from the raging north, beates all before 'em. we yet crave restitution of those lands, those citties sackd*, those prisoners, and that prey, the soldiers, by your will, stands master of; thinck, etc. l. 19. b] love great, sir. l. 20. c] you late held. a] hold. l. 31. c _omits stage direction_. l. 32. c _adds_] or war, (though rather i could afford your age, so much discretion to leave off brawling now);* the wars are doubtfull, and on our horsemens staves, death lookes as grimly as on your keene-edgd swords: our darts sure pointed, and from our sinowye bowes, we can raise showres of bloody shaffts, shall hide the face of heaven, and cast as deepe ecclipzes ore the day, and terrible, as yours: our strengthes are equall; our hopes, as high, and wanton: even our _men_ the same in labours, and in sufferance: hunger they dare contemne, as well as yours, and where they find no meate, feed on their angers, march on the edge of danger; rest and sleepe, (the soules of soft, and tender bodies) they shake off, as well as yours: and when tyrde nature locks up their spiritts, yet like stormes, farr off, even in their rest, they raise a warlike murmurr, we come prepard for either. {enter prince demetrius {from hunting: attended {wth yong gentlemen. l. 35. c] trembles. l. 36. c] it's he. p. 286, l. 6. a _gives_ gent _to the end of this line, not to line 5_. l. 11. c] masters lives. l. 18. _a comma has been added at end of line_. l. 25. c] now a god speakes. a] now 'a speakes. l. 35. a and c] at his best. l. 40. c] munition: or must. p. 287, l. 3. c] must they. l. 4. a] same field. l. 6. c] their desires. l. 9. a] mortall thinge. l. 18. c] it's. l. 19. a and c] make. l. 20. c] 'pray _and so throughout_. l. 22. c] 'pray ye. l. 25. c] to 'ye. l. 29. c] 'pre-thee _and so throughout_. l. 37. c _omits_] madam, my service-l. 38. a] and 't. ll. 39 and 40. c _omits_] 2. p. 288, l. 1. a _gives this line to_ cel. l. 6. c] ffare ye well. l. 13. c _omits_] 3. l. 14. c _omits_] yet. l. 18. c] answeares. l. 25. c] 1. emb. l. 31. c _omits_] gentlemen. l. 34. c] beg that. l. 36. c] growne weake, and old. p. 289, l. 1. b] yer. l. 5. c] teach me. l. 11. c] o blesse. l. 22. c _omits_] 2. l. 26. c _omits_] now. l. 29. a] thinkes. l. 36. a and c] a wing. p. 290, l. 6. b] ned. l. 7. c] beleeve't. l. 27. c] a wanton. ll. 28, 29 and 30. c] ant. did not you mark a woman my sonne risse to? gent. i saw her sir ant. doe you know her? gent, noe; beleeve't, sir: ll. 28-36. a] _ant_. she must be known & suddenly; when you have done come in and take your leave sir, and some few prayers along. _ant_. [sic] do ye know her? _gent. char_. no, beleeve sir. _ant_. did you observe her _tymon_? _tym_. i look'd on her, but what she is-_ant_. i must have that found. _tym_. well sir ll. 35 and 36. c] tim. well sir: ant. when you have done come in, and take your leave sir, some fewe praires along.--ext. p. 291. c _omits_ l. 9. l. 11. c] see her. l. 16. c _gives this line to_ leo. l. 21. c] coronall. l. 26. a] th'allarums. c] the allarums of soft vowes, and fightes and fidle-fadles. l. 31. c] enter y'e leiuetenant. l. 35. c] hath serv'd. l. 36. c] and trayld a. l. 37. c] so honorbled. p. 292, l. 18. c] 'not a pangue. l. 20. c] should be all. l. 29. c] that hath. l. 30. c] hath taken. l. 38. c] stay us. p. 293, l. 9. c] noe 'beleeve' sir. l. 18. c _omits_] sir. l. 39. c] unles 'twas. p. 294, l. 4. c] y'ar. l. 38. c _adds stage direction_] droms beate. p. 295, l. 14. c _adds stage direction_] droms agen. l. 16. c _omits stage direction_. l. 18. c] fye on. l. 29. c _adds_] exeunt severally. l. 31. c] and timon. p. 296, ll. 2-4. c _adds_] should never be imploid; how are you certaine she is a stranger? tim. being so yong, and handsome, and not made privy to your graces pleasures for i presume under your gracious favo'r you have not yet (sir.) ant. what (sir?) tim. as they say (sir) made any salley on her, or delighted your roiall body; ant. you prate like a coxcombe. tim. sure i thinck i doe (sir) but (howsoever) i speake with in my compasse; in theis matters that concerne partie, and partie, and no farther, that reach but to the meere instruction and garnishing of youth: ant. you'll hold your prating? tim. i know not: for theis twentie yeares, i am sure on't, (i thinck theis five and twenty) i have serv'd ye, and serv'd ye with as good, and gratious pleasure, like a true subject, ever cautulous that nothing you receivd from me, to sport ye, but should endure all tests, and all translations: i thinck i have don soe: and i thinck i have fitted yee: and if a coxcomb can doe theis things handsomer: ant. wellcom _minippus_. {enter _minippus_. l. 27. c] confident. l. 30. c _gives this line to_ car. l. 31. c] there's, p. 297, l. 1. b] groose. l. 7. c] enter demetrius, and leontius. l. 30. c] i live to know. l. 36. c] sure if. p. 298, l. 4. c] hang out. l. 7. c] as your. l. 8. c] that know. ll. 10 and 11. c _transposes these two_ ll. l. 12. c] hath sent. l. 17. c] i see ye. l. 29. c] 'pray ye doe. l. 35. c] designes it. p. 299, l. 2. c] we are mawld. l. 8. c] so thrashd. l. 11. c] on my...about. l. 14. c] coronall _and so throughout, with variations of spelling_. l. 18. c] over. l. 30. a _by mistake gives this line to_ leo. c. _omits_ l. 31. l. 33. c] in peeces. l. 36. c] he hath. l. 37. c] julipps. l. 38. c _gives this line to_ dem. l. 39. c] noe: noe: hang him. p. 300, l. 5. c] dampnable. l. 13. c _adds_] exit. l. 21. c _omits this line and gives the following line to_ leo. l. 24. c] enter leucippe, and her maides, writing. l. 25. c] mariane. l. 35. c] peevish, very peevish. l. 36. c] and the. p. 301, l. 1. c _adds stage direction_] she turnes over a booke. l. 19. c] those. l. 33. c] the chamber next to th' parck. l. 34. c] 2. maid. l. 35. a and c] bid. l. 37. c] besides, she is. a] beside. l. 39. c _omits one_ thisbee. a _misprints it_ this. p. 302, l. 8. c _omits stage direction_. l. 9. c] follow your. l. 11. _adds stage direction_] she turnes over y'e booke. l. 19. c _omits stage direction_. l. 22. a] and 't. l. 28. c] come heather. l. 33. c] your helpe. l. 38. c _omits stage direction_. l. 39. c] maid. p. 3o3, l. 1. c _for_ phe _reads_ girle. l. 3. c _omits stage direction_. l. 5. c _puts_ i'll...action _in parentheses_. l. 7. c] who's that there? _and omits stage direction._ l. 10. b] menippe. l. 12. c] if you were. l. 14. c] o' th'. l. 32. c] thou wert. p. 304, l. 8. c] will yet work, without barme (boy). l. 12. c] enter antigonus, and a soldier; wth attendants. l. 18. c] 'faith. a] discretion. l. 20. c] and ye leiutenant. l. 22. a] _lord men_. a and b] grace--s. l. 27. c] backs. l. 29. c] by heaven. p. 305, l. 11. a] say truth. l. 25. c] 'chaunce. l. 30. c _omits this line_. l. 35. c] but i. p. 306, l. 5. c] and would. l. 18. c] a joyfull showt. enter gentlemen. l. 19. c] he doth. l. 20. b] top? l. 28. c] gent. l. 34. a and c] for heaven sake. l. 39. c] all take. p. 307, l. 3. c] stood then before. l. 11. c] that ye. l. 14. c] i give. l. 15. c _omits this line_. l. 20. c] if 'twer. l. 22. c] ev'n...ev'n that pure blessing. l. 25. c] still (sir?). l. 28. c] gent. l. 31. c _gives this line to_ gent. l. 35. c] 'mercie upon ye. l. 36. c] ayle ye? 'pray doe. a] ayle ye...'death. l. 40. c] did ye. p. 308, ll. 1 and 2. c] 'beate...'beate. l. 3. a and c] has. l. 9. c] strake. l. 10. c] dost not thou. l. 12. c _gives this line to_ leo. _and the next only to_ dem. l. 17. c] 'has beat. a] h'as. l. 19. c _omits this line_. l. 35. c] now ye. p. 309, l. 12. c] where 't please you, as ye march. l. 15. c] and there. l. 28. c] a goodly company. l. 34. c] your musty whore; you rogue. p. 310, l. 1. c] by this good light i'll. l. 2. c] 'strange. l. 3. c] have that. l. 5. c] out upon thee. l. 16. c] and hostisse. l. 27. c] there is. l. 32. c] blesse him. l. 38. c] o'th'. p. 311, l. 8. c] heaven knowes, the. l. 21. c] minippus _and so throughout_. l. 34. c] an hundred. l. 37. c _omits_] on. p. 312, l. 13. c] her be more. l. 17. c] and hostesse _and so throughout_. l. 18. c] from whence. l. 21. c] you knew. l. 27. c] doth it. p. 313, l. 1. c] a trap. l. 3. c] how i begin to sweatt now? l. 7. c] out upon it. l. 8. c] 'twas. ll. 26-28 _are not in_ c. l. 29. c] i dare not cursse him? ll. 31-34 _are not in_ c. l. 37. c] in the' ie (lady). l. 40 _is not in_ c. p. 314, l. 1 _is not in_ c. l. 14. c] beshrew thy hart, why. ll. 18 and 19. c] his angry will, if ere he come to know this as he shall. l. 21. c] too sencibly. ll. 22 and 23. c] no stale stuff, for your money-marts; that sent it? who dares...dar'st. l. 34. c] how doth he? l. 35. c] oh, my head: my head. p. 315, l. 1. a] did a'. l. 21 _is not in_ c, _but see below_. l. 23. c] hos. you'll find i said soe: i say it must be: the more my greif (heaven knowes) i hope etc. l. 25. c] art' sure. l. 27. c] (she is mightie crafty. a] peilous crafty. l. 33. c] whilst the. p. 316, l. 3. c] (now the devill's in her) he's etc. l. 13. c] leontius running after him: drums within. l. 23. a and c] doe but make. l. 28. c] 'faith. l. 31. c] art' not thou he? l. 37. c] ye' have found the cause on't. p. 317, l. 8. b] so see. l. 9. c] thou fight no more. l. 10. c] in the. l. 11. c] nere. l. 19. c] heaven deliver me. l. 11. c] sirha. l. 24. c] provocatives. l. 30. c] a' devill. l. 31. c] provoake ye. l. 36. c] mary' that. l. 37. c] enter gentlemen. l. 39. c] hath 'hedgd. a] has. p. 318, l. 3. c] he hath. l. 4. c _omits_] sir. l. 11. c] help. l. 23. c _omits_] 2. l. 25. c _adds another_] quickly. l. 26. c] run...thicke. c _gives this line to_ lieu. _and the next to_ leo. l. 31. c] i'll bate thee one: goe winck, and fight: for shame. l. 38. c] a tird girole. l. 39. c _omits_] 2. p. 319, l. 1. c] why that, (sir) that: doe. l. 2. c _omits_] 2. ll. 10 and 11. c] i thanck thee: a] god a mercy, i thanck thee, with. god a mercy with. l. 17. c] argument: a toy: l. 18. c _omits this line_. l. 21. c] i'll nere. l. 23. c] fit ye. l. 24. c] upon's. l. 25. c] who doth best: (boyes.) p. 320, l. 1. c] how doth she her coming? l. 11. c] she hath. l. 14. c] she hath...they fitt. l. 17. c] and others. l. 18. a _omits_] _ant_. l. 21. a] sung to it. l. 22. c] eies (by heaven) they kill on. l. 33. c] 'pray ye where's. l. 37. c] there was. p. 321, l. 16. c] ladies. l. 17. c] not trouble ye. l. 20. a and c] of such. l. 28. c] on my. p. 322, l. 12. c _omits_] now. l. 25. c] gentlemen. l. 26. c] sure i. l. 33. c] and of a. p. 323, l. 2. c] and gentlemen. l. 19. c] a flotten. ll. 24-26 _are omitted in_ c. l. 34. c _omits_] 'life. p. 324, l. 9. c _adds a fourth_ ha. l. 12. c _omits_] 2. l. 15. c _gives this line to_ 1 phis _and the next to_ 2 phis. l. 21. c] did not i. l. 23. c] he's. l. 34. c] and other gentlemen. p. 325, l. 3. c] our watches. l. 5. c] 'faith. l. 8. c] yet: i see he. l. 9. c _omits_] too. l. 11. c] beleeve'. l. 18. c] such a hell...rise to. l. 22. c] he's fairly. l. 24. a and c] doctor. l. 26. c _omits_] 2. l. 31. c _omits stage direction_. l. 36. c _adds stage direction_] he drinks. 2. kans. p. 326, l. 3. b _misprints_] remembrace. l. 7. c] will performd. l. 9. c] wine begins to tickle. l. 12. c] a drom beates. l. 13. c] one sung. l. 15. c] song? l. 18. c _omits_] 2. ll. 20 and 21. a] dare ye...dare ye. l. 25. c] 'bove. l. 28. c _gives this line to_ dem. _ending with_ sore? _and adds_ 'tis true (sir) _to the beginning of_ phis. l. 34. c] phis. i know he's weake: but yet his hart's whole. p. 327, l. 2. c _gives this line to_ dem. l. 6. c] how the. l. 8. c _omits_] away, away, away. l. 10. c] and soldiers. l. 24. c _adds_] alarum within. l. 31. c] who charges. p. 328, l. 2. c] here five. l. 5. a and c] a-peeces. l. 11. c] did i not. l. 12. c _adds_] exeunt. ll. 13 and 14. c] enter ye leiutenant...driving soldier before him. l. 15. c] coxcomb. l. 23. c _omits_] and...gentlemen. l. 25. c] men. l. 29. c] he's hurt shrewdly. l. 30. c] these. p. 329, l. 2. c _omits_] 2. l. 6. c _adds_] ext. l. 9. c] yet: come leontius let's now up to theis conquerors: they are our owne. l. 17. c _adds_] say: a trompet: _the stage direction_ enter a trompet and a harrold _is 2 or 3 lines higher in_ c. l. 25. c] enter seleucus lismachus and ptolomey. l. 29. c] honours. l. 34. c] dem. that will not doe it. l. 35. c _has_ leontius _at the end, not the beginning, of the line._ p. 330, l. 3. a] such prizes. l. 5. c] to doe. l. 14. c] mans. l. 16. c] easie price. l. 31. c] our comfort. p. 331, l. 29. c] by heaven it. l. 31. c] lis. ptol. l. 32. c _omits this line and the stage direction on the following line_. l. 36. c _omits this line and adds_ exet. p. 332, l. 5. a] and yet when she is as free, and when she is courted. c] and yet she is, as free, and when she is courted. l. 19. c _omits_] or lords. ll. 22 and 23. c gives these two lines to_ 1. gent. l. 25. c] and those. l. 27. c] never see so...frozen. l. 34. c] sings daintely. l. 37. a] th' matter. p. 333, l. 5. c] enter celia wth ladies. l. 10. c] loves as lay's. l. 15. c] state. l. 16. c] nowhether. l. 21. c] no mortall. l. 27. c] 'send. l. 28. a and c] hand. l. 30. a and c] that: that. p. 334 l. 16. c] be to an. l. 17. a and c] slubbers. l. 26. c] nothing els to. p. 335, l. 16. c] hath suckd. l. 29. c] so light. l. 39. c] 'pree-thee...doth the. l. 40. c] he doth. p. 336, l. 7. c] 'may. l. 8. c] i have soe (lady). l. 17. c] be thine. l. 18. c] the flames. l. 36. c] enter demetrius: leontius: gent: soldiers: ye host (talking wth demetrious). p. 337, l. 1. a and c] on ye. l. 9. c _gives_ exeunt _as the sole stage direction_. l. 18. c] there is. l. 19. c] leontius, etc. l. 23. c] hath. l. 26. c] 'faith sir. l. 30. c] he hath. l. 39. c] bore ye. a] bare me. p. 338, l. 21. a and c] a sorcerer. l. 23. c] which hath. l. 26. a _by mistake omits_ dem. _and reads_ in heaven. l. 37. a] and doe believe. p. 339, l. 3. c] shew'd. l. 5. c] upon her. l. 26. c _omits_] and gent. l. 30. c] wayt you. l. 33. c] your highnes. p. 340, l. 8. c] discontent: will speake. l. 9. c _omits_] 2 gent. c] hath taken. a] has. l. 17. c] she's not. l. 22. c] hath now. l. 24. c] none come. l. 30. c] thy life. l. 34. c] but drip...snow doth. p. 341, l. 4. a and c] and there. l. 6. c] in now. l. 16. c] yet you. l. 31. c] reneage els. a] the coole: he will revenge els. l. 36. a] i swore i. p. 342, l. 1. c] enter a magitian wth a bowle in his hand. l. 3. a and c] powders. a _gives this line to_ mag. l. 8. c] never. l. 10. c _omits_] exit. l. 12. c's _stage direction runs_: he seems to conjure: sweett musick is heard, and an antick of litle fayeries enter and dance about ye bowle and fling in things, and ext. c _omits the song and the answer_. l. 16. a] loose. ll. 19 and 20. _a comma and a full stop have been transposed after_ spell _and_ desires. l. 28. a] view e're day. l. 30. a] and one. p. 343, l. 14. c _omits this line_. l. 17. a _prefaces with_ lew (_char_.), l. 22. c _omits_] art. l. 24. _omitted from_ b _in error_. l. 25. c] gent. and leiutenant. l. 38. c] has given. l.33. a _gives this line to_ leo. p. 344, l. 1. c] ffortifications. l. 5. c _omits_] away. l. 12. c] beware he's. a _gives this line to_ leo. l. 14. a _gives this line to_ lieut. l. 17. c _omits_] him. l. 18. c _omits stage direction_. l. 20. c] doesoe: l. 21. c] doe if ye. l. 24. c _omits stage direction_. l. 34. c] owne, boy. l. 35. c] w'th a. l. 39. c _adds stage direction_] he swounds. p. 345, l. 2. c] exit dem. l. 4. c _omits_] with a bowl. l. 5. c _gives this line to_ leo. _and reads_] alas, he's. c _omits_] 2. l. 10. a and c] waters. l. 11. c _gives this line to_ leo. l. 13. a _gives this line to_ 2 gent. l. 14. c _omits_] 2. l. 15. c _gives this line to_ gent. l. 22. c _omits_] 2. l. 26. c] won the. ll. 30 and 31. c] gent. well sir--ex't.--enter leucippe. l. 36. c] in the. p. 346, l. 1. c] after that. l. 5. c] has. a] 'has. l. 13. c _omits_] ex. l. 18. c] that rais'd it. l. 26. c] o' th' crimes. l. 32. c] theis thirty...upwards. a] these. l. 33. c] from it. l. 36. c] shame light on him...greive hartely. p. 347, l. 5. c] for heaven-sake tell...in it. l. 13. c] fye on't, it doth. l. 17. a] for a fit. l. 33. c] on my. p. 348, l. 2. c] and of. l. 4. c] i will, by heaven. l. 8. c] a hart-sore. l. 9. c] even. l. 11. c] be sorer. l. 12. c] enter gent. l. 16. c] and wrings, and. l. 17. c _omits_] 2. l. 27. c] with't. l. 28. c] as they. l. 31. c] ends. ll. 35 and 38. c _omits_] 2. l. 36. a] fooles. l. 38. c] 'twill passe. p. 349, l. 4. a and c] king's-streete. l. 8. c] with 'king. l. 11. a and c] mary-bones. l. 13. c] vouchsaffe a wight thy. l. 14. c] this ffellow. l. 15. b] king. l. 16. c] ffooteman. l. 19. c] 2. gent. l. 21. c] act this. l. 22. c] 1. gent, will sigh...and cry. l. 25. c] jigg. l. 27. c _omits_] 2. l. 28. a and c] to him? for half an howre i. p. 350, l. 11. c] maidenhood. l. 12. c] gods blesse. l. 15. c _adds_] in her hand. l. 19. c _omits stage direction_. l. 24. c] potion? his eies affright me. l. 36. c] hath your. p. 351, l. 4. c] their doatings. l. 5. c] his braines. c _omits_] 'em. l. 10. c] this works. l. 13. c] lust. l. 21. b _misprints_] gorious. l. 25. c] admire for goodnes. l. 33. c] infants cries: your sin's in. l. 36. c _omits_] can. p. 352, l. 2. c] death sitts upon our blood. l. 4. c] snake) curld. l. 5. c] will not you. l. 16. c] those. l. 24. c _omits_] severally. l. 26. c] leiutenant, and gent. a _omits_] and. l. 30. a] it serves so. l. 38. c] oh sweet king. p. 353, ll. 1 and 2. c] leo. by thy leave: leiu. when _i_ consider (my honest ffrend etc. l. 7. c] a scurvy. l. 11. c] for your...sirha. l. 18. c _omits_] 2. l. 19. c _adds at end of line_] (gent.) l. 23. c] are melted. l. 27. c] bid me. l. 28. c] he is. l. 32. c _omits_] 2. c _omits_] severally. l. 33. c _begins_ actus quintus: sce'a. pri'a. _here_. l. 34. c] minippus: gent. l. 35. c] gent. _and so throughout_. l. 37. a] wronged his. p. 354, l. 5. c] attendants. l. 11. c] in vow. l. 15. c] sce'a. 2'a. l. 17. c] there is...lights. a] lights. l. 25. c] enter celia minippus etc. l. 32. c] gent. p. 355, l. 5. c] doe not know me. l. 17. c] min. c _omits_] me. etc. l. 22. a] the corke. a and c] will come. l. 31. b _misprints_] leu. l. 39. c _omits_] gallant. p. 356, l. 10. a] and one command. l. 16. a and c] him, to dye. l. 17. a] in me nature. l. 36. c] by heaven. p. 357, l. 6. b] know. l. 15. c] prove to. l. 21. c] turnd black. l. 29. c] but ffalsehood, and loose. a] but imperious lust, and losers faces. l. 39. a and c] circes. p. 358, l. 12. c] thousand waies. l. 18. c] thy devills. l. 34. c] thy muddy. l. 40. a] back thoughts. p. 359, l. 3. c] mine. l. 11. c] and in. l. 18. c _omits_] and lords. l. 21. a] heavens. p. 360, l. 4. b] best. l. 8. c] begin. l. 12. c] sce'a. 3'a. l. 14. c] he doth. l. 19. c] heaven-sake. l. 30. a] i most confesse. l. 32. c] now (and with. p. 361, l. 12. c] followes. l. 36. c] all these. p. 362, l. 2. c] you should. l. 6. c] sce'a. 4'a. enter antigonus: gent. leiueten't, etc. l. 9. c _omits_] 2. l. 13. c] drunck. l. 18. c] gent. has. a] 'has. l. 26. c] owes yet. l. 33. a and c] i pree-thee. l. 36. c] why i thanck thee (soldier). p. 363, l. 5. c] nor i hope i. l. 8. c] towards. l. 9. c] i thanck thee still. l. 18. c _omits_] ha, ha, ha. l. 23. c _omits_] 2. l. 24. a] has. l. 27. a] rosten hawkes. l. 38. c] while. p. 364, l. 1. c] sce'a. 5'a. l. 9. c] can i. l. 26. b _misprints_] not not. l. 28. c] y' have don. l. 34. b] admit to excuse. p. 365, l. 5. b _misprints_] thing. l. 13. c] yes' faith. l. 31. c] are drop'd. l. 34. a] poisoned truth. p. 366, l. 1. c] he has. l. 5. c] any hope. l. 15. c] god's. l. 21. c] left open. ll. 27 and 28. c _transposes these two_ ll. l. 32. c] sce'a. 6'a. enter antigonus: seleuchus, ptolomy. lisimachus: gent. leiueten't. etc. p. 367, l. 3. c] once againe. l. 21. c] old valiant soldier. l. 22. c] are all wellcom. l. 23. c] (and't please your grace) is cassheird. l. 27. c] any peace. l. 29. c] 'faith. l. 34. c] 'beseech. p. 368, l. 5. c] sce'a. 7'a. l. 13. c] that be. l. 24. a and c] your ultra. ll. 27 and 28. c] enter antigonus seluchus lysimachus ptolomy leontus leiuten't. etc. l. 28. a _omits_] and. l. 36. c] 'pray a. p. 369, l. 2. c] antiochus. l. 10. c _omits_] have. l. 12. c _omits_] princes. b _misprints_] prnices. l. 17. c _gives this line to_ sel. l. 35. a] cel. l. 40. c] i once more next [_instead of_ beg it thus]. p. 370, l. 9. c] sound. l. 10. c] beat through. l. 16. c _adds_] finis. c _omits_] prologue and epilogue. p. 371, l. 1. a] and those. l. 6. a _omits_] spoke by the _lieutenant_. l. 13. a] comes. the faithful shepherdess. (a) the | faithfull | shepherdesse. | by john fletcher. | printed at london for r. bonian | and h. walley, and are to be sold at | the spred eagle over against the | great north dore of s. paules. undated, but probably 1609-10. (b) the same, with slight differences in the commendatory verses and in one or two other sheets. (c) the | faithfull | shepherdesse. | by john fletcher. | the second edition, newly corrected. | london, | printed by t.c. for richard meighen, | in s't dunstanes church-yard in fleet-streete, | 1629. (d) the | faithfull | shepherdesse. | acted at somerset | house before the king and | queene on twelfe night | last, 1633. | and divers times since with great ap| plause at the private house in blacke| friers, by his majesties servants. | written by john fletcher. | the third edition, with addition. | london, | printed by a.m. for richard meighen, next | to the middle temple in fleet| street. 1634. (e) the | faithfull | shepherdesse. | acted at somerset | house before the king and | queen on twelf night | last, 1633. | and divers times since, with great ap| plause, at the private house in black| friers, by his majesties servants. | written by john fletcher. | the fourth edition. | london, | printed for ga. bedell and tho. collins, at the middle | temple gate in fleet-street. 1656. (f) the | faithfull | shepherdesse. | acted at | somerset-house, | before the king and queen on | twelfth night, 1633. | and divers times since, with great | applause, at the private house in | black-friers, by his majesties | servants. | written by john fletcher. | the fifth edition. | london, | printed for g. bedell and t. collins, at the middle | templegate in fleet-street, 1665. the verso of the title-page bears the date march 3, 1664/5. licensed, roger l'estrange. as neither the second folio nor the quartos print any list of the characters it may be as well to give one here. perigot. old shepherd. thenot. priest of pan. daphnis. god of the river. alexis. satyr. sullen shepherd. shepherds. proofreaders philaster: or, love lies a bleeding. francis beaumont and john fletcher * * * * * _the scene being in_ cicilie. * * * * * persons represented in the play. _the_ king. philaster, _heir to the crown_. pharamond, _prince of_ spain. dion, _a lord_. cleremont } _noble gentlemen his_ thrasiline } _associates_. arethusa, _the king's daughter_. galatea, _a wise modest lady attending the princess_. megra, _a lascivious lady_. _an old wanton lady, or croan_. _another lady attending the princess_. eufrasia, _daughter of dion, but disguised like a page, and called bellario_. _an old captain_. _five citizens_. _a countrey fellow_. _two woodmen_. _the kings guard and train_. * * * * * actus primus. scena prima. _enter dion, cleremont, _and_ thrasiline. _cler_. here's not lords nor ladies. _dion_. credit me gentlemen, i wonder at it. they receiv'd strict charge from the king to attend here: besides it was boldly published, that no officer should forbid any gentlemen that desire to attend and hear. _cle_. can you guess the cause? _di_. sir, it is plain about the _spanish_ prince, that's come to marry our kingdoms heir, and be our soveraign. _thra_. many (that will seem to know much) say, she looks not on him like a maid in love. _di_. o sir, the multitude (that seldom know any thing but their own opinions) speak that they would have; but the prince, before his own approach, receiv'd so many confident messages from the state, that i think she's resolv'd to be rul'd. _cle_. sir, it is thought, with her he shall enjoy both these kingdoms of _cicilie_ and _calabria_. _di_. sir, it is (without controversie) so meant. but 'twill be a troublesome labour for him to enjoy both these kingdoms, with safetie, the right heir to one of them living, and living so vertuously, especially the people admiring the bravery of his mind, and lamenting his injuries. _cle_. who, philaster? _di_. yes, whose father we all know, was by our late king of _calabria_, unrighteously deposed from his fruitful _cicilie_. my self drew some blood in those wars, which i would give my hand to be washed from. _cle_. sir, my ignorance in state-policy, will not let me know why _philaster_ being heir to one of these kingdoms, the king should suffer him to walk abroad with such free liberty. _di_. sir, it seems your nature is more constant than to enquire after state news. but the king (of late) made a hazard of both the kingdoms, of _cicilie_ and his own, with offering but to imprison _philaster_. at which the city was in arms, not to be charm'd down by any state-order or proclamation, till they saw _philaster_ ride through the streets pleas'd, and without a guard; at which they threw their hats, and their arms from them; some to make bonefires, some to drink, all for his deliverance. which (wise men say) is the cause, the king labours to bring in the power of a foreign nation to aw his own with. [ _enter_ galatea, megra, _and a lady_. _thra_. see, the ladies, what's the first? _di_. a wise and modest gentlwoman that attends the princess. _cle_. the second? _di_. she is one that may stand still discreetly enough, and ill favour'dly dance her measure; simper when she is courted by her friend, and slight her husband. _cle_. the last? _di_. marry i think she is one whom the state keeps for the agents of our confederate princes: she'll cog and lie with a whole army before the league shall break: her name is common through the kingdom, and the trophies of her dishonour, advanced beyond _hercules_-pillars. she loves to try the several constitutions of mens bodies; and indeed has destroyed the worth of her own body, by making experiment upon it, for the good of the common-wealth. _cle_. she's a profitable member. _la_. peace, if you love me: you shall see these gentlemen stand their ground, and not court us. _gal_. what if they should? _meg_. what if they should? _la_. nay, let her alone; what if they should? why, if they should, i say, they were never abroad: what foreigner would do so? it writes them directly untravel'd. _gal_. why, what if they be? _meg_. what if they be? _la_. good madam let her go on; what if they be? why if they be i will justifie, they cannot maintain discourse with a judicious lady, nor make a leg, nor say excuse me. _gal_. ha, ha, ha. _la_. do you laugh madam? _di_. your desires upon you ladies. _la_. then you must sit beside us. _di_. i shall sit near you then lady. _la_. near me perhaps: but there's a lady indures no stranger; and to me you appear a very strange fellow. _meg_. me thinks he's not so strange, he would quickly be acquainted. _thra_. peace, the king. [ _enter_ king, pharamond, arethusa, _and train_. _king_. to give a stronger testimony of love than sickly promises (which commonly in princes find both birth and burial in one breath) we have drawn you worthy sir, to make your fair indearments to [our] daughter, and worthy services known to our subjects, now lov'd and wondered at. next, our intent, to plant you deeply, our immediate heir, both to our blood and kingdoms. for this lady, (the best part of your life, as you confirm me, and i believe) though her few years and sex yet teach her nothing but her fears and blushes, desires without desire, discourse and knowledge only of what her self is to her self, make her feel moderate health: and when she sleeps, in making no ill day, knows no ill dreams. think not (dear sir) these undivided parts, that must mould up a virgin, are put on to shew her so, as borrowed ornaments, to speak her perfect love to you, or add an artificial shadow to her nature: no sir; i boldly dare proclaim her, yet no woman. but woo her still, and think her modesty a sweeter mistress than the offer'd language of any dame, were she a queen whose eye speaks common loves and comforts to her servants. last, noble son, (for so i now must call you) what i have done thus publick, is not only to add a comfort in particular to you or me, but all; and to confirm the nobles, and the gentry of these kingdoms, by oath to your succession, which shall be within this month at most. _thra_. this will be hardly done. _cle_. it must be ill done, if it be done. _di_. when 'tis at best, 'twill be but half done, whilst so brave a gentleman's wrong'd and flung off. _thra_. i fear. _cle_. who does not? _di_. i fear not for my self, and yet i fear too: well, we shall see, we shall see: no more. _pha_. kissing your white hand (mistress) i take leave, to thank your royal father: and thus far, to be my own free trumpet. understand great king, and these your subjects, mine that must be, (for so deserving you have spoke me sir, and so deserving i dare speak my self) to what a person, of what eminence, ripe expectation of what faculties, manners and vertues you would wed your kingdoms? you in me have your wishes. oh this country, by more than all my hopes i hold it happy, in their dear memories that have been kings great and good, happy in yours, that is, and from you (as a chronicle to keep your noble name from eating age) do i opine myself most happy. gentlemen, believe me in a word, a princes word, there shall be nothing to make up a kingdom mighty, and flourishing, defenced, fear'd, equall to be commanded and obey'd, but through the travels of my life i'le find it, and tye it to this country. and i vow my reign shall be so easie to the subject, that every man shall be his prince himself, and his own law (yet i his prince and law.) and dearest lady, to your dearest self (dear, in the choice of him, whose name and lustre must make you more and mightier) let me say, you are the blessed'st living; for sweet princess, you shall enjoy a man of men, to be your servant; you shall make him yours, for whom great queens must die. _thra_. miraculous. _cle_. this speech calls him _spaniard_, being nothing but a large inventory of his own commendations. [_enter_ philaster. _di_. i wonder what's his price? for certainly he'll tell himself he has so prais'd his shape: but here comes one more worthy those large speeches, than the large speaker of them? let me be swallowed quick, if i can find, in all the anatomy of yon mans vertues, one sinew sound enough to promise for him, he shall be constable. by this sun, he'll ne're make king unless it be for trifles, in my poor judgment. _phi_. right noble sir, as low as my obedience, and with a heart as loyal as my knee, i beg your favour. _king_. rise, you have it sir. _di_. mark but the king how pale he looks with fear. oh! this same whorson conscience, how it jades us! _king_. speak your intents sir. _phi_. shall i speak 'um freely? be still my royal soveraign. _king_. as a subject we give you freedom. _di_. now it heats. _phi_. then thus i turn my language to you prince, you foreign man. ne're stare nor put on wonder, for you must indure me, and you shall. this earth you tread upon (a dowry as you hope with this fair princess, whose memory i bow to) was not left by my dead father (oh, i had a father) to your inheritance, and i up and living, having my self about me and my sword, the souls of all my name, and memories, these arms and some few friends, besides the gods, to part so calmly with it, and sit still, and say i might have been! i tell thee _pharamond_, when thou art king, look i be dead and rotten, and my name ashes; for, hear me _pharamond_, this very ground thou goest on, this fat earth, my fathers friends made fertile with their faiths, before that day of shame, shall gape and swallow thee and thy nation, like a hungry grave, into her hidden bowels: prince, it shall; by _nemesis_ it shall. _pha_. he's mad beyond cure, mad. _di_. here's a fellow has some fire in's veins: the outlandish prince looks like a tooth-drawer. _phi_. sir, prince of poppingjayes, i'le make it well appear to you i am not mad. _king_. you displease us. you are too bold. _phi_. no sir, i am too tame, too much a turtle, a thing born without passion, a faint shadow, that every drunken cloud sails over, and makes nothing. _king_. i do not fancy this, call our physicians: sure he is somewhat tainted. _thra_. i do not think 'twill prove so. _di_. h'as given him a general purge already, for all the right he has, and now he means to let him blood: be constant gentlemen; by these hilts i'le run his hazard, although i run my name out of the kingdom. _cle_. peace, we are one soul. _pha_. what you have seen in me, to stir offence, i cannot find, unless it be this lady offer'd into mine arms, with the succession, which i must keep though it hath pleas'd your fury to mutiny within you; without disputing your _genealogies_, or taking knowledge 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 sun shine upon any but thine: were _pharamond_ as truly valiant, as i feel him cold, and ring'd among the choicest of his friends, such as would blush to talk such serious follies, or back such bellied commendations, and from this present, spight of all these bugs, you should hear further from me. _king_. sir, you wrong the prince: i gave you not this freedom to brave our best friends, you deserve our frown: go to, be better temper'd. _phi_. it must be sir, when i am nobler us'd. _gal_. ladyes, this would have been a pattern of succession, had he ne're met this mischief. by my life, he is the worthiest the true name of man this day within my knowledge. _meg_. i cannot tell what you may call your knowledge, but the other is the man set in mine eye; oh! 'tis a prince of wax. _gal_. a dog it is. _king_. _philaster_, tell me, the injuries you aim at in your riddles. _phi_. if you had my eyes sir, and sufferance, my griefs upon you and my broken fortunes, my want's great, and now nought but hopes and fears, my wrongs would make ill riddles to be laught at. dare you be still my king and right me not? _king_. give me your wrongs in private. [_they whisper_. _phi_. take them, and ease me of a load would bow strong atlas. _di_. he dares not stand the shock. _di_. i cannot blame, him, there's danger in't. every man in this age, has not a soul of crystal for all men to read their actions through: mens hearts and faces are so far asunder, that they hold no intelligence. do but view yon stranger well, and you shall see a feaver through all his bravery, and feel him shake like a true tenant; if he give not back his crown again, upon the report of an elder gun, i have no augury. _king_. go to: be more your self, as you respect our favour: you'i stir us else: sir, i must have you know that y'are and shall be at our pleasure, what fashion we will put upon you: smooth your brow, or by the gods. _phi_. i am dead sir, y'are my fate: it was not i said i was not wrong'd: i carry all about me, my weak stars led me to all my weak fortunes. who dares in all this presence speak (that is but man of flesh and may be mortal) tell me i do not most intirely love this prince, and honour his full vertues! _king_. sure he's possest. _phi_. yes, with my fathers spirit; it's here o king! a dangerous spirit; now he tells me king, i was a kings heir, bids me be a king, and whispers to me, these be all my subjects. 'tis strange, he will not let me sleep, but dives into my fancy, and there gives me shapes that kneel, and do me service, cry me king: but i'le suppress him, he's a factious spirit, and will undo me: noble sir, [your] hand, i am your servant. _king_. away, i do not like this: i'le make you tamer, or i'le dispossess you both of life and spirit: for this time i pardon your wild speech, without so much as your imprisonment. [_ex_. king, pha. _and_ are. _di_. i thank you sir, you dare not for the people. _gal_. ladies, what think you now of this brave fellow? _meg_. a pretty talking fellow, hot at hand; but eye yon stranger, is not he a fine compleat gentleman? o these strangers, i do affect them strangely: they do the rarest home things, and please the fullest! as i live, could love all the nation over and over for his sake. _gal_. pride comfort your poor head-piece lady: 'tis a weak one, and had need of a night-cap. _di_. see how his fancy labours, has he not spoke home, and bravely? what a dangerous train did he give fire to! how he shook the king, made his soul melt within him, and his blood run into whay! it stood upon his brow, like a cold winter dew. _phi_. gentlemen, you have no suit to me? i am no minion: you stand (methinks) like men that would be courtiers, if you could well be fiatter'd at a price, not to undo your children: y'are all honest: go get you home again, and make your country a vertuous court, to which your great ones may, in their diseased age, retire, and live recluse. _cle_. how do you worthy sir? _phi_. well, very well; and so well, that if the king please, i find i may live many years. _di_. the king must please, whilst we know what you are, and who you are, your wrongs and [injuries]: shrink not, worthy sir, but add your father to you: in whose name, we'll waken all the gods, and conjure up the rods of vengeance, the abused people, who like to raging torrents shall swell high, and so begirt the dens of these male-dragons, that through the strongest safety, they shall beg for mercy at your swords point. _phi_. friends, no more, our years may he corrupted: 'tis an age we dare not trust our wills to: do you love me? _thra_. do we love heaven and honour? _phi_. my lord _dion_, you had a vertuous gentlewoman call'd you father; is she yet alive? _di_. most honour'd sir, she is: and for the penance but of an idle dream, has undertook a tedious pilgrimage. [ _enter a_ lady. _phi_. is it to me, or any of these gentlemen you come? _la_. to you, brave lord; the princess would intreat your present company. _phi_. the princess send for me! y'are mistaken. _la_. if you be call'd _philaster_, 'tis to you. _phi_. kiss her hand, and say i will attend her. _di_. do you know what you do? _phi_. yes, go to see a woman. _cle_. but do you weigh the danger you are in? _phi_. danger in a sweet face? by _jupiter_ i must not fear a woman. _thra_. but are you sure it was the princess sent? it may be some foul train to catch your life. _phi_. i do not think it gentlemen: she's noble, her eye may shoot me dead, or those true red and white friends in her face may steal my soul out: there's all the danger in't: but be what may, her single name hath arm'd me. [_ex_. phil. _di_. go on: and be as truly happy as thou art fearless: come gentlemen, let's make our friends acquainted, lest the king prove false. [_ex. gentlemen_. _enter_ arethusa _and a_ lady. _are_. comes he not? _la_. madam? _are_. will _philaster_ come? _la_. dear madam, you were wont to credit me at first. _are_. but didst thou tell me so? i am forgetful, and my womans strength is so o'recharg'd with danger like to grow about my marriage that these under-things dare not abide in such a troubled sea: how look't he, when he told thee he would come? _la_. why, well. _are_. and not a little fearful? _la_. fear madam? sure he knows not what it is. _are_. you are all of his faction; the whole court is bold in praise of him, whilst i may live neglected: and do noble things, as fools in strife throw gold into the sea, drown'd in the doing: but i know he fears. _la_. fear? madam (me thought) his looks hid more of love than fear. _are_. of love? to whom? to you? did you deliver those plain words i sent, with such a winning gesture, and quick look that you have caught him? _la_. madam, i mean to you. _are_. of love to me? alas! thy ignorance lets thee not see the crosses of our births: nature, that loves not to be questioned why she did this, or that, but has her ends, and knows she does well; never gave the world two things so opposite, so contrary, as he and i am: if a bowl of blood drawn from this arm of mine, would poyson thee, a draught of his would cure thee. of love to me? _la_. madam, i think i hear him. _are_. bring him in: you gods that would not have your dooms withstood, whose holy wisdoms at this time it is, to make the passion of a feeble maid the way unto your justice, i obey. [ _enter_ phil. _la_. here is my lord _philaster_. _are_. oh! 'tis well: withdraw your self. _phi_. madam, your messenger made me believe, you wisht to speak with me. _are_. 'tis true _philaster,_ but the words are such, i have to say, and do so ill beseem the mouth of woman, that i wish them said, and yet am loth to speak them. have you known that i have ought detracted from your worth? have i in person wrong'd you? or have set my baser instruments to throw disgrace upon your vertues? _phi_. never madam you. _are_. why then should you in such a publick place, injure a princess and a scandal lay upon my fortunes, fam'd to be so great: calling a great part of my dowry in question. _phi_. madam, this truth which i shall speak, will be foolish: but for your fair and vertuous self, i could afford my self to have no right to any thing you wish'd. _are. philaster,_ know i must enjoy these kingdoms. _phi_. madam, both? _are_. both or i die: by fate i die _philaster,_ if i not calmly may enjoy them both. _phi_. i would do much to save that noble life: yet would be loth to have posterity find in our stories, that _philaster_ gave his right unto a scepter, and a crown, to save a ladies longing. _are_. nay then hear: i must, and will have them, and more. _phi_. what more? _are_. or lose that little life the gods prepared, to trouble this poor piece of earth withall. _phi_. madam, what more? _are_. turn then away thy face. _phi_. no. _are_. do. _phi_. i cannot endure it: turn away my face? i never yet saw enemy that lookt so dreadful, but that i thought my self as great a basilisk as he; or spake so horribly, but that i thought my tongue bore thunder underneath, as much as his: nor beast that i could turn from: shall i then begin to fear sweet sounds? a ladies voice, whom i do love? say you would have my life, why, i will give it you; for it is of me a thing so loath'd, and unto you that ask of so poor use, that i shall make no price if you intreat, i will unmov'dly hear. _are_. yet for my sake a little bend thy looks. _phi_. i do. _are_. then know i must have them and thee. _phi_. and me? _are_. thy love: without which, all the land discovered yet, will serve me for no use, but to be buried in. _phi_. is't possible? _are_. with it, it were too little to bestow on thee: now, though thy breath doth strike me dead (which know it may) i have unript my breast. _phi_. madam, you are too full of noble thoughts, to lay a train for this contemned life, which you may have for asking: to suspect were base, where i deserve no ill: love you! by all my hopes i do, above my life: but how this passion should proceed from you so violently, would amaze a man, that would be jealous. _are_. another soul into my body shot, could not have fill'd me with more strength and spirit, than this thy breath: but spend not hasty time, in seeking how i came thus: 'tis the gods, the gods, that make me so; and sure our love will be the nobler, and the better blest, in that the secret justice of the gods is mingled with it. let us leave and kiss, lest some unwelcome guest should fall betwixt us, and we should part without it. _phi_. 'twill be ill i should abide here long. _are_. 'tis true, and worse you should come often: how shall we devise to hold intelligence? that our true lovers, on any new occasion may agree, what path is best to tread? _phi_. i have a boy sent by the gods, i hope to this intent, not yet seen in the court; hunting the buck, i found him sitting by a fountain side, of which he borrow'd some to quench his thirst, and paid the nymph again as much in tears; a garland lay him by, made by himself, of many several flowers, bred in the bay, stuck in that mystick order, that the rareness delighted me: but ever when he turned his tender eyes upon 'um, he would weep, as if he meant to make 'um grow again. seeing such pretty helpless innocence dwell in his face, i ask'd him all his story; he told me that his parents gentle dyed, leaving him to the mercy of the fields, which gave him roots; and of the crystal springs, which did not stop their courses: and the sun, which still, he thank'd him, yielded him his light, then took he up his garland and did shew, what every flower as country people hold, did signifie: and how all ordered thus, exprest his grief: and to my thoughts did read the prettiest lecture of his country art that could be wisht: so that, me thought, i could have studied it. i gladly entertain'd him, who was glad to follow; and have got the trustiest, loving'st, and the gentlest boy, that ever master kept: him will i send to wait on you, and bear our hidden love. [ _enter_ lady. _are_. 'tis well, no more. _la_. madam, the prince is come to do his service. _are_. what will you do _philaster_ with your self? _phi_. why, that which all the gods have appointed out for me. _are_. dear, hide thy self. bring in the prince. _phi_. hide me from _pharamond!_ when thunder speaks, which is the voice of _jove,_ though i do reverence, yet i hide me not; and shall a stranger prince have leave to brag unto a forreign nation, that he made _philaster_ hide himself? _are_. he cannot know it. _phi_. though it should sleep for ever to the world, it is a simple sin to hide my self, which will for ever on my conscience lie. _are_. then good _philaster,_ give him scope and way in what he saies: for he is apt to speak what you are loth to hear: for my sake do. _phi_. i will. [ _enter_ pharamond. _pha_. my princely mistress, as true lovers ought, i come to kiss these fair hands; and to shew in outward ceremonies, the dear love writ in my heart. _phi_. if i shall have an answer no directlier, i am gone. _pha_. to what would he have an answer? _are_. to his claim unto the kingdom. _pha_. sirrah, i forbear you before the king. _phi_. good sir, do so still, i would not talk with you. _pha_. but now the time is fitter, do but offer to make mention of right to any kingdom, though it be scarce habitable. _phi_. good sir, let me go. _pha_. and by my sword. _phi_. peace _pharamond:_ if thou-_are_. leave us philaster. _phi_. i have done. _pha_. you are gone, by heaven i'le fetch you back. _phi_. you shall not need. _pha_. what now? _phi_. know pharamond, i loath to brawl with such a blast as thou, who art nought but a valiant voice: but if thou shalt provoke me further, men shall say thou wert, and not lament it. _pha_. do you slight my greatness so, and in the chamber of the princess! _phi_. it is a place to which i must confess i owe a reverence: but wer't the church, i, at the altar, there's no place so safe, where thou dar'st injure me, but i dare kill thee: and for your greatness; know sir, i can grasp you, and your greatness thus, thus into nothing: give not a word, not a word back: farewell. [_exit_ phi. _pha_. 'tis an odd fellow madam, we must stop his mouth with some office, when we are married. _are_. you were best make him your controuler. _pha_. i think he would discharge it well. but madam, i hope our hearts are knit; and yet so slow the ceremonies of state are, that 'twill be long before our hands be so: if then you please, being agreed in heart, let us not wait for dreaming for me, but take a little stoln delights, and so prevent our joyes to come. _are_. if you dare speak such thoughts, i must withdraw in honour. [_exit_ are. _pha_. the constitution of my body will never hold out till the wedding; i must seek elsewhere. [_exit_ pha. _actus secundus. scena prima_. _enter_ philaster _and_ bellario. _phi_. and thou shalt find her honourable boy, full of regard unto thy tender youth, for thine own modesty; and for my sake, apter to give, than thou wilt be to ask, i, or deserve. _bell_. sir, you did take me up when i was nothing; and only yet am something, by being yours; you trusted me unknown; and that which you are apt to conster a simple innocence in me, perhaps, might have been craft; the cunning of a boy hardened in lies and theft; yet ventur'd you, to part my miseries and me: for which, i never can expect to serve a lady that bears more honour in her breast than you. _phi_. but boy, it will prefer thee; thou art young, and bearest a childish overflowing love to them that clap thy cheeks, and speak thee fair yet: but when thy judgment comes to rule those passions, thou wilt remember best those careful friends that plac'd thee in the noblest way of life; she is a princess i prefer thee to. _bell_. in that small time that i have seen the world, i never knew a man hasty to part with a servant he thought trusty; i remember my father would prefer the boys he kept to greater men than he, but did it not, till they were grown too sawcy for himself. _phi_. why gentle boy, i find no fault at all in thy behaviour. _bell_. sir, if i have made a fault of ignorance, instruct my youth; i shall be willing, if not apt to learn; age and experience will adorn my mind with larger knowledge: and if i have done a wilful fault, think me not past all hope for once; what master holds so strict a hand over his boy, that he will part with him without one warning? let me be corrected to break my stubbornness if it be so, rather than turn me off, and i shall mend. _phi_. thy love doth plead so prettily to stay, that (trust me) i could weep to part with thee. alas! i do not turn thee off; thou knowest it is my business that doth call thee hence, and when thou art with her thou dwel'st with me: think so, and 'tis so; and when time is full, that thou hast well discharged this heavy trust, laid on so weak a one, i will again with joy receive thee; as i live, i will; nay weep not, gentle boy; 'tis more than time thou didst attend the princess. _bell_. i am gone; but since i am to part with you my lord, and none knows whether i shall live to do more service for you; take this little prayer; heaven bless your loves, your fights, all your designs. may sick men, if they have your wish, be well; and heavens hate those you curse, though i be one. [_exit_. _phi_. the love of boyes unto their lords is strange, i have read wonders of it; yet this boy for my sake, (if a man may judge by looks, and speech) would out-do story. i may see a day to pay him for his loyalty. [_exit_ phi. _enter_ pharamond. _pha_. why should these ladies stay so long? they must come this way; i know the queen imployes 'em not, for the reverend mother sent me word they would all be for the garden. if they should all prove honest now, i were in a fair taking; i was never so long without sport in my life, and in my conscience 'tis not my fault: oh, for our country ladies! here's one boulted, i'le hound at her. _enter_ galatea. _gal_. your grace! _pha_. shall i not be a trouble? _gal_. not to me sir. _pha_. nay, nay, you are too quick; by this sweet hand. _gal_. you'l be forsworn sir, 'tis but an old glove. if you will talk at distance, i am for you: but good prince, be not bawdy, nor do not brag; these two i bar, and then i think, i shall have sence enough to answer all the weighty _apothegmes_ your royal blood shall manage. _pha_. dear lady, can you love? _gal_. dear, prince, how dear! i ne're cost you a coach yet, nor put you to the dear repentance of a banquet; here's no scarlet sir, to blush the sin out it was given for: this wyer mine own hair covers: and this face has been so far from being dear to any, that it ne're cost penny painting: and for the rest of my poor wardrobe, such as you see, it leaves no hand behind it, to make the jealous mercers wife curse our good doings. _pha_. you mistake me lady. _gal_. lord, i do so; would you or i could help it. _pha_. do ladies of this country use to give no more respect to men of my full being? _gal_. full being! i understand you not, unless your grace means growing to fatness; and then your only remedy (upon my knowledge, prince) is in a morning a cup of neat white-wine brew'd with _carduus_, then fast till supper, about eight you may eat; use exercise, and keep a sparrow-hawk, you can shoot in a tiller; but of all, your grace must flie _phlebotomie_, fresh pork, conger, and clarified whay; they are all dullers of the vital spirits. _pha_. lady, you talk of nothing all this while. _gal_. 'tis very true sir, i talk of you. _pha_. this is a crafty wench, i like her wit well, 'twill be rare to stir up a leaden appetite, she's a _danae_, and must be courted in a showr of gold. madam, look here, all these and more, than-_gal_. what have you there, my lord? gold? now, as i live tis fair gold; you would have silver for it to play with the pages; you could not have taken me in a worse time; but if you have present use my lord, i'le send my man with silver and keep your gold for you. _pha_. lady, lady. _gal_. she's coming sir behind, will take white mony. yet for all this i'le match ye. [_exit_ gal. _behind the hangings_. _pha_. if there be two such more in this kingdom, and near the court, we may even hang up our harps: ten such _camphire_ constitutions as this, would call the golden age again in question, and teach the old way for every ill fac't husband to get his own children, and what a mischief that will breed, let all consider. [ _enter_ megra. here's another; if she be of the same last, the devil shall pluck her on. many fair mornings, lady. _meg_. as many mornings bring as many dayes, fair, sweet, and hopeful to your grace. _pha_. she gives good words yet; sure this wench is free. if your more serious business do not call you, let me hold quarter with you, we'll take an hour out quickly. _meg_. what would your grace talk of? _pha_. of some such pretty subject as your self. i'le go no further than your eye, or lip, there's theme enough for one man for an age. _meg_. sir, they stand right, and my lips are yet even, smooth, young enough, ripe enough, red enough, or my glass wrongs me. _pha_. o they are two twin'd cherries died in blushes, which those fair suns above, with their bright beams reflect upon, and ripen: sweetest beauty, bow down those branches, that the longing taste, of the faint looker on, may meet those blessings, and taste and live. _meg_. o delicate sweet prince; she that hath snow enough about her heart, to take the wanton spring of ten such lines off, may be a nun without probation. sir, you have in such neat poetry, gathered a kiss, that if i had but five lines of that number, such pretty begging blanks, i should commend your fore-head, or your cheeks, and kiss you too. _pha_. do it in prose; you cannot miss it madam. _meg_. i shall, i shall. _pha_. by my life you shall not. i'le prompt you first: can you do it now? _meg_. methinks 'tis easie, now i ha' don't before; but yet i should stick at it. _pha_. stick till to morrow. i'le ne'r part you sweetest. but we lose time, can you love me? _meg_. love you my lord? how would you have me love you? _pha_. i'le teach you in a short sentence, cause i will not load your memory, that is all; love me, and lie with me. _meg_. was it lie with you that you said? 'tis impossible. _pha_. not to a willing mind, that will endeavour; if i do not teach you to do it as easily in one night, as you'l go to bed, i'le lose my royal blood for't. _meg_. why prince, you have a lady of your own, that yet wants teaching. _pha_. i'le sooner teach a mare the old measures, than teach her any thing belonging to the function; she's afraid to lie with her self, if she have but any masculine imaginations about her; i know when we are married, i must ravish her. _meg_. by my honour, that's a foul fault indeed, but time and your good help will wear it out sir. _pha_. and for any other i see, excepting your dear self, dearest lady, i had rather be sir _tim _the schoolmaster, and leap a dairy-maid. _meg_. has your grace seen the court-star _galatea_? _pha_. out upon her; she's as cold of her favour as an apoplex: she sail'd by but now. _meg_. and how do you hold her wit sir? _pha_. i hold her wit? the strength of all the guard cannot hold it, if they were tied to it, she would blow 'em out of the kingdom, they talk of _jupiter_, he's but a squib cracker to her: look well about you, and you may find a tongue-bolt. but speak sweet lady, shall i be freely welcome? _meg_. whither? _pha_. to your bed; if you mistrust my faith, you do me the unnoblest wrong. _meg_. i dare not prince, i dare not. _pha_. make your own conditions, my purse shall seal 'em, and what you dare imagine you can want, i'le furnish you withal: give two hours to your thoughts every morning about it. come, i know you are bashful, speak in my ear, will you be mine? keep this, and with it me: soon i will visit you. _meg_. my lord, my chamber's most unsafe, but when 'tis night i'le find some means to slip into your lodging: till when-_pha_. till when, this, and my heart go with thee. [_ex. several ways_. _enter _galatea _from behind the hangings_. _gal_. oh thou pernicious petticoat prince, are these your vertues? well, if i do not lay a train to blow your sport up, i am no woman; and lady towsabel i'le fit you for't. [_exit_ gal. _enter _arethusa _and a_ lady. _are_. where's the boy? _la_. within madam. _are_. gave you him gold to buy him cloaths? _la_. i did. _are_. and has he don't? _la_. yes madam. _are_. 'tis a pretty sad talking lad, is it not? askt you his name? _la_. no madam. [ _enter _galatea. _are_. o you are welcome, what good news? _gal_. as good as any one can tell your grace, that saies she hath done that you would have wish'd. _are_. hast thou discovered? _gal_. i have strained a point of modesty for you. _are_. i prethee how? _gal_. in listning after bawdery; i see, let a lady live never so modestly, she shall be sure to find a lawful time, to harken after bawdery; your prince, brave _pharamond_, was so hot on't. _are_. with whom? _gal_. why, with the lady i suspect: i can tell the time and place. _are_. o when, and where? _gal_. to night, his lodging. _are_. run thy self into the presence, mingle there again with other ladies, leave the rest to me: if destiny (to whom we dare not say, why thou didst this) have not decreed it so in lasting leaves (whose smallest characters were never altered:) yet, this match shall break. where's the boy? _la_. here madam. [ _enter _bellario. _are_. sir, you are sad to change your service, is't not so? _bell_. madam, i have not chang'd; i wait on you, to do him service. _are_. thou disclaim'st in me; tell me thy name. _bell_. _bellario_. _are_. thou canst sing, and play? _bell_. if grief will give me leave, madam, i can. _are_. alas! what kind of grief can thy years know? hadst thou a curst master, when thou went'st to school? thou art not capable of other grief; thy brows and cheeks are smooth as waters be, when no [b]reath troubles them: believe me boy, care seeks out wrinkled brows, and hollow eyes, and builds himself caves to abide in them. come sir, tell me truly, does your lord love me? _bell_. love madam? i know not what it is. _are_. canst thou know grief, and never yet knew'st love? thou art deceiv'd boy; does he speak of me as if he wish'd me well? _bell_. if it be love, to forget all respect of his own friends, in thinking of your face; if it be love to sit cross arm'd and sigh away the day, mingled with starts, crying your name as loud and hastily, as men i'the streets do fire: if it be love to weep himself away, when he but hears of any lady dead, or kill'd, because it might have been your chance; if when he goes to rest (which will not be) 'twixt every prayer he saies, to name you once as others drop a bead, be to be in love; then madam, i dare swear he loves you. _are_. o y'are a cunning boy, and taught to lie, for your lords credit; but thou knowest, a lie, that bears this sound, is welcomer to me, than any truth that saies he loves me not. lead the way boy: do you attend me too; 'tis thy lords business hasts me thus; away. [_exeunt_. _enter _dion, cleremont, thrasilin, megra _and _galatea. _di_. come ladies, shall we talk a round? as men do walk a mile, women should take an hour after supper: 'tis their exercise. _gal_. tis late. _meg_. 'tis all my eyes will do to lead me to my bed. _gal_. i fear they are so heavy, you'l scarce find the way to your lodging with 'em to night. [ enter _pharamond_. _thra_. the prince. _pha_. not a bed ladies? y'are good sitters up; what think you of a pleasant dream to last till morning? _meg_. i should choose, my lord, a pleasing wake before it. [_enter _arethusa _and _bellario. _are_. 'tis well my lord y'are courting of ladies. is't not late gentlemen? _cle_. yes madam. _are_. wait you there. [_exit _arethusa. _meg_. she's jealous, as i live; look you my lord, the princess has a _hilas_, an _adonis_. _pha_. his form is angel-like. _meg_. why this is he, must, when you are wed, sit by your pillow, like young _apollo_, with his hand and voice, binding your thoughts in sleep; the princess does provide him for you, and for her self. _pha_. i find no musick in these boys. _meg_. nor i. they can do little, and that small they do, they have not wit to hide. _di_. serves he the princess? _thra_. yes. _di_. 'tis a sweet boy, how brave she keeps him! _pha_. ladies all good rest; i mean to kill a buck to morrow morning, ere y'ave done your dreams. _meg_. all happiness attend your grace, gentlemen good rest, come shall we to bed? _gal_. yes, all good night. [_ex_. gal. _and _meg. _di_. may your dreams be true to you; what shall we do gallants? 'tis late, the king is up still, see, he comes, a guard along with him. [_enter _king, arethusa _and _guard. _king_. look your intelligence be true. _are_. upon my life it is: and i do hope, your highness will not tye me to a man, that in the heat of wooing throws me off, and takes another. _di_. what should this mean? _king_. if it be true, that lady had been better have embrac'd cureless diseases; get you to your rest, [_ex_. are. _and _bel. you shall be righted: gentlemen draw near, we shall imploy you: is young _pharamond_ come to his lodging? _di_. i saw him enter there. _king_. haste some of you, and cunningly discover, if megra be in her lodging. _cle_. sir, she parted hence but now with other ladies. _king_. if she be there, we shall not need to make a vain discovery of our suspicion. you gods i see, that who unrighteously holds wealth or state from others, shall be curst, in that, which meaner men are blest withall: ages to come shall know no male of him left to inherit, and his name shall be blotted from earth; if he have any child, it shall be crossly matched: the gods themselves shall sow wild strife betwixt her lord and her, yet, if it be your wills, forgive the sin i have committed, let it not fall upon this understanding child of mine, she has not broke your laws; but how can i, look to be heard of gods, that must be just, praying upon the ground i hold by wrong? [ _enter _dion. _di_. sir, i have asked, and her women swear she is within, but they i think are bawds; i told 'em i must speak with her: they laught, and said their lady lay speechless. i said, my business was important; they said their lady was about it: i grew hot, and cryed my business was a matter that concern'd life and death; they answered, so was sleeping, at which their lady was; i urg'd again, she had scarce time to be so since last i saw her; they smil'd again, and seem'd to instruct me, that sleeping was nothing but lying down and winking: answers more direct i could not get: in short sir, i think she is not there. _king_. 'tis then no time to dally: you o'th' guard, wait at the back door of the princes lodging, and see that none pass thence upon your lives. knock gentlemen: knock loud: louder yet: what, has their pleasure taken off their hearing? i'le break your meditations: knock again: not yet? i do not think he sleeps, having this larum by him; once more, _pharamond_, prince. [pharamond _above_. _pha_. what sawcy groom knocks at this dead of night? where be our waiters? by my vexed soul, he meets his death, that meets me, for this boldness. _k_. prince, you wrong your thoughts, we are your friends, come down. _pha_. the king? _king_. the same sir, come down, we have cause of present counsel with you. _pha_. if your grace please to use me, i'le attend you to your chamber. [pha. _below_. _king_. no, 'tis too late prince, i'le make bold with yours. _pha_. i have some private reasons to my self, makes me unmannerly, and say you cannot; nay, press not forward gentlemen, he must come through my life, that comes here. _king_. sir be resolv'd, i must and will come. enter. _pha_. i will not be dishonour'd; he that enters, enters upon his death; sir, 'tis a sign you make no stranger of me, to bring these renegados to my chamber, at these unseason'd hours. _king_. why do you chafe your self so? you are not wrong'd, nor shall be; onely i'le search your lodging, for some cause to our self known: enter i say. _pha_. i say no. [_meg. above_. _meg_. let 'em enter prince, let 'em enter, i am up, and ready; i know their business, 'tis the poor breaking of a ladies honour, they hunt so hotly after; let 'em enjoy it. you have your business gentlemen, i lay here. o my lord the king, this is not noble in you to make publick the weakness of a woman. _king_. come down. _meg_. i dare my lord; your whootings and your clamors, your private whispers, and your broad fleerings, can no more vex my soul, than this base carriage; but i have vengeance yet in store for some, shall in the most contempt you can have of me, be joy and nourishment. _king_. will you come down? _meg_. yes, to laugh at your worst: but i shall wrong you, if my skill fail me not. _king_. sir, i must dearly chide you for this looseness, you have wrong'd a worthy lady; but no more, conduct him to my lodging, and to bed. _cle_. get him another wench, and you bring him to bed in deed. _di_. 'tis strange a man cannot ride a stagg or two, to breath himself, without a warrant: if this geer hold, that lodgings be search'd thus, pray heaven we may lie with our own wives in safety, that they be not by some trick of state mistaken. [ _enter with_ megra. _king_. now lady of honour, where's your honour now? no man can fit your palat, but the prince. thou most ill shrowded rottenness; thou piece made by a painter and a pothecary; thou troubled sea of lust; thou wilderness, inhabited by wild thoughts; thou swoln cloud of infection; them ripe mine of all diseases; thou all sin, all hell, and last, all devils, tell me, had you none to pull on with your courtesies, but he that must be mine, and wrong my daughter? by all the gods, all these, and all the pages, and all the court shall hoot thee through the court, fling rotten oranges, make ribald rimes, and sear thy name with candles upon walls: do you laugh lady _venus_? _meg_. faith sir, you must pardon me; i cannot chuse but laugh to see you merry. if you do this, o king; nay, if you dare do it; by all these gods you swore by, and as many more of my own; i will have fellows, and such fellows in it, as shall make noble mirth; the princess, your dear daughter, shall stand by me on walls, and sung in ballads, any thing: urge me no more, i know her, and her haunts, her layes, leaps, and outlayes, and will discover all; nay will dishonour her. i know the boy she keeps, a handsome boy; about eighteen: know what she does with him, where, and when. come sir, you put me to a womans madness, the glory of a fury; and if i do not do it to the height? _king_. what boy is this she raves at? _meg_. alas! good minded prince, you know not these things? i am loth to reveal 'em. keep this fault as you would keep your health from the hot air of the corrupted people, or by heaven, i will not fall alone: what i have known, shall be as publick as a print: all tongues shall speak it as they do the language they are born in, as free and commonly; i'le set it like a prodigious star for all to gaze at, and so high and glowing, that other kingdoms far and forreign shall read it there, nay travel with it, till they find no tongue to make it more, nor no more people; and then behold the fall of your fair princess. _king_. has she a boy? _cle_. so please your grace i have seen a boy wait on her, a fair boy. _king_. go get you to your quarter: for this time i'le study to forget you. _meg_. do you study to forget me, and i'le study to forget you. [_ex_. king, meg. _and_ guard. _cle_. why here's a male spirit for _hercules_, if ever there be nine worthies of women, this wench shall ride astride, and be their captain. _di_. sure she hath a garrison of devils in her tongue, she uttereth such balls of wild-fire. she has so netled the king, that all the doctors in the country will scarce cure him. that boy was a strange found out antidote to cure her infection: that boy, that princess boy: that brave, chast, vertuous ladies boy: and a fair boy, a well spoken boy: all these considered, can make nothing else--but there i leave you gentlemen. _thra_. nay we'l go wander with you. [_exeunt_. _actus tertius. scena prima_. _enter _cle. di. _and _thra. _cle_. nay doubtless 'tis true. _di_. i, and 'tis the gods that rais'd this punishment to scourge the king with his own issue: is it not a shame for us, that should write noble in the land; for us, that should be freemen, to behold a man, that is the bravery of his age, _philaster_, prest down from his royal right, by this regardless king; and only look, and see the scepter ready to be cast into the hands of that lascivious lady, that lives in lust with a smooth boy, now to be married to yon strange prince, who, but that people please to let him be a prince, is born a slave, in that which should be his most noble part, his mind? _thra_. that man that would not stir with you, to aid _philaster_, let the gods forget, that such a creature walks upon the earth. _cle_. _philaster_ is too backward in't himself; the gentry do await it, and the people against their nature are all bent for him, and like a field of standing corn, that's mov'd with a stiff gale, their heads bow all one way. _di_. the only cause that draws _philaster_ back from this attempt, is the fair princess love, which he admires and we can now confute. _thra_. perhaps he'l not believe it. _di_. why gentlemen, 'tis without question so. _cle_. i 'tis past speech, she lives dishonestly. but how shall we, if he be curious, work upon his faith? _thra_. we all are satisfied within our selves. _di_. since it is true, and tends to his own good, i'le make this new report to be my knowledge, i'le say i know it, nay, i'le swear i saw it. _cle_. it will be best. _thra_. 'twill move him. [ _enter_ philaster. _di_. here he comes. good morrow to your honour, we have spent some time in seeking you. _phi_. my worthy friends, you that can keep your memories to know your friend in miseries, and cannot frown on men disgrac'd for vertue: a good day attend you all. what service may i do worthy your acceptation? _di_. my good lord, we come to urge that vertue which we know lives in your breast, forth, rise, and make a head, the nobles, and the people are all dull'd with this usurping king: and not a man that ever heard the word, or knew such a thing as vertue, but will second your attempts. _phi_. how honourable is this love in you to me that have deserv'd none? know my friends (you that were born to shame your poor _philaster_, with too much courtesie) i could afford to melt my self in thanks; but my designs are not yet ripe, suffice it, that ere long i shall imploy your loves: but yet the time is short of what i would. _di_. the time is fuller sir, than you expect; that which hereafter will not perhaps be reach'd by violence, may now be caught; as for the king, you know the people have long hated him; but now the princess, whom they lov'd. _phi_. why, what of her? _di_. is loath'd as much as he. _phi_. by what strange means? _di_. she's known a whore. _phi_. thou lyest. _di_. my lord-_phi_. thou lyest, [_offers to draw and is held_. and thou shalt feel it; i had thought thy mind had been of honour; thus to rob a lady of her good name, is an infectious sin, not to be pardon'd; be it false as hell, 'twill never be redeem'd, if it be sown amongst the people, fruitful to increase all evil they shall hear. let me alone, that i may cut off falshood, whilst it springs. set hills on hills betwixt me and the man that utters this, and i will scale them all, and from the utmost top fall on his neck, like thunder from a cloud. _di_. this is most strange; sure he does love her. _phi_. i do love fair truth: she is my mistress, and who injures her, draws vengeance from me sirs, let go my arms. _thra_. nay, good my lord be patient. _cle_. sir, remember this is your honour'd friend, that comes to do his service, and will shew you why he utter'd this. _phi_. i ask you pardon sir, my zeal to truth made me unmannerly: should i have heard dishonour spoke of you, behind your back untruly, i had been as much distemper'd, and enrag'd as now. _di_. but this my lord is truth. _phi_. o say not so, good sir forbear to say so, 'tis the truth that all womenkind is false; urge it no more, it is impossible; why should you think the princess light? _di_. why, she was taken at it. _phi_. 'tis false, o heaven 'tis false: it cannot be, can it? speak gentlemen, for love of truth speak; is't possible? can women all be damn'd? _di_. why no, my lord. _phi_. why then it cannot be. _di_. and she was taken with her boy. _phi_. what boy? _di_. a page, a boy that serves her. _phi_. oh good gods, a little boy? _di_. i, know you him my lord? _phi_. hell and sin know him? sir, you are deceiv'd; i'le reason it a little coldly with you; if she were lustful, would she take a boy, that knows not yet desire? she would have one should meet her thoughts and knows the sin he acts, which is the great delight of wickedness; you are abus'd, and so is she, and i. _di_. how you my lord? _phi_. why all the world's abus'd in an unjust report. _di_. oh noble sir your vertues cannot look into the subtil thoughts of woman. in short my lord, i took them: i my self. _phi_. now all the devils thou didst flie from my rage, would thou hadst ta'ne devils ingendring plagues: when thou didst take them, hide thee from my eyes, would thou hadst taken thunder on thy breast, when thou didst take them, or been strucken dumb for ever: that this foul deed might have slept in silence. _thra_. have you known him so ill temper'd? _cle_. never before. _phi_. the winds that are let loose, from the four several corners of the earth, and spread themselves all over sea and land, kiss not a chaste one. what friend bears a sword to run me through? _di_. why, my lord, are you so mov'd at this? _phi_. when any falls from vertue i am distract, i have an interest in't. _di_. but good my lord recal your self, and think what's best to be done. _phi_. i thank you. i will do it; please you to leave me, i'le consider of it: tomorrow i will find your lodging forth, and give you answer the readiest way. _di_. all the gods direct you. _thra_. he was extream impatient. _cle_. it was his vertue and his noble mind. [_exeunt_ di. cle. _and_ thra. _phi_. i had forgot to ask him where he took them, i'le follow him. o that i had a sea within my breast, to quench the fire i feel; more circumstances will but fan this fire; it more afflicts me now, to know by whom this deed is done, than simply that 'tis done: and he that tells me this is honourable, as far from lies, as she is far from truth. o that like beasts, we could not grieve our selves, with that we see not; bulls and rams will fight, to keep their females standing in their sight; but take 'em from them, and you take at once their spleens away; and they will fall again unto their pastures, growing fresh and fat, and taste the waters of the springs as sweet, as 'twas before, finding no start in sleep. but miserable man; see, see you gods, [_enter_ bellario. he walks still; and the face you let him wear when he was innocent, is still the same, not blasted; is this justice? do you mean to intrap mortality, that you allow treason so smooth a brow? i cannot now think he is guilty. _bell_. health to you my lord; the princess doth commend her love, her life, and this unto you. _phi_. oh _bellario_, now i perceive she loves me, she does shew it in loving thee my boy, she has made thee brave. _bell_. my lord she has attired me past my wish, past my desert, more fit for her attendant, though far unfit for me, who do attend. _phi_. thou art grown courtly boy. o let all women that love black deeds, learn to dissemble here, here, by this paper she does write to me, as if her heart were mines of adamant to all the world besides, but unto me, a maiden snow that melted with my looks. tell me my boy how doth the princess use thee? for i shall guess her love to me by that. _bell_. scarce like her servant, but as if i were something allied to her; or had preserv'd her life three times by my fidelity. as mothers fond do use their only sons; as i'de use one, that's left unto my trust, for whom my life should pay, if he met harm, so she does use me. _phi_. why, this is wondrous well: but what kind language does she feed thee with? _bell_. why, she does tell me, she will trust my youth with all her loving secrets; and does call me her pretty servant, bids me weep no more for leaving you: shee'l see my services regarded; and such words of that soft strain, that i am nearer weeping when she ends than ere she spake. _phi_. this is much better still. _bell_. are you ill my lord? _phi_. ill? no _bellario_. _bell_. me thinks your words fall not from off your tongue so evenly, nor is there in your looks that quietness, that i was wont to see. _phi_. thou art deceiv'd boy: and she stroakes thy head? _bell_. yes. _phi_. and she does clap thy cheeks? _bell_. she does my lord. _phi_. and she does kiss thee boy? ha! _bell_. how my lord? _phi_. she kisses thee? _bell_. not so my lord. _phi_. come, come, i know she does. _bell_. no by my life. _phi_. why then she does not love me; come, she does, i had her do it; i charg'd her by all charms of love between us, by the hope of peace we should enjoy, to yield thee all delights naked, as to her bed: i took her oath thou should'st enjoy her: tell me gentle boy, is she not paralleless? is not her breath sweet as _arabian_ winds, when fruits are ripe? are not her breasts two liquid ivory balls? is she not all a lasting mine of joy? _bell_. i, now i see why my disturbed thoughts were so perplext. when first i went to her, my heart held augury; you are abus'd, some villain has abus'd you; i do see whereto you tend; fall rocks upon his head, that put this to you; 'tis some subtil train, to bring that noble frame of yours to nought. _phi_. thou think'st i will be angry with thee; come thou shalt know all my drift, i hate her more, than i love happiness, and plac'd thee there, to pry with narrow eyes into her deeds; hast thou discover'd? is she fain to lust, as i would wish her? speak some comfort to me. _bell_. my lord, you did mistake the boy you sent: had she the lust of sparrows, or of goats; had she a sin that way, hid from the world, beyond the name of lust, i would not aid her base desires; but what i came to know as servant to her, i would not reveal, to make my life last ages. _phi_. oh my heart; this is a salve worse than the main disease. tell me thy thoughts; for i will know the least that dwells within thee, or will rip thy heart to know it; i will see thy thoughts as plain, as i do know thy face. _bell_. why, so you do. she is (for ought i know) by all the gods, as chaste as ice; but were she foul as hell and i did know it, thus; the breath of kings, the points of swords, tortures nor bulls of brass, should draw it from me. _phi_. then 'tis no time to dally with thee; i will take thy life, for i do hate thee; i could curse thee now. _bell_. if you do hate you could not curse me worse; the gods have not a punishment in store greater for me, than is your hate. _phi_. fie, fie, so young and so dissembling; tell me when and where thou di[d]st enjoy her, or let plagues fall on me, if i destroy thee not. _bell_. heaven knows i never did: and when i lie to save my life, may i live long and loath'd. hew me asunder, and whilst i can think i'le love those pieces you have cut away, better than those that grow: and kiss these limbs, because you made 'em so. _phi_. fearest thou not death? can boys contemn that? _bell_. oh, what boy is he can be content to live to be a man that sees the best of men thus passionate, thus without reason? _phi_. oh, but thou dost not know what 'tis to die. _bell_. yes, i do know my lord; 'tis less than to be born; a lasting sleep, a quiet resting from all jealousie; a thing we all pursue; i know besides, it is but giving over of a game that must be lost. _phi_. but there are pains, false boy, for perjur'd souls; think but on these, and then thy heart will melt, and thou wilt utter all. _bell_. may they fall all upon me whilst i live, if i be perjur'd, or have ever thought of that you charge me with; if i be false, send me to suffer in those punishments you speak of; kill me. _phi_. oh, what should i do? why, who can but believe him? he does swear so earnestly, that if it were not true, the gods would not endure him. rise _bellario_, thy protestations are so deep; and thou dost look so truly, when thou utterest them, that though i [know] 'em false, as were my hopes, i cannot urge thee further; but thou wert to blame to injure me, for i must love thy honest looks, and take no revenge upon thy tender youth; a love from me to thee is firm, what ere thou dost: it troubles me that i have call'd the blood out of thy cheeks, that did so well become thee: but good boy let me not see thee more; something is done, that will distract me, that will make me mad, if i behold thee: if thou tender'st me, let me not see thee. _bell_. i will fly as far as there is morning, ere i give distaste to that most honour'd mind. but through these tears shed at my hopeless parting, i can see a world of treason practis'd upon you, and her and me. farewel for evermore; if you shall hear, that sorrow struck me dead, and after find me loyal, let there be a tear shed from you in my memorie, and i shall rest at peace. [_exit_ bel. _phi_. blessing be with thee, what ever thou deserv'st. oh, where shall i go bath thy body? nature too unkind, that made no medicine for a troubled mind! [_exit_. phi. _enter_ arethuse. _are_. i marvel my boy comes not back again; but that i know my love will question him over and over; how i slept, wak'd, talk'd; how i remembred him when his dear name was last spoke, and how, when i sigh'd, wept, sung, and ten thousand such; i should be angry at his stay. [_enter _king. _king_. what are your meditations? who attends you? _are_. none but my single self, i need no guard, i do no wrong, nor fear none. _king_. tell me: have you not a boy? _are_. yes sir. _king_. what kind of boy? _are_. a page, a waiting boy. _king_. a handsome boy? _are_. i think he be not ugly: well qualified, and dutiful, i know him, i took him not for beauty. _king_. he speaks, and sings and plays? _are_. yes sir. _king_. about eighteen? _are_. i never ask'd his age. _king_. is he full of service? _are_. by your pardon why do you ask? _king_. put him away. _are_. sir? _king_. put him away, h'as done you that good service, shames me to speak of. _are_. good sir let me understand you. _king_. if you fear me, shew it in duty; put away that boy. _are_. let me have reason for it sir, and then your will is my command. _king_. do not you blush to ask it? cast him off, or i shall do the same to you. y'are one shame with me, and so near unto my self, that by my life, i dare not tell my self, what you, my self have done. _are_. what have i done my lord? _king_. 'tis a new language, that all love to learn, the common people speak it well already, they need no grammer; understand me well, there be foul whispers stirring; cast him off! and suddenly do it: farewel. [_exit_ king. _are_. where may a maiden live securely free, keeping her honour safe? not with the living, they feed upon opinions, errours, dreams, and make 'em truths: they draw a nourishment out of defamings, grow upon disgraces, and when they see a vertue fortified strongly above the battery of their tongues; oh, how they cast to sink it; and defeated (soul sick with poyson) strike the monuments where noble names lie sleeping: till they sweat, and the cold marble melt. _enter_ philaster. _phi_. peace to your fairest thoughts, dearest mistress. _are_. oh, my dearest servant i have a war within me. _phi_. he must be more than man, that makes these crystals run into rivers; sweetest fair, the cause; and as i am your slave, tied to your goodness, your creature made again from what i was, and newly spirited, i'le right your honours. _are_. oh, my best love; that boy! _phi_. what boy? _are_. the pretty boy you gave me. _phi_. what of him? _are_. must be no more mine. _phi_. why? _are_. they are jealous of him. _phi_. jealous, who? _are_. the king. _phi_. oh, my fortune, then 'tis no idle jealousie. let him go. _are_. oh cruel, are you hard hearted too? who shall now tell you, how much i lov'd you; who shall swear it to you, and weep the tears i send? who shall now bring you letters, rings, bracelets, lose his health in service? wake tedious nights in stories of your praise? who shall sing your crying elegies? and strike a sad soul into senseless pictures, and make them mourn? who shall take up his lute, and touch it, till he crown a silent sleep upon my eye-lid, making me dream and cry, oh my dear, dear _philaster_. _phi_. oh my heart! would he had broken thee, that made thee know this lady was not loyal. mistress, forget the boy, i'le get thee a far better. _are_. oh never, never such a boy again, as my _bellario_. _phi_. 'tis but your fond affection. _are_. with thee my boy, farewel for ever, all secrecy in servants: farewel faith, and all desire to do well for it self: let all that shall succeed thee, for thy wrongs, sell and betray chast love. _phi_. and all this passion for a boy? _are_. he was your boy, and you put him to me, and the loss of such must have a mourning for. _phi_. o thou forgetful woman! _are_. how, my lord? _phi_. false _arethusa_! hast thou a medicine to restore my wits, when i have lost 'em? if not, leave to talk, and do thus. _are_. do what sir? would you sleep? _phi_. for ever _arethusa_. oh you gods, give me a worthy patience; have i stood naked, alone the shock of many fortunes? have i seen mischiefs numberless, and mighty grow li[k]e a sea upon me? have i taken danger as stern as death into my bosom, and laught upon it, made it but a mirth, and flung it by? do i live now like him, under this tyrant king, that languishing hears his sad bell, and sees his mourners? do i bear all this bravely, and must sink at length under a womans falshood? oh that boy, that cursed boy? none but a villain boy, to ease your lust? _are_. nay, then i am betray'd, i feel the plot cast for my overthrow; oh i am wretched. _phi_. now you may take that little right i have to this poor kingdom; give it to your joy, for i have no joy in it. some far place, where never womankind durst set her foot, for bursting with her poisons, must i seek, and live to curse you; there dig a cave, and preach to birds and beasts, what woman is, and help to save them from you. how heaven is in your eyes, but in your hearts, more hell than hell has; how your tongues like scorpions, both heal and poyson; how your thoughts are woven with thousand changes in one subtle webb, and worn so by you. how that foolish man, that reads the story of a womans face, and dies believing it, is lost for ever. how all the good you have, is but a shadow, i'th' morning with you, and at night behind you, past and forgotten. how your vows are frosts, fast for a night, and with the next sun gone. how you are, being taken all together, a meer confusion, and so dead a _chaos_, that love cannot distinguish. these sad texts till my last hour, i am bound to utter of you. so farewel all my wo, all my delight. [_exit_ phi. _are_. be merciful ye gods and strike me dead; what way have i deserv'd this? make my breast transparent as pure crystal, that the world jealous of me, may see the foulest thought my heart holds. where shall a woman turn her eyes, to find out constancy? save me, how black, [_enter_ bell. and guilty (me thinks) that boy looks now? oh thou dissembler, that before thou spak'st wert in thy cradle false? sent to make lies, and betray innocents; thy lord and thou, may glory in the ashes of a maid fool'd by her passion; but the conquest is nothing so great as wicked. fly away, let my command force thee to that, which shame would do without it. if thou understoodst the loathed office thou hast undergone, why, thou wouldst hide thee under heaps of hills, lest men should dig and find thee. _bell_. oh what god angry with men, hath sent this strange disease into the noblest minds? madam this grief you add unto me is no more than drops to seas, for which they are not seen to swell; my lord had struck his anger through my heart, and let out all the hope of future joyes, you need not bid me fly, i came to part, to take my latest leave, farewel for ever; i durst not run away in honesty, from such a lady, like a boy that stole, or made some grievous fault; the power of gods assist you in your sufferings; hasty time reveal the truth to your abused lord, and mine: that he may know your worth: whilst i go seek out some forgotten place to die. [_exit_ bell. _are_. peace guide thee, th'ast overthrown me once, yet if i had another _troy_ to lose, thou or another villain with thy looks, might talk me out of it, and send me naked, my hair dishevel'd through the fiery streets. [ _enter a_ lady _la_. madam, the king would hunt, and calls for you with earnestness. _are_. i am in tune to hunt! _diana_ if thou canst rage with a maid, as with a man, let me discover thee bathing, and turn me to a fearful hind, that i may die pursu'd by cruel hounds, and have my story written in my wounds. [_exeunt_. _actus quartus. scena prima_. _enter_ king, pharamond, arethusa, galatea, megra, dion, cleremont, thrasilin, _and attendants_. _k_. what, are the hounds before, and all the woodmen? our horses ready, and our bows bent? _di_. all sir. _king_. y'are cloudy sir, come we have forgotten your venial trespass, let not that sit heavy upon your spirit; none dare utter it. _di_. he looks like an old surfeited stallion after his leaping, dull as a dormouse: see how he sinks; the wench has shot him between wind and water, and i hope sprung a leak. _thra_. he needs no teaching, he strikes sure enough; his greatest fault is, he hunts too much in the purlues, would he would leave off poaching. _di_. and for his horn, has left it at the lodge where he lay late; oh, he's a precious lime-hound; turn him loose upon the pursuit of a lady, and if he lose her, hang him up i'th' slip. when my fox-bitch beauty grows proud, i'le borrow him. _king_. is your boy turn'd away? _are_. you did command sir, and i obey you. _king_. 'tis well done: hark ye further. _cle_. is't possible this fellow should repent? me thinks that were not noble in him: and yet he looks like a mortified member, as if he had a sick mans salve in's mouth. if a worse man had done this fault now, some physical justice or other, would presently (without the help of an almanack) have opened the obstructions of his liver, and let him bloud with a dog-whip. _di_. see, see, how modestly your lady looks, as if she came from churching with her neighbour; why, what a devil can a man see in her face, but that she's honest? _pha_. troth no great matter to speak of, a foolish twinkling with the eye, that spoils her coat; but he must be a cunning herald that finds it. _di_. see how they muster one another! o there's a rank regiment where the devil carries the colours, and his dam drum major, now the world and the flesh come behind with the carriage. _cle_. sure this lady has a good turn done her against her will: before she was common talk, now none dare say, cantharides can stir her, her face looks like a warrant, willing and commanding all tongues, as they will answer it, to be tied up and bolted when this lady means to let her self loose. as i live she has got her a goodly protection, and a gracious; and may use her body discreetly, for her healths sake, once a week, excepting lent and dog-days: oh if they were to be got for mony, what a great sum would come out of the city for these licences? _king_. to horse, to horse, we lose the morning, gentlemen. [_exeunt_. _enter two_ woodmen. _1 wood_.what, have you lodged the deer? _2 wood_. yes, they are ready for the bow. _1 wood_. who shoots? _2 wood_. the princess. _1 wood_. no she'l hunt. _2 wood_. she'l take a stand i say. _1 wood_. who else? _2 wood_. why the young stranger prince. _1 wood_. he shall shoot in a stone-bow for me. i never lov'd his beyond-sea-ship, since he forsook the say, for paying ten shillings: he was there at the fall of a deer, and would needs (out of his mightiness) give ten groats for the dowcers; marry the steward would have had the velvet-head into the bargain, to turf his hat withal: i think he should love venery, he is an old sir _tristram_; for if you be remembred, he forsook the stagg once, to strike a rascal milking in a medow, and her he kill'd in the eye. who shoots else? _2 wood_. the lady _galatea_. _1 wood_. that's a good wench, and she would not chide us for tumbling of her women in the brakes. she's liberal, and by my bow they say she's honest, and whether that be a fault, i have nothing to do. there's all? _2 wood_. no, one more, _megra_. _1 wood_. that's a firker i'faith boy; there's a wench will ride her haunces as hard after a kennel of hounds, as a hunting-saddle; and when she comes home, get 'em clapt, and all is well again. i have known her lose her self three times in one afternoon (if the woods had been answerable) and it has been work enough for one man to find her, and he has sweat for it. she rides well, and she payes well. hark, let's go. [_exeunt_. _enter_ philaster. _phi_. oh, that i had been nourished in these woods with milk of goats, and acorns, and not known the right of crowns, nor the dissembling trains of womens looks; but dig'd my self a cave, where i, my fire, my cattel, and my bed might have been shut together in one shed; and then had taken me some mountain girl, beaten with winds, chast as the hardened rocks whereon she dwells; that might have strewed my bed with leaves, and reeds, and with the skins of beasts our neighbours; and have born at her big breasts my large course issue. this had been a life free from vexation. [ _enter_ bellario. _bell_. oh wicked men! an innocent man may walk safe among beasts, nothing assaults me here. see, my griev'd lord sits as his soul were searching out a way, to leave his body. pardon me that must break thy last commandment; for i must speak; you that are griev'd can pity; hear my lord. _phi_. is there a creature yet so miserable, that i can pity? _bell_. oh my noble lord, view my strange fortune, and bestow on me, according to your bounty (if my service can merit nothing) so much as may serve to keep that little piece i hold of life from cold and hunger. _phi_. is it thou? be gone: go sell those misbeseeming cloaths thou wear'st, and feed thy self with them. _bell_. alas! my lord, i can get nothing for them: the silly country people think 'tis treason to touch such gay things. _phi_. now by my life this is unkindly done, to vex me with thy sight, th'art fain again to thy dissembling trade: how should'st thou think to cozen me again? remains there yet a plague untri'd for me? even so thou wept'st and spok'st when first i took thee up; curse on the time. if thy commanding tears can work on any other, use thy art, i'le not betray it. which way wilt thou take, that i may shun thee; for thine eyes are poyson to mine; and i am loth to grow in rage. this way, or that way? _bell_. any will serve. but i will chuse to have that path in chase that leads unto my grave. [_exeunt_ phil. _and_ bell. _severally_. _enter_ dion _and the_ woodmen. _di_. this is the strangest sudden change! you _woodman_. _1 wood_. my lord _dion_. _di_. saw you a lady come this way on a sable-horse stubbed with stars of white? _2 wood_. was she not young and tall? _di_. yes; rode she to the wood, or to the plain? _2 wood_. faith my lord we saw none. [_exeunt_ wood. _enter_ cleremont. _di_. pox of your questions then. what, is she found? _cle_. nor will be i think. _di_. let him seek his daughter himself; she cannot stray about a little necessary natural business, but the whole court must be in arms; when she has done, we shall have peace. _cle_. there's already a thousand fatherless tales amongst us; some say her horse run away with her; some a wolf pursued her; others, it was a plot to kill her; and that armed men were seen in the wood: but questionless, she rode away willingly. _enter_ king, _and_ thrasiline. _king_. where is she? _cle_. sir, i cannot tell. _king_. how is that? answer me so again. _cle_. sir, shall i lie? _king_. yes, lie and damn, rather than tell me that; i say again, where is she? mutter not; sir, speak you where is she? _di_. sir, i do not know. _king_. speak that again so boldly, and by heaven it is thy last. you fellows answer me, where is she? mark me all, i am your king. i wish to see my daughter, shew her me; i do command you all, as you are subjects, to shew her me, what am i not your king? if i, then am i not to be obeyed? _di_. yes, if you command things possible and honest. _king_. things possible and honest! hear me, thou, thou traytor, that darest confine thy king to things possible and honest; shew her me, or let me perish, if i cover not all _cicily_ with bloud. _di_. indeed i cannot, unless you tell me where she is. _king_. you have betray'd me, y'have, let me lose the jewel of my life, go; bring her me, and set her before me; 'tis the king will have it so, whose breath can still the winds, uncloud the sun, charm down the swelling sea, and stop the flouds of heaven; speak, can it not? _di_. no. _king_. no, cannot the breath of kings do this? _di_. no; nor smell sweet it self, if once the lungs be but corrupted. _king_. is it so? take heed. _di_. sir, take you heed; how you dare the powers that must be just. _king_. alas! what are we kings? why do you gods place us above the rest; to be serv'd, flatter'd, and ador'd till we believe we hold within our hands your thunder, and when we come to try the power we have, there's not a leaf shakes at our threatnings. i have sin'd 'tis true, and here stand to be punish'd; yet would not thus be punish'd; let me chuse my way, and lay it on. _di_. he articles with the gods; would some body would draw bonds, for the performance of covenants betwixt them. _enter_ pha. galatea, _and_ megra. _king_. what, is she found? _pha_. no, we have ta'ne her horse. he gallopt empty by: there's some treason; you _galatea_ rode with her into the wood; why left you her? _gal_. she did command me. _king_. command! you should not. _gal_. 'twould ill become my fortunes and my birth to disobey the daughter of my king. _king_. y'are all cunning to obey us for our hurt, but i will have her. _pha_. if i have her not, by this hand there shall be no more _cicily_. _di_. what will he carry it to _spain_ in's pocket? _pha_. i will not leave one man alive, but the king, a cook and a taylor. _di_. yet you may do well to spare your ladies bed-fellow, and her you may keep for a spawner. _king_. i see the injuries i have done must be reveng'd. _di_. sir, this is not the way to find her out. _king_. run all, disperse your selves: the man that finds her, or (if she be kill'd) the traytor; i'le [make] him great. _di_. i know some would give five thousand pounds to find her. _pha_. come let us seek. _king_. each man a several way, here i my self. _di_. come gentlemen we here. _cle_. lady you must go search too. _meg_. i had rather be search'd my self. [_exeunt omnes_. _enter_ arethusa. _are_. where am i now? feet find me out a way, without the counsel of my troubled head, i'le follow you boldly about these woods, o're mountains, thorow brambles, pits, and flouds: heaven i hope will ease me. i am sick. _enter_ bellario. _bell_. yonder's my lady; heaven knows i want nothing; because i do not wish to live, yet i will try her charity. oh hear, you that have plenty, from that flowing store, drop some on dry ground; see, the lively red is gone to guard her heart; i fear she faints. madam look up, she breaths not; open once more those rosie twins, and send unto my lord, your latest farewell; oh, she stirs: how is it madam? speak comfort. _are_. 'tis not gently done, to put me in a miserable life, and hold me there; i pray thee let me go, i shall do best without thee; i am well. _enter_ philaster. _phil_. i am to blame to be so much in rage, i'le tell her coolely, when and where i heard this killing truth. i will be temperate in speaking, and as just in hearing. oh monstrous! tempt me not ye gods, good gods tempt not a frail man, what's he, that has a heart but he must ease it here? _bell_. my lord, help the princess. _are_. i am well, forbear. _phi_. let me love lightning, let me be embrac'd and kist by scorpions, or adore the eyes of basilisks, rather than trust to tongues, and shrink these veins up; stick me here a stone lasting to ages in the memory of this damn'd act. hear me you wicked ones, you have put the hills on fire into this breast, not to be quench'd with tears, for which may guilt sit on your bosoms; at your meals, and beds, despair await you: what, before my face? poyson of aspes between your lips; diseases be your best issues; nature make a curse and throw it on you. _are_. dear _philaster_, leave to be enrag'd, and hear me. _phi_. i have done; forgive my passion, not the calm'd sea, when _ã�olus_ locks up his windy brood, is less disturb'd than i, i'le make you know it. dear _arethusa_, do but take this sword, and search how temperate a heart i have; then you and this your boy, may live and raign in lust without control; wilt thou _bellario_? i prethee kill me; thou art poor, and maist nourish ambitious thoughts, when i am dead: this way were freer; am i raging now? if i were mad i should desire to live; sirs, feel my pulse; whether have you known a man in a more equal tune to die? _bel_. alas my lord, your pulse keeps madmans time, so does your tongue. _phi_. you will not kill me then? _are_. kill you? _bell_. not for a world. _phi_. i blame not thee, _bellario_; thou hast done but that, which gods would have transform'd themselves to do; be gone, leave me without reply; this is the last of all our meeting. kill me with this sword; be wise, or worse will follow: we are two earth cannot bear at once. resolve to do, or suffer. _are_. if my fortunes be so good to let me fall upon thy hand, i shall have peace in death. yet tell me this, will there be no slanders, no jealousies in the other world, no ill there? _phi_. no. _are_. shew me then the way. _phi_. then guide my feeble hand, you that have power to do it, for i must perform a piece of justice. if your youth have any way offended heaven, let prayers short and effectual reconcile you to it. _are_. i am prepared. _enter a_ country-fellow. _coun_. i'le see the king if he be in the forest, i have hunted him these two hours; if i should come home and not see him my sisters would laugh at me; i can see nothing but people better horst than my self, that outride me; i can hear nothing but shouting. these kings had need of good brains, this whooping is able to put a mean man out of his wits. there's a courtier with his sword drawn, by this hand upon a woman, i think. _phi_. are you at peace? _are_. with heavens and earth. _phi_. may they divide thy soul and body? _coun_. hold dastard, strike a woman! th'art a craven i warrant thee, thou wouldst be loth to play half a dozen of venies at wasters with a good fellow for a broken head. _phi_. leave us good friend. _are_. what ill bred man art thou, to intrude thy self upon our private sports, our recreations? _coun_. god 'uds, i understand you not, but i know the rogue has hurt you. _phi_. pursue thy own affairs: it will be ill to multiply bloud upon my head; which thou wilt force me to. _coun_. i know not your rhetorick, but i can lay it on if you touch the woman. [_they fight_. _phi_. slave, take what thou deservest. _are_. heavens guard my lord. _coun_. oh do you breath? _phi_. i hear the tread of people: i am hurt. the gods take part against me, could this boor have held me thus else? i must shift for life, though i do loath it. i would find a course, to lose it, rather by my will than force. [_exit_ phil. _coun_. i cannot follow the rogue. i pray thee wench come and kiss me now. _enter_ phara. dion, cle. thra. _and_ woodmen. _pha_. what art thou? _coun_. almost kil'd i am for a foolish woman; a knave has hurt her. _pha_. the princess gentlemen! where's the wound madam? is it dangerous? _are_. he has not hurt me. _coun_. i'faith she lies, has hurt her in the breast, look else. _pha_. o sacred spring of innocent blood! _di_. 'tis above wonder! who should dare this? _are_. i felt it not. _pha_. speak villain, who has hurt the princess? _coun_. is it the princess? _di_. i. _coun_. then i have seen something yet. _pha_. but who has hurt her? _coun_. i told you a rogue i ne're saw him before, i. _pha_. madam who did it? _are_. some dishonest wretch, alas i know him not, and do forgive him. _coun_. he's hurt too, he cannot go far, i made my fathers old fox flie about his ears. _pha_. how will you have me kill him? _are_. not at all, 'tis some distracted fellow. _pha_. by this hand, i'le leave ne'er a piece of him bigger than a nut, and bring him all in my hat. _are_. nay, good sir; if you do take him, bring him quick to me, and i will study for a punishment, great as his fault. _pha_. i will. _are_. but swear. _pha_. by all my love i will: woodmen conduct the princess to the king, and bear that wounded fellow to dressing: come gentlemen, we'l follow the chase close. [_ex_. are. pha. di. cle. thra. _and_ 1 woodman. _coun_. i pray you friend let me see the king. _2 wood_.that you shall, and receive thanks. [_exeunt_. _coun_. if i get clear with this, i'le go see no more gay sights. _enter_ bellario. _bell_. a heaviness near death sits on my brow, and i must sleep: bear me thou gentle bank, for ever if thou wilt: you sweet ones all, let me unworthy press you: i could wish i rather were a coarse strewed o're with you, than quick above you. dulness shuts mine eyes, and i am giddy; oh that i could take so sound a sleep, that i might never wake. _enter_ philaster. _phi_. i have done ill, my conscience calls me false, to strike at her, that would not strike at me: when i did fight, me thought i heard her pray the gods to guard me. she may be abus'd, and i a loathed villain: if she be, she will conceal who hurt her; he has wounds, and cannot follow, neither knows he me. who's this; _bellario_ sleeping? if thou beest guilty, there is no justice that thy sleep [_cry within_. should be so sound, and mine, whom thou hast wrong'd, so broken: hark i am pursued: you gods i'le take this offer'd means of my escape: they have no mark to know me, but my wounds, if she be true; if false, let mischief light on all the world at once. sword, print my wounds upon this sleeping boy: i ha' none i think are mortal, nor would i lay greater on thee. [_wounds him_. _bell_. oh death i hope is come, blest be that hand, it meant me well; again, for pities sake. _phi_. i have caught my self, [phi. _falls_. the loss of bloud hath stayed my flight. here, here, is he that stroke thee: take thy full revenge, use me, as i did mean thee, worse than death: i'le teach thee to revenge this luckless hand wounded the princess, tell my followers thou didst receive these hurts in staying me, and i will second thee: get a reward. _bell_. fly, fly my lord and save your self. _phi_. how's this? wouldst thou i should be safe? _bell_. else it were vain for me to live. these little wounds i have, ha' not bled much, reach me that noble hand, i'le help to cover you. _phi_. art thou true to me? _bell_. or let me perish loath'd. come my good lord, creep in amongst those bushes: who does know but that the gods may save your (much lov'd) breath? _phi_. then i shall die for grief, if not for this, that i have wounded thee: what wilt thou do? _bell_. shift for my self well: peace, i hear 'em come. _within_. follow, follow, follow; that way they went. _bell_. with my own wounds i'le bloudy my own sword. i need not counterfeit to fall; heaven knows, that i can stand no longer. _enter_ pha. dion, cle. _and_ thra. _pha_. to this place we have tract him by his bloud. _cle_. yonder, my lord, creeps one away. _di_. stay sir, what are you? _bell_. a wretched creature wounded in these woods by beasts; relieve me, if your names be men, or i shall perish. _di_. this is he my lord, upon my soul that hurt her; 'tis the boy, that wicked boy that serv'd her. _pha_. o thou damn'd in thy creation! what cause could'st thou shape to hurt the princess? _bell_. then i am betrayed. _di_. betrayed! no, apprehended. _bell_. i confess; urge it no more, that big with evil thoughts i set upon her, and did take my aim her death. for charity let fall at once the punishment you mean, and do not load this weary flesh with tortures. _pha_. i will know who hir'd thee to this deed? _bell_. mine own revenge. _pha_. revenge, for what? _bell_. it pleas'd her to receive me as her page, and when my fortunes ebb'd, that men strid o're them carelesly, she did showr her welcome graces on me, and did swell my fortunes, till they overflow'd their banks, threatning the men that crost 'em; when as swift as storms arise at sea, she turn'd her eyes to burning suns upon me, and did dry the streams she had bestowed, leaving me worse and more contemn'd than other little brooks, because i had been great: in short, i knew i could not live, and therefore did desire to die reveng'd. _pha_. if tortures can be found, long as thy natural life, resolve to feel the utmost rigour. [philaster _creeps out of a bush_. _cle_. help to lead him hence. _phi_. turn back you ravishers of innocence, know ye the price of that you bear away so rudely? _pha_. who's that? _di_. 'tis the lord _philaster_. _phi_. 'tis not the treasure of all kings in one, the wealth of _tagus_, nor the rocks of pearl, that pave the court of _neptune_, can weigh down that vertue. it was i that hurt the princess. place me, some god, upon a _piramis_, higher than hills of earth, and lend a voice loud as your thunder to me, that from thence, i may discourse to all the under-world, the worth that dwells in him. _pha_. how's this? _bell_. my lord, some man weary of life, that would be glad to die. _phi_. leave these untimely courtesies _bellario_. _bell_. alas he's mad, come will you lead me on? _phi_. by all the oaths that men ought most to keep: and gods do punish most, when men do break, he toucht her not. take heed _bellario_, how thou dost drown the vertues thou hast shown with perjury. by all that's good 'twas i: you know she stood betwixt me and my right. _pha_. thy own tongue be thy judge. _cle_. it was _philaster_. _di_. is't not a brave boy? well sirs, i fear we were all deceived. _phi_. have i no friend here? _di_. yes. _phi_. then shew it; some good body lend a hand to draw us nearer. would you have tears shed for you when you die? then lay me gentle on his neck that there i may weep flouds, and breath out my spirit: 'tis not the wealth of _plutus_, nor the gold lockt in the heart of earth, can buy away this arm-full from me, this had been a ransom to have redeem'd the great _augustus caesar_, had he been taken: you hard-hearted men, more stony than these mountains, can you see such clear pure bloud drop, and not cut your flesh to stop his life? to bind whose better wounds, queens ought to tear their hair, and with their tears, bath 'em. forgive me, thou that art the wealth of poor _philaster_. [_enter_ king, arethusa _and a_ guard. _king_. is the villain ta'ne? _pha_. sir, here be two confess the deed; but say it was _philaster_. _phi_. question it no more, it was. _king_. the fellow that did fight with him will tell us. _are_. ay me, i know he will. _king_. did not you know him? _are_. sir, if it was he, he was disguised. _phi_. i was so. oh my stars! that i should live still. _king_. thou ambitious fool; thou that hast laid a train for thy own life; now i do mean to do, i'le leave to talk, bear him to prison. _are_. sir, they did plot together to take hence this harmless life; should it pass unreveng'd, i should to earth go weeping: grant me then (by all the love a father bears his child) their custodies, and that i may appoint their tortures and their death. _di_. death? soft, our law will not reach that, for this fault. _king_. 'tis granted, take 'em to you, with a guard. come princely _pharamond_, this business past, we may with more security go on to your intended match. _cle_. i pray that this action lose not _philaster_ the hearts of the people. _di_. fear it not, their overwise heads will think it but a trick. [_exeunt omnes_. _actus quintus. scena prima_. _enter_ dion, cleremont, _and_ thrasiline. _thra_. has the king sent for him to death? _di_. yes, but the king must know, 'tis not in his power to war with heaven. _cle_. we linger time; the king sent for _philaster_ and the headsman an hour ago. _thra_. are all his wounds well? _di_. all they were but scratches; but the loss of bloud made him faint. _cle_. we dally gentlemen. _thra_. away. _di_. we'l scuffle hard before he perish. [_exeunt_. _enter_ philaster, arethusa, _and_ bellario. _are_. nay dear _philaster_ grieve not, we are well. _bell_. nay good my lord forbear, we are wondrous well. _phi_. oh _arethusa_! o _bellario_! leave to be kind: i shall be shot from heaven, as now from earth, if you continue so; i am a man, false to a pair of the most trusty ones that ever earth bore, can it bear us all? forgive and leave me, but the king hath sent to call me to my death, oh shew it me, and then forget me: and for thee my boy, i shall deliver words will mollifie the hearts of beasts, to spare thy innocence. _bell_. alas my lord, my life is not a thing worthy your noble thoughts; 'tis not a life, 'tis but a piece of child-hood thrown away: should i out-live, i shall then out-live vertue and honour. and when that day comes, if ever i should close these eyes but once, may i live spotted for my perjury, and waste my limbs to nothing. _are_. and i (the woful'st maid as ever was, forc'd with my hands to bring my lord to death) do by the honour of a virgin swear, to tell no hours beyond it. _phi_. make me not hated so. _are_. come from this prison, all joyful to our deaths. _phi_. people will tear me when they find you true to such a wretch as i; i shall die loath'd. injoy your kingdoms peaceably, whil'st i for ever sleep forgotten with my faults, every just servant, every maid in love will have a piece of me if you be true. _are_. my dear lord say not so. _bell_. a piece of you? he was not born of women that can cut it and look on. _phi_. take me in tears betwixt you, for my heart will break with shame and sorrow. _are_. why 'tis well. _bell_. lament no more. _phi_. what would you have done if you had wrong'd me basely, and had found my life no price, compar'd to yours? for love sirs, deal with me truly. _bell_. 'twas mistaken, sir. _phi_. why if it were? _bell_. then sir we would have ask'd you pardon. _phi_. and have hope to enjoy it? _are_. injoy it? i. _phi_. would you indeed? be plain. _bell_. we would my lord. _phi_. forgive me then. _are_. so, so. _bell_. 'tis as it should be now. _phi_. lead to my death. [_exeunt_. _enter_ king, dion, cleremont, _and_ thrasiline. _king_. gentlemen, who saw the prince? _cle_. so please you sir, he's gone to see the city, and the new platform, with some gentlemen attending on him. _king_. is the princess ready to bring her prisoner out? _thra_. she waits your grace. _king_. tell her we stay. _di_. king, you may be deceiv'd yet: the head you aim at cost more setting on than to be lost so slightly: if it must off like a wild overflow, that soops before him a golden stack, and with it shakes down bridges, cracks the strong hearts of _pines_, whose cable roots held out a thousand storms, a thousand thunders, and so made mightier, takes whole villages upon his back, and in that heat of pride, charges strong towns, towers, castles, palaces, and layes them desolate: so shall thy head, thy noble head, bury the lives of thousands that must bleed with thee like a sacrifice, in thy red ruines. _enter_ phil. are. _and_ bell, _in a robe and garland_. _king_. how now, what mask is this? _bell_. right royal sir, i should sing you an epithalamium of these lovers, but having lost my best ayres with my fortunes, and wanting a celestial harp to strike this blessed union on; thus in glad story i give you all. these two fair cedar-branches, the noblest of the mountain, where they grew straightest and tallest, under whose still shades the worthier beasts have made their layers, and slept free from the _syrian_ star, and the fell thunder-stroke, free from the clouds, when they were big with humour, and delivered in thousand spouts, their issues to the earth: o there was none but silent quiet there! till never pleas'd fortune shot up shrubs, base under brambles to divorce these branches; and for a while they did so, and did raign over the mountain, and choakt up his beauty with brakes, rude thornes and thistles, till thy sun scorcht them even to the roots, and dried them there: and now a gentle gale hath blown again that made these branches meet, and twine together, never to be divided: the god that sings his holy numbers over marriage beds, hath knit their noble hearts, and here they stand your children mighty king, and i have done. _king_. how, how? _are_. sir, if you love it in plain truth, for there is no masking in't; this gentleman the prisoner that you gave me is become my keeper, and through all the bitter throws your jealousies and his ill fate have wrought him, thus nobly hath he strangled, and at length arriv'd here my dear husband. _king_. your dear husband! call in the captain of the cittadel; there you shall keep your wedding. i'le provide a mask shall make your hymen turn his saffron into a sullen coat, and sing sad requiems to your departing souls: bloud shall put out your torches, and instead of gaudy flowers about your wanton necks, an ax shall hang like a prodigious meteor ready to crop your loves sweets. hear you gods: from this time do i shake all title off, of father to this woman, this base woman, and what there is of vengeance, in a lion cast amongst dogs, or rob'd of his dear young, the same inforc't more terrible, more mighty, expect from me. _are_. sir, by that little life i have left to swear by, there's nothing that can stir me from my self. what i have done, i have done without repentance, for death can be no bug-bear unto me, so long as _pharamond_ is not my headsman. _di_. sweet peace upon thy soul, thou worthy maid when ere thou dyest; for this time i'le excuse thee, or be thy prologue. _phi_. sir, let me speak next, and let my dying words be better with you than my dull living actions; if you aime at the dear life of this sweet innocent, y'are a tyrant and a savage monster; your memory shall be as foul behind you as you are living, all your better deeds shall be in water writ, but this in marble: no chronicle shall speak you, though your own, but for the shame of men. no monument (though high and big as _pelion_) shall be able to cover this base murther; make it rich with brass, with purest gold, and shining jasper, like the pyramids, lay on epitaphs, such as make great men gods; my little marble (that only cloaths my ashes, not my faults) shall far out shine it: and for after issues think not so madly of the heavenly wisdoms, that they will give you more, for your mad rage to cut off, unless it be some snake, or something like your self, that in his birth shall strangle you. remember, my father king; there was a fault, but i forgive it: let that sin perswade you to love this lady. if you have a soul, think, save her, and be saved, for my self, i have so long expected this glad hour, so languisht under you, and daily withered, that heaven knows it is my joy to dye, i find a recreation in't. _enter a_ messenger. _mess_. where's the king? _king_. here. _mess_. get you to your strength, and rescue the prince _pharamond_ from danger, he's taken prisoner by the citizens, fearing the lord _philaster_. _di_. oh brave followers; mutiny, my fine dear country-men, mutiny, now my brave valiant foremen, shew your weapons in honour of your mistresses. [_enter another_ messenger. _mess_. arm, arm, arm. _king_. a thousand devils take 'em. _di_. a thousand blessings on 'em. _mess_. arm o king, the city is in mutiny, led by an old gray ruffin, who comes on in rescue of the lord _philaster_. [_exit with_ are. phi. bell. _king_. away to the cittadel, i'le see them safe, and then cope with these burgers: let the guard and all the gentlemen give strong attendance. [_ex. king_. [_manent_ dion, cleremont, thrasiline. _cle_. the city up! this was above our wishes. _di_. i and the marriage too; by my life, this noble lady has deceiv'd us all, a plague upon my self; a thousand plagues, for having such unworthy thoughts of her dear honour: o i could beat my self, or do you beat me and i'le beat you, for we had all one thought. _cle_. no, no, 'twill but lose time. _di_. you say true, are your swords sharp? well my dear country-men, what ye lack, if you continue and fall not back upon the first broken shin, i'le have you chronicled, and chronicled, and cut and chronicled and all to be prais'd, and sung in sonnets, and bath'd in new brave ballads, that all tongues shall troule you _in saecula saeculorum_ my kind can-carriers. _thra_. what if a toy take 'em i'th' heels now, and they run all away, and cry the devil take the hindmost? _di_. then the same devil take the foremost too, and sowce him for his breakfast; if they all prove cowards, my curses fly amongst them and be speeding. may they have murreins raign to keep the gentlemen at home unbound in easie freeze: may the moths branch their velvets, and their silks only be worn before sore eyes. may their false lights undo 'em, and discover presses, holes, stains, and oldness in their stuffs, and make them shop-rid: may they keep whores and horses, and break; and live mued up with necks of beef and turnips: may they have many children, and none like the father: may they know no language but that gibberish they prattle to their parcels, unless it be the goarish latine they write in their bonds, and may they write that false, and lose their debts. _enter the_ king. _king_. now the vengeance of all the gods confound them; how they swarm together! what a hum they raise; devils choak your wilde throats; if a man had need to use their valours, he must pay a brokage for it, and then bring 'em on, they will fight like sheep. 'tis _philaster_, none but _philaster_ must allay this heat: they will not hear me speak, but fling dirt at me, and call me tyrant. oh run dear friend, and bring the lord _philaster_: speak him fair, call him prince, do him all the courtesie you can, commend me to him. oh my wits, my wits! [_exit_ cle. _di_. oh my brave countrymen! as i live, i will not buy a pin out of your walls for this; nay, you shall cozen me, and i'le thank you; and send you brawn and bacon, and soil you every long vacation a brace of foremen, that at _michaelmas_ shall come up fat and kicking. _king_. what they will do with this poor prince, the gods know, and i fear. _di_. why sir: they'l flea him, and make church buckets on's skin to squench rebellion, then clap a rivet in's sconce, and hang him up for a sign. _enter_ cleremont _with_ philaster. _king_. o worthy sir forgive me, do not make your miseries and my faults meet together, to bring a greater danger. be your self, still sound amongst diseases, i have wrong'd you, and though i find it last, and beaten to it, let first your goodness know it. calm the people, and be what you were born to: take your love, and with her my repentance, and my wishes, and all my prayers, by the gods my heart speaks this: and if the least fall from me not perform'd, may i be struck with thunder. _phi_. mighty sir, i will not do your greatness so much wrong, as not to make your word truth; free the princess, and the poor boy, and let me stand the shock of this mad sea breach, which i'le either turn or perish with it. _king_. let your own word free them. _phi_. then thus i take my leave kissing your hand, and hanging on your royal word: be kingly, and be not moved sir, i shall bring your peace, or never bring my self back. _king_. all the gods go with thee. [_exeunt omnes_. _enter an old captain and citizens with_ pharamond. _cap_. come my brave mirmidons let's fall on, let our caps swarm my boys, and you nimble tongues forget your mothers gibberish, of what do you lack, and set your mouths up children, till your pallats fall frighted half a fathom, past the cure of bay-salt and gross pepper. and then cry _philaster_, brave _philaster_, let _philaster_ be deeper in request, my ding-dongs, my pairs of dear indentures, king of clubs, than your cold water chamblets or your paintings spitted with copper; let not your hasty silks, or your branch'd cloth of bodkin, or your tishues, dearly belov'd of spiced cake and custard, your robin-hoods scarlets and johns, tie your affections in darkness to your shops; no, dainty duckers, up with your three pil'd spirits, your wrought valours. and let your un-cut coller make the king feel the measure of your mightiness _philaster_. cry my rose nobles, cry. _all_. philaster, philaster. _cap_. how do you like this my lord prince, these are mad boys, i tell you, these are things that will not strike their top-sayles to a foist. and let a man of war, an argosie hull and cry cockles. _pha_. why you rude slave, do you know what you do? _cap_. my pretty prince of puppets, we do know, and give your greatness warning, that you talk no more such bugs-words, or that soldred crown shall be scratch'd with a musket: dear prince pippen, down with your noble bloud; or as i live, i'le have you codled: let him lose my spirits, make us a round ring with your bills my hectors, and let us see what this trim man dares do. now sir, have at you; here i [lie], and with this swashing blow, do you swear prince; i could hulk your grace, and hang you up cross-leg'd, like a hare at a poulters, and do this with this wiper. _pha_. you will not see me murder'd wicked villains? _1 cit_. yes indeed will we sir, we have not seen one fo[r] a great while. _capt_. he would have weapons would he? give him a broad-side my brave boyes with your pikes, branch me his skin in flowers like a satin, and between every flower a mortal cut, your royalty shall ravel, jag him gentlemen, i'le have him cut to the kell, then down the seames, oh for a whip to make him galoone-laces, i'le have a coach-whip. _pha_. o spare me gentlemen. _cap_. hold, hold, the man begins to fear and know himself, he shall for this time only be seal'd up with a feather through his nose, that he may only see heaven, and think whither he's going, nay beyond-sea sir, we will proclaim you, you would be king thou tender heir apparent to a church-ale, thou sleight prince of single sarcenet; thou royal ring-tail, fit to fly at nothing but poor mens poultry, and have every boy beat thee from that too with his bread and butter. _pha_. gods keep me from these hell-hounds. _2 cit_. shall's geld him captain? _cap_. no, you shall spare his dowcets my dear donsels, as you respect the ladies let them flourish; the curses of a longing woman kill as speedy as a plague, boys. _1 cit_. i'le have a leg that's certain. _2 cit_. i'le have an arm. _3 cit_. i'le have his nose, and at mine own charge build a colledge, and clap't upon the gate. _4 cit_. i'le have his little gut to string a kit with, for certainly a royal gut will sound like silver. _pha_. would they were in thy belly, and i past my pain once. _5 cit_. good captain let me have his liver to feed ferrets. _cap_. who will have parcels else? speak. _pha_. good gods consider me, i shall be tortur'd. _1 cit_. captain, i'le give you the trimming of your hand-sword, and let me have his skin to make false scabbards. _2_. he had no horns sir had he? _cap_. no sir, he's a pollard, what would'st thou do with horns? _cit_. o if he had, i would have made rare hafts and whistles of 'em, but his shin-bones if they be sound shall serve me. [_enter_ philaster. _all_. long live _philaster_, the brave prince _philaster_. _phi_. i thank you gentlemen, but why are these rude weapons brought abroad, to teach your hands uncivil trades? _cap_. my royal rosiclear, we are thy mirmidons, thy guard, thy rorers, and when thy noble body is in durance, thus do we clap our musty murrions on, and trace the streets in terrour: is it peace thou _mars_ of men? is the king sociable, and bids thee live? art thou above thy foemen, and free as _phoebus_? speak, if not, this stand of royal blood shall be abroach, atilt, and run even to the lees of honour. _phi_. hold and be satisfied, i am my self free as my thoughts are, by the gods i am. _cap_. art thou the dainty darling of the king? art thou the _hylas_ to our _hercules_? do the lords bow, and the regarded scarlets, kiss their gumd-gols, and cry, we are your servants? is the court navigable, and the presence struck with flags of friendship? if not, we are thy castle and this man sleeps. _phi_. i am what i desire to be, your friend, i am what i was born to be, your prince. _pha_. sir, there is some humanity in you, you have a noble soul, forget my name, and know my misery, set me safe aboard from these wild _canibals_, and as i live, i'le quit this land for ever: there is nothing, perpetual prisonment, cold, hunger, sickness of all sorts, all dangers, and all together the worst company of the worst men, madness, age, to be as many creatures as a woman, and do as all they do, nay to despair; but i would rather make it a new nature, and live with all those than endure one hour amongst these wild dogs. _phi_. i do pity you: friends discharge your fears, deliver me the prince, i'le warrant you i shall be old enough to find my safety. _3 cit_. good sir take heed he does not hurt you, he's a fierce man i can tell you sir. _cap_. prince, by your leave i'le have a sursingle, and male you like a hawke. [_he stirs_. _phi_. away, away, there is no danger in him: alas he had rather sleep to shake his fit off. look you friends, how gently he leads, upon my word he's tame enough, he need[s] no further watching. good my friends go to your houses and by me have your pardons, and my love, and know there shall be nothing in my power you may deserve, but you shall have your wishes. to give you more thanks were to flatter you, continue still your love, and for an earnest drink this. _all_. long maist thou live brave prince, brave prince, brave prince. [_exeunt_ phi. _and_ pha. _cap_. thou art the king of courtesie: fall off again my sweet youths, come and every man trace to his house again, and hang his pewter up, then to the tavern and bring your wives in muffes: we will have musick and the red grape shall make us dance, and rise boys. [_exeunt_. _enter_ king, are. gal. meg. cle. dion, thra. bellario, _and attendants_. _king_. is it appeas'd? _di_. sir, all is quiet as this dead of night, as peaceable as sleep, my lord _philaster_ brings on the prince himself. _king_. kind gentlemen! i will not break the least word i have given in promise to him, i have heap'd a world of grief upon his head, which yet i hope to wash away. _enter_ philaster _and_ pharamond. _cle_. my lord is come. _king_. my son! blest be the time that i have leave to call such vertue mine; now thou art in mine arms, me thinks i have a salve unto my breast for all the stings that dwell there, streams of grief that i have wrought thee, and as much of joy that i repent it, issue from mine eyes: let them appease thee, take thy right; take her, she is thy right too, and forget to urge my vexed soul with that i did before. _phi_. sir, [it is] blotted from my memory, past and forgotten: for you prince of _spain_, whom i have thus redeem'd, you have full leave to make an honourable voyage home. and if you would go furnish'd to your realm with fair provision, i do see a lady me thinks would gladly bear you company: how like you this piece? _meg_. sir, he likes it well, for he hath tried it, and found it worth his princely liking; we were ta'ne a bed, i know your meaning, i am not the first that nature taught to seek a fellow forth: can shame remain perpetually in me, and not in others? or have princes salves to cure ill names that meaner people want? _phi_. what mean you? _meg_. you must get another ship to clear the princess and the boy together. _di_. how now! _meg_. others took me, and i took her and him at that all women may be ta'ne sometimes: ship us all four my lord, we can endure weather and wind alike. _king_. clear thou thy self, or know not me for father. _are_. this earth, how false it is? what means is left for me to clear my self? it lies in your belief, my lords believe me, and let all things else struggle together to dishonour me. _bell_. o stop your ears great king, that i may speak as freedom would, then i will call this lady as base as be her actions, hear me sir, believe [y]our hated bloud when it rebels against your reason sooner than this lady. _meg_. by this good light he bears it hansomely. _phi_. this lady? i will sooner trust the wind with feathers, or the troubled sea with pearl, than her with any thing; believe her not! why think you, if i did believe her words; i would outlive 'em: honour cannot take revenge on you, then what were to be known but death? _king_. forget her sir, since all is knit between us: but i must request of you one favour, and will sadly be denied. _phi_. command what ere it be. _king_. swear to be true to what you promise. _phi_. by the powers above, let it not be the death of her or him, and it is granted. _king_. bear away the boy to torture, i will have her clear'd or buried. _phi_. o let me call my words back, worthy sir, ask something else, bury my life and right in one poor grave, but do not take away my life and fame at once. _king_. away with him, it stands irrevocable. _phi_. turn all your eyes on me, here stands a man the falsest and the basest of this world: set swords against this breast some honest man, for i have liv'd till i am pitied, my former deeds are hateful, but this last is pitifull, for i unwillingly have given the dear preserver of my life [_offers to kill himself_.] unto his torture: is it in the power of flesh and blood, to carry this and live? _are_. dear sir be patient yet, or stay that hand. _king_. sirs, strip that boy. _di_. come sir, your tender flesh will try your constancie. _bell_. o kill me gentlemen. _di_. no, help sirs. _bell_. will you torture me? _king_. hast there, why stay you? _bell_. then i shall not break my vow, you know just gods, though i discover all. _king_. how's that? will he confess? _di_. sir, so he says. _king_. speak then. _bell_. great king if you command this lord to talk with me alone, my tongue urg'd by my heart, shall utter all the thoughts my youth hath known, and stranger things than these you hear not often. _king_. walk aside with him. _di_. why speak'st thou not? _bell_. know you this face my lord? _di_. no. _bell_. have you not seen it, nor the like? _di_. yes, i have seen the like, but readily i know not where. _bell_. i have been often told in court, of one _euphrasia,_ a lady and daughter to you; betwixt whom and me (they that would flatter my bad face would swear) there was such strange resemblance, that we two could not be known asunder, drest alike. _di_. by heaven and so there is. _bell_. for her fair sake, who now doth spend the spring time of her life in holy pilgrimage, move to the king, that i may scape this torture. _di_. but thou speak'st as like _euphrasia_ as thou dost look, how came it to thy knowledge that she lives in pilgrimage? _bell_. i know it not my lord, but i have heard it, and do scarce believe it. _di_. oh my shame, is't possible? draw near, that i may gaze upon thee, art thou she? or else her murderer? where wert thou born? _bell_. in _siracusa_. _di_. what's thy name? _bell. euphrasia_. _di_. o 'tis just, 'tis she now, i do know thee, oh that thou hadst died and i had never seen thee nor my shame, how shall i own thee? shall this tongue of mine e're call thee daughter more? _bell_. would i had died indeed, i wish it too, and so i must have done by vow, e're published what i have told, but that there was no means to hide it longer, yet i joy in this, the princess is all clear. _king_. what have you done? _di_. all is discovered. _phi_. why then hold you me? _di_. all is discovered, pray you let me go. [he offers to stab himself_.] _king_. stay him. _are_. what is discovered? _di_. why my shame, it is a woman, let her speak the rest. _phi_. how! that again. _di_. it is a woman. _phi_. blest be you powers that favour innocence. _king_. lay hold upon that lady. _phi_. it is a woman sir, hark gentlemen! it is a woman. _arethusa_ take my soul into thy breast, that would be gone with joy: it is a woman, thou art fair, and vertuous still to ages, in despight of malice. _king_. speak you, where lies his shame? _bell_. i am his daughter. _phi_. the gods are just. _di_. i dare accuse none, but before you two the vertue of our age, i bend my knee for mercy. _phi_. take it freely; for i know, though what thou didst were undiscreetly done, 'twas meant well. _are_. and for me, i have a power to pardon sins as oft as any man has power to wrong me. _cle_. noble and worthy. _phi_. but _bellario_, (for i must call thee still so) tell me why thou didst conceal thy sex, it was a fault, a fault _bellario_, though thy other deeds of truth outweigh'd it: all these jealousies had flown to nothing, if thou hadst discovered, what now we know. _bell_. my father would oft speak your worth and vertue, and as i did grow more and more apprehensive, i did thirst to see the man so rais'd, but yet all this was but a maiden longing to be lost as soon as found, till sitting in my window, printing my thoughts in lawne, i saw a god i thought (but it was you) enter our gates, my bloud flew out, and back again as fast as i had puft it forth, and suck't it in like breath, then was i call'd away in hast to entertain you. never was a man heav'd from a sheep-coat to a scepter rais'd so high in thoughts as i, you left a kiss upon these lips then, which i mean to keep from you for ever, i did hear you talk far above singing; after you were gone, i grew acquainted with my heart, and search'd what stir'd it so, alas i found it love, yet far from lust, for could i have but liv'd in presence of you, i had had my end, for this i did delude my noble father with a feign'd pilgrimage, and drest my self in habit of a boy, and, for i knew my birth no match for you, i was past hope of having you. and understanding well that when i made discovery of my sex, i could not stay with you, i made a vow by all the most religious things a maid could call together, never to be known, whilst there was hope to hide me from mens eyes, for other than i seem'd; that i might ever abide with you, then sate i by the fount where first you took me up. _king_. search out a match within our kingdom where and when thou wilt, and i will pay thy dowry, and thy self wilt well deserve him. _bell_. never sir will i marry, it is a thing within my vow, but if i may have leave to serve the princess, to see the vertues of her lord and her, i shall have hope to live. _are_. i _philaster_, cannot be jealous, though you had a lady drest like a page to serve you, nor will i suspect her living here: come live with me, live free, as i do, she that loves my lord, curst be the wife that hates her. _phi_. i grieve such vertues should be laid in earth without an heir; hear me my royal father, wrong not the freedom of our souls so much, to think to take revenge of that base woman, her malice cannot hurt us: set her free as she was born, saving from shame and sin. _king_. set her at liberty, but leave the court, this is no place for such: you _pharamond_ shall have free passage, and a conduct home worthy so great a prince, when you come there, remember 'twas your faults that lost you her, and not my purpos'd will. _pha_. i do confess, renowned sir. _king_. last joyn your hands in one, enjoy _philaster_ this kingdom which is yours, and after me what ever i call mine, my blessing on you, all happy hours be at your marriage joyes, that you may grow your selves over all lands, and live to see your plenteous branches spring where ever there is sun. let princes learn by this to rule the passions of their blood, for what heaven wills, can never be withstood. [_exeunt omnes_. philaster. (a) phylaster. | or, | love lyes a bleeding. | acted at the globe by his majesties servants. | written by francis baymont and john fletcher. gent. | printed at london for thomas walkley, and are to be sold at his | shop at the eagle and child, in brittaines bursse. 1620. this edition contains, on the title-page, a wood-cut representing 'the princes' (the princess) and 'a cuntrie gentellman' seated on the ground, and 'phielaster' leaving them. see the scene in act iv (_ante_, p. 125). (b) philaster. | or, | love lies a bleeding. | as it hath beene diverse times acted, | at the globe, and blacke-friers, by | his majesties servants. | written by francis beaumont, and john fletcher. gent. | the second impression, corrected, and | amended. | london, | printed for thomas walkley, and are to | be solde at his shoppe, at the signe of the | eagle and childe, in brittaines bursse. | 1622. (c) philaster, | or | love lies a bleeding. | acted at the globe, and blackfriers. by his majesties servants. | the authors being francis beaumont, and john fletcher. | gentlemen. | the third impression. | london, | printed by a.m. for richard hawkins, and are to | be sold at his shop in chancery-lane, adjoyning | to sarjeants inne gate. 1628. (d) philaster, | or | love lies a bleeding. | acted at the globe, and blackfriers. by his majesties servants. | the authors being francis beaumont, and john fletcher. gentlemen. | the fourth impression. | london, | printed by w.j. for richard hawkins, and are to | be sold at his shop in chancery-lane, adjoyning | to sarjeants inne gate. 1634. (e) philaster | or | love lies a bleeding. | acted at the globe, and blackfriers. by his majesties servants. | the authors being francis beaumont, and john fletcher. gent. | the fourth impression. | london, | printed by e. griffin for william leak, and are to | be sold at his shop in chancerie lane neere | the rowles. 1639. (f) philaster: | or, | love lies a bleeding. | acted at the globe, and blackfriers, by his majesties servants. | the authors being francis beaumont, and john fletcher, gent. | the fifth impression. | london: | printed for william leake, and are to be sold at his shop at the | sign of the crown in fleetstreet, between the two | temple gates. 1652. this edition contains on the title-page a small device of fleurs-de-lis. (g) philaster | or, | love lies a bleeding. | acted at the globe, and black-friers, by his majesties servants. | the authors being francis beaumont, and john fletcher, gent. | the fifth impression. | london: | printed for william leake, and are to be sold at his shop at the | signe of the crown in fleet street, between the two | temple gates. 1652. on the back of the title-page (which contains the device of a crown) is a list of books printed or sold by william leake. (h) philaster | or, | love lies a bleeding: | acted at the globe, and blackfriers, by his majesties servants. | the authors being francis beaumont, and john fletcher, gent. | the sixth impression. | london, | printed for william leake, and are to be sold at his shop at the | signe of the crown in fleet street, between the two | temple gates. this edition, conjecturally dated 1660 in the british museum catalogue, contains, on the back of the title-page and at the foot of the list of persons represented, lists of books printed or sold by william leake at the crown in fleet street. a the first few pages and the last few pages of the play as printed in a vary so completely from the other texts that it has been necessary to print them separately. see _post_, pp. 401--3, 413--17. b contains the following address to the reader: _'to the reader_. 'courteous reader. _philaster_, and _anthusa_ his love, have laine so long a bleeding, by reason of some dangerous 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 [? maimed] 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 serviceable friend_, thomas walkley.' c prefixes to the play the following address repeated with variations of spelling in the five later quartos: 'the stationer, to the understanding gentrie. 'this play so affectionatly 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 [d and e three; f, g and h four] editions,) no lesse acceptance with improovement of you likewise the readers, albeit the first impression swarm'd with errors, prooving it selfe like pure gold, which the more it hath beene tried and refined, the better is esteemed; the best poems of this kind, in the first presentation, resemble [d--h resembling] that all tempting minerall newly digged up, the actors being onely the labouring miners, but you the skilfull triers and refiners: now considering [d--h consider] 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, [f--h _omit_ heard and] 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 [d--h _omit_ and] set foorth againe, to game the good-will both of you and them. to whom respectively i convey this hearty greeting: adieu.' p. 75 1. 3. a and b _omit_] or, love lies a bleeding. ii. 4 _et seq_. a] the actors names. king of cecely arathusa, the princesse. phylaster. pharamont, a spanish prince, leon, a lord. gleremon} two noble gentlemen trasilm } bellario a page, leon's daughter. callatea, a lady of honor. megra, another lady. a waiting gentlewoman. two woodmen. a countrey gallant. an old captaine. and souldiers. a messenger. b _omits_ the list of persons represented in the play and also _the scene_, etc.1. 5. c--h] the persons presented are these, viz. in a the play, down to i. 26 of p. 78, begins as follows] _actus_ i. _scoen_. i. _enter at severall doores _lord lyon, trasiline, _followes him_, clerimon _meetes them_. trasiline. well ore tane my lord. lyon. noble friend welcome, and see who encounters us, honourable good _clerimon_. cle. my good lord _lyon_, most happily met worthy _trasiline_, come gallants, what's the newes, the season affoords us variety, the novilsts of our time runnes on heapes, to glut their itching eares with airie sounds, trotting to'th burse; and in the temple walke with greater zeale to heare a novall lye, than a pyous anthum tho chanted by cherubins. trans. true sir: and holds set counsels, to vent their braine sicke opinions with presagements what all states shall designe. cle. thats as their intelligence serves. lyon. and that shall serve as long as invention lastes, there dreames they relate, as spoke from oracles, or if the gods should hold a synod, and make them their secritaries, they will divine and prophecie too: but come and speake your thoughts of the intended marriage with the spanish prince. he is come you see, and bravely entertainde. tras. hee is so, but not married yet. cle. but like to be, and shall have in dowry with the princesse this kingdome of _cycele_. leon. soft and faire, there is more will forbid the baines, then say amen to the marriage: though the king usurped the kingdome during the non-age of the prince _phylaster_, hee must not thinke to bereave him of it quite; hee is now come to yeares to claime the crowne. tra. and lose his head i' the asking. leon. a diadem worn by a headlesse king wold be wonderous, _phylaster_ is too weake in power. cle. he hath many friends. leon. and few helpers. tra. the people love him. leon. i grant it, that the king knowes too well, and makes this contract to make his faction strong: whats a giddy-headed multitude, that's not disciplinde nor trainde up in armes, to be trusted unto? no, he that will bandy for a monarchic, must provide brave marshall troopes with resolution armde, to stand the shock of bloudy doubtfull warre, not danted though disastrous fate doth frowne, and spit all spightfull fury in their face: defying horror in her ugliest forme, and growes more valiant, the more danger threats; or let leane famine her affliction send, whose pining plagues a second hel doth bring, thei'le hold their courage in her height of spleene, till valour win plenty to supply them, what thinke ye, would yer feast-hunting citizens indure this? tra. no sir, a faire march a mile out of town that their wives may bring them their dinners, is the hottest service that they are trained up to. cle. i could wish their experience answered their loves, then should the much too much wrongd _phylaster_, possesse his right in spight of don and the divell. tra. my heart is with your wishes. leon. and so is mine, and so should all that loves their true borne prince, then let us joyne our forces with our mindes, in whats our power to right this wronged lord, and watch advantage as best may fit the time to stir the murmuring people up, who is already possest with his wrongs, and easily would in rebellion rise, which full well the king doth both know and feare, but first our service wee'le proffer to the prince, and set our projects as he accepts of us; but husht, the king is comming. _sound musicke within_. _enter the king_, pharamont, _the princesse, the lady gallatea, the lady megra, a gentlewoman, loith lords attending, the king takes his seate_. king. faire prince, since heavens great guider furthers our intents, and brought you with safety here to arrive within our kingdome and court of _cycele_, we bid you most welcome, princely _pharamont_, and that our kingly bounty shall confirme, even whilst the heavens hold so propitious aspect wee'le crowne your wisht desires (with our owne) lend me your hand sweet prince, hereby enjoy a full fruition of your best contents, the interest i hold i doe possesse you with, onely a fathers care, and prayers retaine, that heaven may heape on blessings, take her prince, a sweeter mistrisse then the offered language of any dame, were she a queene whose eye speakes common loves, and comfort to her servants: last noble son, for so i [now must call you, what i have done thus publik, is not to add a comfort [in particular to you or mee, but all, and to confirme the nobles and the gentrie of our kingdom'e by oath to your succession: which [shall be within this moneth at most. l. 28. b--e] nor lords, nor ladyes. l. 33. b and c] desired. l. 34. folio] ghess. p. 76, l. 1. b and c] faith sir. l. 8. f] for me. p. 77, l. 1. b and c] faith, i thinke. l. 29. b] quickly to bee. l. 33. d--h] to give a stranger. l. 35. in b--h bracket ends with this line. l. 37. f, g, h and the folio _misprint_] your daughter. l. 38. c, d and e] your subjects. p. 78, l. 9. e--h] i making. l. 13. b] to talke of her. l. 22. b _omits_] a. l. 29. a] when it is. l. 30. a--e] is wrong'd. p. 79, l. 4. a] and in me. l. 5. a, b and c] by more then all the gods, i hold it happy. d and e] by more then all my hopes i hold it happy (a--e _repeat happy at beginning of next line_). l. 9. a] rotting age. l. 10. a--h] open. l. 15. a] finde it out. l. 16. a, b and c] and tye it to this countrey. by all the gods. l. 17. a] as easie to the subjects. l. 27. a] miracles. l. 30. a prints this stage-direction after the word 'shape' in l. 32. l. 31. a] he'le sell him, he has so be praised his shape. b--g] sell himself. l. 33. a] large praises. ll. 34 and 35. a] let mee bee swallowed quicke, if i can finde all the anatomy of yon mans vertues unseene to sound enough. l. 37. a, b and c] of trifles. l. 39. a _omits_] and. p. 80, l. 1. a] for favour. l. 3. a, b and c] how pale he lookes, he feares. l. 4. a] and this same whoresone conscience, ah how it jades us. l. 5. b] intent. l. 6. a] speak on. l. 11. f and g] turn'd. l. 15. a] sweet princesse. l. 25. a, b and c _add after_] ashes, as i. l. 26. f] goes. l. 30. a] his hidden bowels. l. 31. a, b and c] by the just gods it shall. l. 35. a] i prince of popines, i will make it well appeare. l. 40. a] turcle. p. 81, l. 2. a] make. ll. 3 and 4. a] i doe not fancy this choller, sure hee's somewhat tainted. l. 8. a] be constant gentle heavens, i'le run. b and c] be constant gentlemen, by heaven i'le run. l. 10. a--d] we are all one. l. 17. a] leave it to me. l. 19. d, e and g] were. l. 21. a--f] any thing but thine. g] any thine. l. 25. a and b] belied. l. 26. a] and from his presence. spit all those bragges. b--e] presence. b _omits_] all. ll. 29 and 30. a _omits_] to brave our best friends. you deserve our frown. l. 31. a] noblier. l. 32. a gives this speech to leon, i.e., dion. l. 34. a] never. l. 35. a] this is. l. 37. a _omits_] your. l. 38. a] but i'm sure tothers the man set in my eye. a--g] my eye. p. 82, l. 4. a] griefe. l. 5. a] my wants. a, b and c] now nothing hopes and feares. l. 7. a and b _omit_] not. l. 8. a] phy: whispers the king. l. 9. a _omits_ this line. ll. 12 and 13. a] has a soule of christall,* to read their actions, though mens faces. l. 14. a _omits_] do. a] but view the stranger well. f] your stranger. l. 15. a] throw all. a] braveries. l. 16. a] a true truant. l. 17. a] i am no augery. l. 21. a] you are. l. 22. a] smooth your selfe. l. 24. a, b and c _omit_] not. l. 25. a--e] my weake starres lead me too; [a:] all my weake fortunes. l. 26. a] dare. a _omits_ parenthesis. b] presence (speake, that is. l. 30. a _omits_] sure. l. 31. a] yes, with my fathers spirit is heare o king. l. 32. a] and now. l. 34. a--e] these are. l. 39. the folio _misprints_] hour hand. p. 83, l. 2. a] of your life. l. 4. a _omits_] your. a _omits_] ex. king, pha. and are. b--h _omit_] and. l. 6. a gives this speech to 'tra.', i.e., thrasiline. l. 8. a--g] is he not. l. 10. a--g] i could. a] their nation. l. 12. a gives this speech to 'lad.', i.e., lady. a, b and c] gods comfort. a _omits_] lady. l. 13. a] has. a, b and c with variations of spelling _add_] exet ladies. l. 27. a] recluses. l. 28. a] how doe your worth sir. l. 30. a _omits_] i find. l. 32. a] sir, the king must please. l. 33. a] who you are, and what you are. f] what we are and who you are. l. 34. the folio _misprints_] juriuries. a] your wrongs and vertues. l. 35. a] but call your father to you. l. 38. a _omits_] to. p. 84, l. 2. a] friend. l. 3. a--d] our eares. l. 5. f] do you love. l. 6. a] lyon. l. 10. a] a penance. l. 12. for this line a after l. 8 _reads_] enter a gentlewoman. l. 13. a] i'st to me, or to any of these gentlemen you come. l. 14. here and at l. 17 for 'la.' a _reads_] gent-woo. l. 16. a] you are. l. 17. a _omits_] to. l. 18. a, b and c] her faire hand. l. 19. a _adds_] exit gent-woo. l. 21. f] but do weigh. l. 28. a] and white fiend frends in her cheekes. l. 30. in d--h the stage-direction 'ex. phil.' is printed at the end of l. 29. l. 32. b--g] th' art. l. 35. a] enter princesse and her gentlewoman. ll. 36 and 37. for 'are.' a _reads_ throughout the scene 'prin.' and for 'la.' _reads_ 'woo.' p. 85, l. 2. a] at the first. l. 5. a--h] dangers. l. 7. a] dares. l. 12. a, b and c] you all are. l. 17. a _omits_] fear. a] mee thoughts. l. 21. a] with such a woing jesture and puicke looks. l. 22. a _omits_] him. l. 27. a] his ends. l. 29. a] to things so opposite, so bound to put. l. 31. a _omits_] of mine. l. 32. a _omits_] of. l. 35. a] that will not have your dens withstood. l. 37. a, b and c] passions. l. 38. a] into. l. 40. a and b] oh it is well. p. 86, l. 5. a] dos so ill become. l. 14. a] injury. l. 15. a] found to be so great. l. 24. a] both, or i do. a, b and c] by heaven. l. 25. a] if i not calmely die injoy them both. l. 28. h] give. l. 40. a and b] i can indure it. p. 87, l. 1. a] saw yet. l. 2. a--h] dreadfully. l. 3. a] speake. l. 4. a--d] horrible. l. 7. a] a womans tongue. l. 10. a] you that beg. l. 11. f and g] unprice. l. 17. f] the love. l. 22. a _omits_] doth. b--e] doe. l. 26. a] might have. l. 35. a _omits_] the gods. l. 36. a] the worthier, and the better blest. l. 39. a] unwelcom'd. p. 88, l. 5. a--g] true loves. l. 9. b--h] fountaines. l. 11. a] as much againe. l. 13. a] bred in the vayle. l. 16. a] eye. l. 17. a] make them. l. 23. a] the course. l. 24. a] it yeelded him his life. l. 30. a] me thoughts. l. 32. a] whom was glad. l. 33. f and g] the truliest. f] gentle. l. 36. a] enter woman. in a and b this stage-direction occurs after l. 37. l. 38. a for 'la.' _reads_] woo. l. 39. a] phylaster doe. p. 89, l.4. a, b and c] the voyce of god. l.5. a] yet i doe not hide my selfe. l.13. folio has a full-stop at end of line. l.14. a _omits_] for my sake do. l.16. a] enter pharamont and a woman. ll. 19 and 20. a] the deare love within my heart. l.21. a] if i shall have an answer or no, derectly i am gone. l.23. a] to what? what would he have answer. b--e _omit_] an. l.25. a--d] forbare. l.29. a] though it lie. l.31. a, b and c] and by the gods. l.32. a] if then. l.35. a _omits_ this line, though the words 'pha. you' are printed as turn-over words at the foot of the page. p. 90, l.i. a] nothing. l.5. a] so much. ll. 7 and 8. a] but wert the church at the high altar. l.9. a] injurie. l.10. a. _omits_] sir. l.12. a and b _omit_] phi. l.16. a _omits_] but. l.17. a, b and c] but yet. l. 19. a] before our hearts bee so, then if you please. l.21. a--e] dreaming forme. l.23. a] your thoughts. l.28. a] and his boy, called bellario. l.31. a] thy owne. l.33. a _reads_ 'boy' for 'bell.' here and throughout the play. l.34. a] and i am onely yet some thing. l.35. a--h] were apt. l.37. a] crafty. p. 91, l.6. a] bear'st. l.7. a] claps. a _omits_] yet. l.8. a] but when judgement comes no rule those passions. l.17. a _omits_] grown. l.30. a] dos plead. l.32. a] knowst. l.33. a] dos call. l.34. b] dwellest. p. 92, l.5. a] your loves, your sighes. l.7. b--h] heaven. a] exit boy. l.8. c] lord. l. ii. a] i must see. l.12. a _omits_] phi. l.18. a] before in my life. l.20. a] i'le hound at her. madame. f] heer's on boulted, i'le bound at her. l.21. in a the words 'enter gallatea' occur after the word 'fault' in l.19. l.25. a] y'are. l.26. a _omits_] but. 1. 28. a] those two i onely barre. l.32. a] couch. l.33. a] a play and a banquet. ll.34 and 35. a] to make you blush, this is my owne hayre, and this face. l.36. a--d and f] a peny painting. l.37. a and h] wardrop. g] wardrope. l.38. a] the jealous silke-mans wife curse our doing. p. 93, l.l.a] you much mistake me lady. l.2. folio _misprints_ _pha_. for _gal_. after this line a _adds_] pha. y'are very dangerous bitter, like a potion. _gal_. no sir, i do not mean to purge you, though i meane to purge a little time on you. l.8. a and b] cardus. a] about five. l. ii. a] and conger. a] they are dullers. l.12. a] the vitall anymales. l.13. a] all this time. 11. 16 and 17. a] shee's daintie, and must be courted with a shewer of gold. l.19. a] what ha you. l.20. a] you'd have silver fort. l.21. a] a worse time sir. l.23. a] gold safe for you. a _adds_] she slips behind the orras. ii. 25 and 26. in place of these two lines a] _gal_. shes comming sir behind, will ye take white money yet for all this. _exit_. l.-27. a] if there be but two such in this kingdome more. b--h] if there be but two such more in this kingdome. l.28. a] ene. l.31. a] would breed. l.39. a] doe not call you lady. p. 94, l.i.a--g] talke an houre. l.5. a] your lip. l.6. a] time enough. l.8. a--d] and red enough. l.10. a) twend cherries dyde in blush. l. ii. a] deepe beames. i.14. a] sweete looker on. a] these blessings. l.15. a. _adds as a stage-direction_] they kisse. l.18. a _omits_] off. l.19. a] it may be a number without probatum. l.20. a] by such neate poetrie. l.26. a] but you. l.28. a] now you ha don't before me. l.29. a] and yet. l.31-a] never. l.34. a] ye. l.36. a--h and folio] this is all. p. 95, l. 5. a] my masculine imagination. l. 7. b] mine honor. l. 9. a] my other. l. 10. a] sir _timen_ a schoolemaister. l. 11. a] keepe. b and c _add_] madam. l. 14. folio] apoplex? l. 15. a _omits_ 'and' and 'sir.' l. 17. a] tied toot. l. 19. a _omits_] look well about you, and you may find a tongue-bolt. l. 21. a and b] whether. l. 24. a _omits_ the second 'i dare not.' l. 27. a] give worship to you thoughts. l. 28. a] y'are. l. 29. a] i shall visit you. l. 30. a] most uncertaine. l. 34. a] exit ambo. b] exeunt. l. 35. a] the orras. l. 38. a] dowsabell. a] for it. l. 39. a _omits_] gal. p. 96, l. 1. a] enter princesse and her gentlewoman. these characters are in a indicated by 'prin.' and 'wo.' throughout the scene. l. 3. a _omits_] madam. l. 8. a--h and folio] boy. a] i'st not. l. 11. in a this stage-direction occurs after l. 7. l. 14. a--g] has done. l. 19. a] they shall be. l. 23. a, b and c] suspected. l. 26. a] presents. l. 31. a--h] was never. l. 34. a] enter boy. he is called 'boy' throughout the scene. l. 35. a] your sad. l. 38. a] then trust in me. p. 97, l. 6. a] a crosse schoole-maister. l. 8. a] water. l. 9. h and folio _misprint_] dreath. f, g and h] trouble. l. 10. a _omits_] out. l. 11. a] it selfe. l. 12. a, b and c] doth. l. 13. a] _boy_. i know not madame, what it is. l. 18. a, b and c] respect to. l. 19. a, b and c] with thinking. l. 20. a, b and c] thinke away. l. 21. a] with mingling starts, and crying. l. 22. a _omits_] and hastily. a] in streetes. l. 24. a] any woman. l. 28. a] drop beades. ll. 30 and 31. a] taught to your lords credit. l. 35. a] thus away. l. 36. a] enter the three gentlewomen, megra, gallatea, and another lady. b--h _omit_] and. l. 37. a gives this speech to 'tra.', i.e., thrasiline. l. 38. a--g] talke an hour. p. 98, l. 4. a] theyre. b] theile scarce find. l. 5. a and b] your owne lodging. l. 6. a] enter pharamont, the princesse boy, and a woman. l. 9. a] pleasing. l. 11. a] i shall choose. l. 12. a _omits_ this stage-direction. 1. 13. here and throughout the scene 'are.' is 'prin.' in a. a _omits_] my lord. a and b] these ladyes. l. 15. a gives this speech to galatea. l. 17. a _omits_] you. l. 18. a _omits_] has. a] hilus. l. 20. a] why this is that. l. 27. a] to hide it. l. 32. a] you have. g] y'are. l. 34. a _omits_] come. l. 35. a _omits_] ex. gal. and meg. b--h _omit_] and. p. 99 l. 3. a as stage-direction after the word 'late' on p. 98, l. 37 _reads_] enter the king, the princesse, and a guard. l. 4. c _omits_] your. l. 11. a. _omits_] have. l. 12. a. _omits_] ex. are. and bel. b--h omit] and. l. 19. a gives this speech to 'leon', i.e., dion, and _adds_] exit leon. l. 28. a] from the earth. l. 33. a] undeserving child. a _omits_] of mine. l. 34. a] if she has not broke your lawes, but how could i. l. 36. a] in wrong. p. 100, l. 9. a] get from them. a _omits_] i think. a] shee's. l. 11. f] not time. l. 14. a _omits_] louder yet. l. 15. a] your pleasure ... your hearing. l. 16. a] meditation. folio] meditations? ll. 17 and 18. a] and lowder, not yet, i do not thinke he sleepes, having such larumes by him, once more, pharamont. _they knock_. ll. 17 and 18. b] his larum. l. 19. a] enter pharamont above. l. 23. a] prince, prince. l. 26. a] the same, sir. come downe sir. l. 29. a _omits_] pha. below. l. 31. a] i have certain private reasons to my selfe sir. ll. 31 and 32. a as a marginal direction] they prease to come in. l. 33. a _omits_] gentlemen. l. 35. a] i must come, and will come enter. d--h and folio print 'enter' after a space at the end of preceding line. l. 36. a] dishonoured thus. l. 39. a] runagates. p. 101, l. 3. a _omits_] so. l. 4. a omits] i'le. l. 5. a _omits_] known. 1. 6. a] i so no. a _omits_] meg. above. l. 8. a _omits_] and ready. l. 9. a] tis a poore. l. 15. a] whoting. l. 18. a] still in store. l. 22. a--e and g] wring. l. 24. a] chide you dearly. l. 25. a _omits_] worthy. l. 26. a] his lodging. l. 28. a] stage. l. 31. a, b and c] pray god. il. 31 and 32. a has marginal stage-direction] they come downe to the king. l. 33. a _omits_ this stage-direction. l. 37. a] apothecaries. p. 102, l. 2. a] all sinne and hell. l. 5. a _omits_] and. l. 7. a] reball rymes. l. 9. b, c and d] ye. l. 13. a--g] those gods. l. 15. a] that shall make. l. 17. a] upon wals. a] or any thing. l. 19. a] her fayre leaps and out-lying, and will discover all, and will dishonour her. l. 22. a omits} and. l.31. a] sinke alone. l.32. a] in print. ll. 33 and 34. a] they're. l. 37. a _omits_] nay. p. 103, l. 1. a gives this speech to 'leon', i.e., dion. l. 3. a] quarters. ll. 5 and 6. a] do so, and i'le forget your----. l. 6. a] and the guard. b--h _omit_] and. l. 7. a _omits_] why. a and b] fit for hercules. l. 8. a] worthy. c] woman. a] aside. l. 10. a--h] has. l. 11. a--h] uttered. b and c] metled. l. 12. a] will not cure him. l. 13. a, b and c] infections. l. 14. a] chast, brave. l. 16. a] leave yee. l. 18. a] exit three gentlemen. l. 20. a] enter three gentlemen. b--h _omit_] and. 1.21. a] and doubtlesse. l.25. a] for all us. a _omits_] should. l.33. strange thing. p. 104, l. 3. a _omits_ this line. l. 5. a omits] bent. l. 6. a _omits_] that's. l. 8. a] draweth. l. 10. a] and we can now comfort. l. 11. a omits] it. l. 12. a gives this speech to cleremont. l. 13. a gives this speech to 'leon', i.e., dion. l. 15. a] on his beleefe. l. 17. a] lords to his owne good. l. 19. a _omits_] nay. l. 23. a gives this speech to cleremont. ll. 27 and 28. a] frame on men disgrace for vertue. l. 30. a _omits_] good. l.33-a] dull. l.35-a _omits_] or. a] knowes. b] knowne. l. 38. a] deserved more. p. 105, l. 2. a and b] to thankes. l. 3. a] sufficient. l. 5. a _omits_] sir. l.6. a _omits_] will not. l.8. a] long have. l. 11. a gives this speech to 'tra.', i.e., thrasiline. l. 14. b by mistake gives this speech to di. l. 16. a] he offers to draw his sword, and is held. l. 18. a] then to rob. l. 22. a] faithfull to increase. l. 24. a] cut out falsehood where it growes. l. 25. a] that man. l. 32. a] injuries. l. 38. a] your pardon. l. 39. a] makes. p. 106, l. 1. a] backs. l. 5. a] tis then truth that women all are false. b and c] tis then truth that woman-kind is false. d] thee truth. d--g] woman-kind. l. 6. a] tis. l. 9. a, b and c] by heaven. ll. 10 and 11. a _omits_] for love of truth speak; is't possible? l. 10. b and c] for god's love speake. l. 12. a _omits_ this line. l.13. a gives this line to 'tra.', i.e., thrasiline. l. 14. a gives this speech to cleremont. l. 20. a] a little milder. l. 22. a] desires. l. 23. a] and know the sinne she acts. b and c] know. l. 26. a gives this speech to cleremont. l. 30. a] women. l. 34. a and b] mine eyes. l. 35. a] daggers in thy breast. b] tane. l. 36. a] stuacke dumb. c] did. l. 37. a] this fault might. il. 38 and 39. in a the speakers are transposed. p. 107, l. 1. a omits] several. l. 2. a] and spreads them selfe. l. 3. a] meetes not a fayre on. what, etc. l. 4. a] thorow. l. 5. a gives this speech to 'tra.', i.e., thrasiline. l.6. a--d] fall. a, b and c] distracted. l. 10. a] do't. l. 12. a] lodgings. a _omits_] forth. ll. 14 and 15. a] omnes. all the gods direct you the readiest way. b, c and d] di. all the gods direct you the readiest way. a _adds_] exit three gent. ll. 16--18. a _omits_ these lines. l. 18. b--h _omit_] and. l. 19. a] aske um where he tooke her. l. 22. a] would but flame. l. 24. a] the deede. a] it is. l. 30. a] take them. l. 33. f] spring. l. 36. a prints after the words 'miserable man'] enter boy. l. 39. a] not blush. p. 108, l. 4. in a throughout the scene bellario is indicated by 'boy.' l. 6. a adds stage-direction] he gives him a letter. l. 10. a _omits_] my. 1. 12. a] but far unfit for me that doe attend. l. 13. a] my boy. l. 15. a] with this paper. l. 16. a] twines of adamant. l. 19. a] how dos. l. 20. a _omits_ this line. l. 26. a] meet. l. 28. a] why, tis. l. 31. a] with al her maiden store. l. 33. a] service. l. 34. a] rewarded. l. 36. a] speakes. l. 38. a] not well. b--g] not ill. p. l09, l. 1. a] fall out from your tongue, so unevenly. l. 2. a] quicknesse. l. 12. a, b and c] never my lord, by heaven. l. 13. a, b and c] that's strange, i know, etc. l. 16. a] i bid her do 't. l. 18. a] delight. l. 19. a] as to her lord. l. 21. a] paradise. b] parrallesse. c and d] parallesse. l. 25. a] yes, now i see why my discurled thoughts. 1. 27. a] augeries. l. 29. a] where you tend. l. 31. a] noble friend. 1. 35. a] with sparrowes eyes. l. 39. a] and of goates. l. 40. a] that weighed from. p. 110, l. 2. a] come. l. 4. a] main deceit. l. 8. a--h] as i do now thy face. l. 14. a] wrack it. l. 17. a] hate me. l. 19. a _omits_} greater. a] to me. l. 21. folio] dist. l. 22. a] upon me. a _adds_ stage-direction] he drawes his sword. l. 23. a, b and c] by heaven i never did. l. 27. a--g] kiss those limbs. l. 29. a--d] fear'st. l. 32. a] could be. l. 34. a _omits_] but. b] doest. l. 39. a] giving ore againe, that must be lost. p. 111 l. i. a, b and c] those. l. 2. a] and then thou wilt. l. 7. b by mistake _omits_] _phi_. l. 12. b--e] doest. b] utterst. h] uttrest. 1. 13. folio _misprints_] known. l. 17. a] thy honest lookes. l. 18. b] doest. l. 19. a] thy blood. l. 23. a] tenderest. l. 27. a] honord frame. l. 28. a] haplesse. l.31. a] sorrowes. l. 33. folio has full-stop at end of line. l. 34. a _omits_] exit bel. l. 36. a] what ere. a, b and c] deservest. f] deserv'd. l. 37. a and b] bathe. a--g] this body. 1. 38. a] mad'st no medicine to. p. 112, l. 1. a] enter princesse. l. 2. for 'are.' a prints throughout scene] prin. a _omits_] again. l. 4. a] slept, make talke. l. 5. a] remember. 1. 6. a] was last spoken, and how spoke when i sight song. l. 9. a] what, in your. b--e and g] what, at your. f] what of your. l. 17. a] ugly sir. l. 28. a and b] put him away i say. l. 32. a _omits_] sir. 1. 33. a] a command. l. 35. a] that shame to you, ye are one. l. 36. a _omits_] unto. l. 37. a] by the gods. p. 113, l. i. b] i have. a _omits_] my lord. l. 7. a] maid. l. 8. a, b and c] honour faire. l. 10. a] truth. l. 14. a] oh how they mind to. 1. 15. a] foule sicke. a] stricke the mountaines. l. 16. a] be sleeping. 1. 25. e--h _misprint_] he right. a--g] honour. l. 35. a] oh my misfortune. b, a space being left between the 'i' and the 'f'] my mi fortune. c] oh my my fortune. l. 36. f] let me go. p. 114, l. 1. h] your letters. l. 2. a] make. l. 3. a] who shall now sing. l. 5. a] and make them warme. l. 7. a, b and c] eye-lids. l. 8. a] make me. d, e, g and h] philast. l. 12. a] get you. l. 14. folio _misprints_] bell. l. 16. a] all service in servants. l. 17. a] and all desires to doe well, for thy sake. l. 21. a] unto. l. 29. a by mistake _omits_] phi. a] o ye gods, ye gods. l. 30. a] a wealthy patience. l. 31. a] above the shocke. l. 32. a] mischiefe. l. 33. folio _misprints_] live. 1. 34. a] as deepe as. l. 36. a] and flowing it by. l. 38. a] heare. 1. 39. a _omits_] must. p. 115, l. 8. a] poyson. l. 10. a] and there dig. a] beasts and birds. 1. 11. a] women are. a _omits_} and help to save them from you. l. 16. a _omits_] so. a] men. l. 17. a] reade. l. 21. a] frost. l. 28. a] you gods. f _omits_] ye. l. 30. a _omits_} as pure crystal. c] a pure christall. 1. 32. a] shall women turne their eies. l. 33. a after 'constancy'] enter boy. l. 34. a] and vile. b] and guiltily. l. 35. a] spokst. h] speak'st. 1. 37. a] and to betray innocence. l. 38. a] maist. p. 116, l. 3. a] undertooke. l. 5. a] lest we should. l. 7. a] angry with me. l. 11. a] has. b--h] hath. l. 17. a] some greater fault. l. 18. a] suffering. l. 21. a] exit boy. l. 22. a] thou hast. 1. 23. a] but if i had another time to lose. l. 25. a] might take. l. 30. a _omits_] a lady. l. 35. a] exit princesse. p. 117, ll. 2 and 3. a] enter the king, pharamont, princesse, megra, gallatea, leon, cle., tra. and two wood-men. l. 7. a] you are. l. 8. a] trespasses. l. 9. a, b and c] here's none. a] dares. l. 12. a] lake. 1. 17. a] pernitious. a _omits_'] loose. l. 18. a, b and c] pursue. a] any lady. l. 22. a--h] obeyed. l. 23. a and b] furder. l. 24. a gives this speech to 'leon', i.e., dion, and the following speech to 'tra.' l. 31. a--g] yon lady. l. 32. a and b] neighbours. l. 33. a] can you see. 1. 34. a gives this speech to cleremont, b and c to 'tra.' a, b and c] faith no great. l. 37. a gives this speech to 'tra.', and the following speech to 'leon', i.e., dion. l. 38. a] regient. a] damn'd. p. 118, l. 1. a] the flesh and the world. l. 3. a] done against. l. 4. a] dares. l. 8. a _omits_] her. l. 9. a--d] health. l. 10. a] except. l. 11. a and b] large summe. 11. 14 and 15. a] exit king and lords, manet wood-men. l. 16. a] the deere below. l. 23. a] strange. l. 28. a] docets. b, c and d] dowcets. a] his steward. a--e _omit_] had. l. 30. a] he and old sir tristram. a] ye. l. 31. a] a stagge. l. 37. a, b and c] by the gods. a _omits_'] she's. a] a fault or no. p. 119 l.2. a--g] haunches. l.5. b--g] have been. l. 8. a] harke else. a _omits_] exeunt. l. 9. a] enter philaster solus. l. 10. a] the woods. l. 11. a] acrons. b--h] akrons. l. 13. a] of cruell love. ll. 17 and 18. a] chaste as the rocke whereon she dwelt. l. 20. a] borne out her. l. 22. a] enter boy. l. 24. a--h _omit_] man. l. 25. a] i see. 11. 27 and 28. a] that brake. i-33-a] fortunes. l. 38. a _omits_ this and the five succeeding lines. p. 120, l. l. b, c and d] wearest. l. 6. a, b and c] by the gods. 1. 8. a] thou art. l. 11. a, b and c] even so thou wepst, and lookst, and spokst. a] when i first tooke thee. l. 12. a. _omits_] up. l. 17. a _adds_] exit phylaster. l. 20. a] exit boy. b--h _omit_ and, l. 21. a] enter leon, cle. and wood-men. l. 22. a--g] chance. l. 23. a] cle. my lord leon. c and d] my lord don. l. 25. a] starre-dyed with stars. b--g] studded with. l. 26. a] i wood. l. 28. a _omits_]exeunt wood. 1. 29. a _omits_] enter cleremont. l. 30. b] you questions. c] yon. l. 36. b--g] ran. l. 37. a and b] twas. p. 121, l. 3. a] enter the king, tra. and other lords. l. 5. a gives this speech to 'leon', i.e., dion. l. 6. a and b] howe's that. l. 7. a gives this speech to 'leon', i.e., dion. l. 18. a] why then. ll. 20 and 21. a] heare me then, thou traytor. l. 21. a] darst. b--h] dar'st. ll. 21 and 22. a] possible and honest, things. l. 24. a, b and c] faith i cannot. a] you'le. l. 25. a] you have let me. l. 27. a--g] her here before me. l. 32. a] a king. l. 33. a gives this speech to cleremont. a] no more smell. l. 35. a _omits_ is it so _and reads_ take you heed. l. 36. a _omits_] sir. p. 122, l. 1. a] still we. l. 3. a] power we thinke we have. l. 5. a] here i stand. l. 6. a] these be punisht. l. 9. a] covenant. l. 10. a _omits_] and. l. 14. a] into the wood with her. l. 19. a] o y'are all. a and b] hurts. l. 22. a] by this sword. l. 26. a, b and c] yes, you may. a] to leave. a--g] lady bedfellow. ll. 26 and 27. a] bedfellow here for a spincer. l. 31. folio] may. l. 32. a] i, some would. ll. 33 and 34. a gives these two speeches to the king and pharamont respectively. l. 37 a gives this speech to galatea. a] the search my selfe. l. 38. a] enter the princesse solus. l. 39. a] finde out the way. p. 123, l. 3. a] or mountaines. a--c] through. l. 4. a _adds_ stage-direction] she sits downe. l. 5. a] enter boy. l. 6. a] yonder my lady is. a] gods knowes. b and c] god knowes. l.9. a] grounds. l.12. a _omits_] more. a] twines. l. 13. f, g] [oh. h] he stirres. l. 14. a] i'st. 1. 18. a _omits_] i am well. l. 24. a--h] you gods. l. 25. a] who's hee. l. 26. a] ease it with his tongue. l. 27. a, b and c] helpe, helpe. l. 29. a] lightnings. l. 31. a, b and c] trust the tongues. a, b and c with variations of spelling _add_] of hell-bred women [b woman]. some good god looke downe. l. 33. a _omits_] ages in the. l. 35. a--g] put hills of fire. a] my breast. p. 124, l. 2. d--g] makes. l.3. b] through. l.5. a]to inrage. l.8. d, e and g] looks up. l. 9. a _omits_] it. b] know't. l. 10. a _omits_] do but. l. 16. a] thy way. l. 18. a] you have. l. 19. a] in more. l. 20. a gives this speech to 'prin.', i.e., arethusa. a] madmens. l. 23. a gives this speech to 'boy', and the following speech to 'prin.' l. 24. a, b and c] the world. l. 25. folio _misprints_] _pha_. l. 28. a adds stage-direction] exit boy. b] exit bell. l. 29. a] meetings. l. 32. b--h] fortune. l. 33. a] peace with earth. l. 34. a and b] there will. l. 35. a--e] jealousie. a] no il here. l. 37. a] shew me the way to joy. p. 125, l. 2. a] to 't. l. 4. a] countrey gallant. l. 5. a] i will. 1. 6. a] this two houres. c, d and e] these two houre. l. 8. b] then then. e, g and h] out rid. l. 9. a] strong braines. l. 10. a] the whooping would put a man. l. 12. a _adds_] phy. wounds her. l. 13. a--heaven. l. 14. a] nay, they. l. 16. a] thoud'st. c--h] wouldest. a, b and c _omit_] of. l. 17. b and c] veines. a] with a man. l. 21. a] god judge me. b and c] god uds me. l. 25. a] rethrack. l. 26. a prints 'they fight' at the end of the following line. l. 28. a] gods guard. b and c] heaven. l. 31. a] would this bore. l. 33. a] though i doe lose it. l. 34. a prints 'exit phy.' after the word 'rogue' in the following line. l. 36. a _omits_] and. p. 126, l. 3. a gives this speech to 'leon', i.e., dion. l. 6. a and b] by god she lies. a] i' the breast. l. 7. a] oh secret spring. l.12. a] omnes. l. l. 14. a] but who has done it. l. 16. a gives this speech to 'leon', i.e., dion. l. 19. a] i let. l. 20. a] about 's eares. l. 23. a] by this ayre. a--e] never. a _omits_] of him. l. 24. b and c] all to you in my hat. l. 28. a] sinne. l. 29. f] i will. i will. l. 31. a, b and c] woodman. l. 32. a] unto the king. l. 34. a prints simply] exit. l. 36. a gives this speech to cleremont. l. 37. a, b and c] of this. a] i'le see. b--h] goe to see. l. 38. a] enter the boy. l. 39. a] o heavens! heavy death sits on my brow. p. 127, l. 2. a] sweete on all. l. 5. a] my eyes. l. 6. a _omits_\ oh. 1. 17. a prints stage-direction after the word 'broken' in l. 19. l. 21. a] but my blood. l. 24. a] upon his sleeping body, he has none. l. 25. a] he wounds him. l. 27. a] it wisht. a] for pittie. l. 28. a prints after the first 'here' in following line] phy. falls downe. l. 36. a] hide, hide. 1. 39. b--g] were it. p. 128, l. 1. a _omits_] little. l. 2. a] has not. l. 4. a] art thou then true to me. l. 5. a _omits_] good. l. 6. a] these. l. 7. a] your breeth in't, shromd. l. n. a _omits_ one 'follow.' l. 14. a _omits_] that. a _adds_] boy falls downe. l.15. b--h _omit_] and. l. 16. a] i tract. l.17. a gives this speech to 'leon', i.e., dion, and the next to cleremont. l. 22. a gives this speech to thrasiline. l. 23. a] it is. l. 25. f] the creation. 1. 26. a and b] to strike. l. 31. a, b and c] did make. l. 34. a] tortour. l. 36. a] my. l. 37. a gives this speech to cleremont. p. 129, l. 1. a, b and c] carelesse. l. 4. a] them. l. 6. a] sines. 1. 14. a] vigour. a prints the stage-direction at the end of the following line. 1. 16. a] innocents. l. 17. a] know you the price of what. l. 19. a] my lord phylaster. a _omits_] tis. l. 23. h] as hurt. l. 24. a] on a pyramades. l. 26. a] as you. l. 27. a] teach the under-world. l. 32. a] this untimely courtesie. l. 33. c--h] he is. a] you beare me hence. 1. 35. a] to punish. l. 38. a, b and c] by all the gods. p. 130. a gives the first five speeches to dion, thrasiline, bellario, dion and bellario respectively. l. 2. c] is it. l. 3. a] well, i feare me sir, we. b--h] fear me, we. a _omits_] all. l. 9. a] gentlie. b--g] gently. l. 10. a and b] breath forth my. l. 11. a] not all the wealth of pluto. l. 17. a] a cleere. l. 18. a, b and c] bitter. l. 19. a] haires. l. 20. a] bathe them. l. 21. a] enter the king, princesse, and a guard. l. 23. a gives this speech to dion. a] but sute it was phylaster. l. 24. a gives this speech to the king, and the following one to pharamond. l. 25. a--d] will tell us that. l. 26. a] ay me, i know him well. l. 28. a] sir, if it were he. l. 32. beare them. l. 35. a _omits_] go. l. 36. a] loves. 1. 37. a _omits_] and. l. 38. a--g] deaths. l. 39. a] your law. p. 131 i. 3. a] we shall. a] on with our intended match. a _adds_] exit king and pharamont. l. 4. a gives this speech to 'leon', i.e., dion, and the following one to cleremont. l. 7. a _omits_] omnes. b--h _add_] finis actus quarti. l. 10. this speech and the seven succeeding ones are given by a to 'leon' (dion), cleremont, thrasiline, 'leon', thrasiline, cleremont, 'leon' and thrasiline respectively. l. 19. a _omits_] exeunt. l. 20. a] shufle. a _omits_] exeunt. l. 21. a] enter phylaster, princesse, boy, in prison. b--h omit] and. l. 22. a, b and c] nay faith philaster. l.23. b] forbeare, were wondrous well. l.24. a] and bellario. l. 25. a] shut. a _omits_] as now from earth. l. 27. a] the truest ones. l. 29. a] forgive me, and. p. 132, l. 2. a--g] should i outlive you. a] i should out live. b--h] i should then outlive. l. 3. a] come. l. 4. a--h] shall close. l. 6. a] waste by time. b] waste by limbs. l. 7. a--g] that ever. a] ever liv'd. 1. 10. a] houre behind it. l. 15. a] kingdome. l. 17. a] every just maiden. l. 19. a] my deerest, say not so. l. 21. a] woman. l.26. a] why? what. l. 28. a] life no whit compared. l. 32. b] your pardon. 1. 36. a gives this speech to 'prin.', i.e., arethusa. p. 133, l. 1. a] enter the king, leon, cle., tra. and a guard. b--h _omit_] and. l. 3. a gives this speech to 'leon', i.e., dion. l. 4. a] plotforme. 1. 8. a gives this speech to cleremont. l. 9. a _adds_] exit tra. 1. 12. a] to lose it. a--e] lightly. a after the word 'lightly' adds stage-direction] aside. l. 14. a] stocke. l. 17. a] weightier. l. 18. a] the heate. l. 20. a] and leaves them desolate. l. 24. a] enter phi., princesse, boy, with a garland of flowers on's head. b--h _omit_ the first 'and.' l. 16. a] shal. l.27. a] epethelamon. a _omits_] of these lovers. l. 18. f] but have lost. l. 30. a _omits_] on. l. 31. a] cã¦dor. l. 32. a] mountaines. 1.35. a] free from the firver of the serian starre. b--g] sirian. l.37-a, b and c] deliver. a] that issues. p. 134, l. 1. a--d] pleased. l. 2. a] base, under branches, to devour. 1. 4. a] did choake. b--d] choake. l. 5. a] brakes, rud, thornes. a--g] the sun. l. 6. a _omits_] even. a] roote. a] um there. l. 7. f _omits_] a. b and c] gentler. a] has. l. 9. a] never to be unarmde. l. 10. a, b and c] number. a _omits_] holy. a] ore. l. 11. a] has. f _omits_] noble. 1. 12. a] worthy king. l. 15. a, b and c] for now there. l. 17. a] bitter threats. l. 19. a--e] struggled. l. 22. a] where you. l. 28. a] metour. l. 32. a] of venge-in. l. 33. a] chaft amongst. b--e] chast. b--g] among. l. 35. a] looke from me. l. 37. a] that i have left. l. 38. f] there is. a _omits_] that. l. 40. a] for death to me can be life. p. 135 l. 1. a] as long as. l. 4. a] ore by. l. 8. a _omits_] dear. 1. 9. a] you are. a after this line _adds_] that feedes upon the blood you gave a life to. l. 14. a] a shame. l. 15. f] pelican. l. 17. a _omits_] with purest. l. 32. a, b and c] that by the gods it is a joy. l. 37. a _omits_] you. p. 136, l. 1. a _omits_] fearing. a] for the lord phylaster. l. 2. a] fellowes. l. 6. a _omits_ this line. l. 7. a] 2 mes. b and c] arme, arme, arme, arme. l. 8. a] take these citizens. l. 9. a] them. l. 12. a _omits_] exit with are., phi., bell. l. 16. a] exit king, manet leon, cle. and tra. l. 18. a] by al the gods. l. 25. a] you lackes. b] ye lacks. 1. 26. a] skin. a] see you. b] have ye. l. 28. a] brave new. l. 29. a] my kinde countrimen. l. 33. a] sawce. l. 34. a] flush amongst um, and ill speeding. 11. 34 and 35. a] have injurious raine. a _omits_] unbound. 11. 35 and 36. a] in rafine freeze. a] moth. l. 38. a] preases. p. 137, l. r. f] neck. l. 3. a] and know. l. 4. a] gotish. b and c] goatish. l. 10. a] wide. a] your valours. l. 11. a] we must. a] for't. a _omits_] 'em. l. 12. a] and you will. b--e] and they. l. 15. a] speake him well. l. 16. a] courtesies. l. 17. a _omits_] exit cle. l. 18. a] citizens. l. 20. a _omits_] and soil you. ll. 21 and 22. a] every long vocation; and foule shall come up fat and in brave liking. l. 21. b] ever long. l. 23. a] that poore. l. 24. a _omits_] and. l. 25. a _omits_] sir. 1. 26. a--g] quench. l. 28. a] enter phylaster. l. 33. a] to 't. l. 34. a] let me your goodnesse know. l. 36. a, b and c] all my wishes. l. 37. a] speakes all this. p. 138, l. 4. a _omits_} poor. l. 7. a] free her. l. 9. a] noble word. 1. 10. a] you peace. l. 12. a] now all the. a _omits_] exeunt omnes. 1. 13. a] enter an olde captaine, with a crew of citizens leading pharamont prisoner. l.15. b and c] your nimble. b--g] mother. l. 21. b and c] kings. l. 22. e and g] you paintings. l. 25. b] beloved. b and c] custards. l. 29. b--d] collers. p. 139, l. 1. b] solder'd. l. 6. b] me see. l. 7. for 'lie' g prints 'ie' with a space at the beginning where the 'i' should be. h and the folio _misprint_] here i it. l. 8. b] washing. b] do you see sweete prince. c] do you sweet prince. d, e, g and h] sweat. f] swet. l. 12. b--h and folio j foe. l. 26. b--g] nay my beyond, etc. l. 28. b--h] scarcenet. 1. 33. b and c] i cit. l. 36. b--h] kills. p. 140, l. 4. d, e and g] god captaine. l. 7. b and c] of your 2-hand sword. l. 9. b--e, g and h] 2 ci. f] 2 cit. l. n. b--e, g and h] 2 ci. f] 2 cit. b and c] had had. l. 12. c--g] skin bones. l. 35. b, c and d] stucke. e] stuck. l. 38. b--h] i do desire to be. p. 141, l. 2. f] thy name. l. 7. b--h] of all dangers. b--h] altogether. 1. 12. b and c] all these. l. 20. b--g] and make. b and f] he strives. l. 23. h] your friends. l. 34. b and c] go thy wayes, thou art. p. 142, l. 2. b and c] attendance. l. 24. folio _misprints_] is it. l. 33. b] and hath found. l. 35. f] knew. p. 143,1. 4. b--g with variations in spelling] to bear. b] her boy. l. 7. b--g] sometime. l. 9. d] wine. l. 17. b] as base as are. c _omits_] be. 1. 18. folio _misprints_] hour. b] heated. l. 36. b--h] that boy. l. 38. b and c] word. l. 39. f--h] life and rig. p. 144, l. 6. b--g] were hateful. l. 11. b and c] oh stay. l. 12. f] sir. l. 13. b] tire your constancy. p. 145, l. 9. f _omits_] it. l. 22. b and c _omit_] l. l. 27. b--g] all's. 1. 29. b--d make this line the conclusion of philaster's speech, and consequently apply the marginal stage-direction to him. p. 146, l. 22. b--e] oft would. p. 147, l. 1. b--g] but have. l. 17. f _omits_] thou wilt. l. 31. b--h] vertue. l. 35. f] set us free. p. 148, l. 9. f] your self. l. 10. b--e] and like to see. l. 14. after this line b--f, h add] finis. from p. 138, l. 13, to end of play, a reads] _enter an olde captaine, with a crew of citizens_, _leading_ pharamont _prisoner_. cap. come my brave mermedons, fal on, let your caps swarm, & your nimble tongues forget your gibrish, of what you lack, and set your mouthes ope' children, till your pallats fall frighted halfe a fathom past the cure of bay-salt & grosse pepper; and then crie _phylaster_, brave _phylaster_. let _phylaster_ be deep in request, my ding-a-dings, my paire of deare indentures: king of clubs, the your cut-water chamlets, and your painting: let not your hasty silkes, deerly belovers of custards & cheescakes, or your branch cloth of bodkins, or your tyffenies, your robbin-hood scarlet and johns, tie your affections in durance to your shops, my dainty duckers, up with your three pil'd spirit's, that rightvalourous, and let your accute colours make the king to feele the measure of your mightinesse; phylaster, cry, myrose nobles, cry. omnes. _phylaster_, _phylasier_. cap. how doe you like this, my lord prisoner? these are mad boyes i can tell you, these bee things that will not strike top-sayle to a foyst, and let a man of warre, an argosea, stoope to carry coales. phar. why, you damn'd slaves, doe you know who i am? cap. yes, my pretie prince of puppits, we do know, and give you gentle warning, you talke no more such bugs words, lest that sodden crowne should be scracht with a musket; deare prince pippin, i'le have you codled, let him loose my spirits, and make a ring with your bils my hearts: now let mee see what this brave man dares doe: note sir, have at you with this washing blow, here i lie, doe you huffe sweete prince? i could hock your grace, and hang you crosse leg'd, like a hare at a poulters stall; and do thus. phar. gentlemen, honest gentlemen-soul. a speakes treason captaine, shal's knock him downe? cap. hold, i say. 2 soul. good captaine let me have one mal at's mazard, i feele my stomacke strangely provoked to bee at his spanish pot-nowle, shal's kill him? omnes. i, kill him, kill him. cap. againe i say hold. 3 soul. o how ranke he lookes, sweete captaine let's geld him, and send his dowsets for a dish to the burdello. 4 soul. no, let's rather sell them to some woman chymist, that extractions, shee might draw an excellent provocative oyle from useth them, that might be very usefull. cap. you see, my scurvy don, how precious you are in esteem amongst us, had you not beene better kept at home, i thinke you had: must you needes come amongst us, to have your saffron hide taw'd as wee intend it: my don, _phylaster_ must suffer death to satisfie your melancholly spleene, he must my don, he must; but we your physitians, hold it fit that you bleede for it: come my robusticks, my brave regiment of rattle makers, let's cal a common cornuted counsell, and like grave senators, beare up our brancht crests, in sitting upon the severall tortures we shall put him to, and with as little sense as may be, put your wils in execution. some cries. burne him, burne him. others. hang him, hang him. [enter phylaster. cap. no, rather let's carbinade his cods-head, and cut him to collops: shall i begin? phi. stay your furies my loving countrimen. omnes. _phylaster_ is come, _phylaster_, _phylaster_. cap. my porcupines of spite, make roome i say, that i may salute my brave prince: and is prince _phylaster_ at liberty? phi. i am, most loving countrimen. cap. then give me thy princely goll, which thus i kisse, to whom i crouch and bow; but see my royall sparke, this head-strong swarme that follow me humming like a master bee, have i led forth their hives, and being on wing, and in our heady flight, have seazed him shall suffer for thy wrongs. omnes. i, i, let's kill him, kill him. phi. but heare me, countrimen. cap. heare the prince, i say, heare _phylaster_. omnes. i, i, heare the prince, heare the prince. phi. my comming is to give you thanks, my deere countrimen, whose powerfull sway hath curb'd the prossecuting fury of my foes. omnes. we will curb um, we will curb um. phi. i finde you will, but if my intrest in your loves be such, as the world takes notice of, let me crave you would deliver _pharamont_ to my hand, and from me accept this [_gives um his purse_. testimonie of my love. which is but a pittance of those ample thankes, which shall redowne with showred courtesies. cap. take him to thee brave prince, and we thy bounty thankefully accept, and will drinke thy health, thy perpetuall health my prince, whilst memory lasts amongst us, we are thy mermidons, my _achillis_: we are those will follow thee, and in thy service will scowre our rusty murins and bill-bow-blades, most noble _phylaster_, we will: come my rowtists let's retyer till occasion calls us to attend the noble _phylaster_. omnes. _phylaster_, _phylaster_, _phylaster_. [ _exit_ captaine, and citizens. phar. worthy sir, i owe you a life, for but your selfe theres nought could have prevail'd. phi. tis the least of service that i owe the king, who was carefull to preserve ye. [_exit_. [_enter_ leon, trasiline, and clerimon. tra. i ever thought the boy was honest. leon. well, tis a brave boy-gentlemen. cle. yet you'ld not beleeve this. leon. a plague on my forwardnesse, what a villaine was i, to wrong um so; a mischiefe on my muddy braines, was i mad? tra. a little frantick in your rash attempt, but that was your love to _phylaster_, sir. leon. a pox on such love, have you any hope my countinance will ere serve me to looke on them? cle. o very well sir. leon. very ill sir, uds death, i could beate out my braines, or hang my selfe in revenge. cle. there would be little gotten by it, ene keepe you as ye are. leon. an excellent boy, gentlemen beleeve it, harke the king is comming, [ _cornets sounds_. _enter the king, princesse_, gallatea, megra, bellario, _a gentlewoman, and other attendants_. k. no newes of his returne, will not this rable multitude be appeas'd? i feare their outrage, lest it should extend with dangering of _pharamonts_ life. enter _philaster_ with _pharamont_. leon. see sir, _phylaster_ is return'd. phi. royall sir, receive into your bosome your desired peace, those discontented mutineares be appeasde, and this fortaigne prince in safety. k. how happie am i in thee _phylaster_? whose excellent vertues begets a world of love, i am indebted to thee for a kingdome. i here surrender up all soveraignetie, raigne peacefully with thy espoused bride, [_delivers his crowne to him_. ashume my son to take what is thy due. pha. how sir, yer son, what am i then, your daughter you gave to me. kin. but heaven hath made asignement unto him, and brought your contract to anullity: sir, your entertainment hath beene most faire, had not your hell-bred lust dride up the spring, from whence flow'd forth those favours that you found: i am glad to see you safe, let this suffice, your selfe hath crost your selfe. leon. they are married sir. phar. how married? i hope your highnesse will not use me so, i came not to be disgraced, and returne alone. king. i cannot helpe it sir. leon. to returne alone, you neede not sir, here is one will beare you company. you know this ladies proofe, if you fail'd not in the say-taging. me. i hold your scoffes in vildest base contempt, or is there said or done, ought i repent, but can retort even to your grinning teeths, your worst of spights, tho princesse lofty steps may not be tract, yet may they tread awry, that boy there-bel. if to me ye speake lady, i must tell you, you have lost your selfe in your too much forwardnesse, and hath forgot both modesty and truth, with what impudence you have throwne most damnable aspertions on that noble princesse and my selfe: witnesse the world; behold me sir. [_kneeles to_ leon, _and discovers her haire_. leon. i should know this face; my daughter. bel. the same sir. prin. how, our sometime page, _bellario_, turn'd woman? bel. madame, the cause induc't me to transforme my selfe, proceeded from a respective modest affection i bare to my my lord, the prince _phylaster_, to do him service, as farre from any lacivious thought, as that lady is farre from goodnesse, and if my true intents may be beleeved, and from your highnesse madame, pardon finde, you have the truth. prin. i doe beleeve thee, _bellario_ i shall call thee still. phi. the faithfullest servant that ever gave attendance. leon. now lady lust, what say you to'th boy now; doe you hang the head, do ye, shame would steale into your face, if ye had grace to entertaine it, do ye slinke away? [ _exit_ megra _hiding her face_, king. give present order she be banisht the court, and straightly confinde till our further pleasure is knowne. phar. heres such an age of transformation, that i doe not know how to trust my selfe, i'le get me gone to: sir, the disparagement you have done, must be cald in question. i have power to right my selfe, and will. [ _exit_ pharamont. king. we feare ye not sir. phi. let a strong convoy guard him through the kingdome, with him, let's part with all our cares and feare, and crowne with joy our happy loves successe. king. which to make more full, lady _gallatea_, let honour'd _clerimont_ acceptance finde in your chast thoughts. phi. tis my sute too. prin. such royall spokes-men must not be deni'd. gal. nor shall not, madame. king. then thus i joyne your hands. gal. our hearts were knit before. [ _they kisse_. phi. but tis you lady, must make all compleat, and gives a full perod to content, let your loves cordiall againe revive, the drooping spirits of noble _trasiline_. what saies lord _leon_ to it? leon. marry my lord i say, i know she once lov'd him. at least made shew she did, but since tis my lord _phylasters_ desire, i'le make a surrender of all the right a father has in her; here take her sir, with all my heart, and heaven give you joy. king. then let us in these nuptuall feastes to hold, heaven hath decreed, and fate stands uncontrold. finis. philaster. verse and prose variations. the variations are those of a except where otherwise stated. p. 78, l. 35. a prints this speech as prose. p. 79, l. 39, and p. 80, l. 1. a reads as one line. p. 80, 11. 6 and 7. one line. ll. 8 and 9. one line. l. 11. a gives this speech as prose. ll. 37--40, and p. 81, l. r. four lines ending bold, turcle, shaddow, over. p. 81, ll. 12--17. five lines ending _armes, hath, disputing, are, me_. 1. 19. eight lines ending _him, his, thine, cold, such, follies, presence, me_. l. 28. this speech in two lines ending _freedome_, _temperde_. l. 32. this speech in four lines ending _succession_, _is_, _within_, _knowledge_. p. 82, ll. 1 and 2. one line. l.9. c, d, e] two lines, _them_, _atlas_. l. 18. this speech and the next as prose. l. 33. the rest of the speech in seven lines, ending _whispers_, _will_, _there_, _service_, _factious_, _hand_, _servant_. l. 39. b, c, d, e] two lines, _hand_, _servant_. p. 83, ll. 1-4. prose. l. 14. this speech and the next prose. ll. 29-31. two lines ending _please_ and _yeares_. l. 33. the rest of the speech in prose. p. 84, ll. 2-4. two lines ending _age_ and _me_. ll. 6-11. four lines ending _gentlewoman_, _alive_, _idle_, _pilgrimage_. ll. 22 and 23. prose. l. 26. this speech and the next in prose. p. 85, ll. 1 and 2. one line. ll. 3-32. prose. ll. 34-38. four lines ending _with-_, _make_, _your_, _obay_. l. 40 and p. 86, l. 1. one line. p. 86, ll. 4-11. seven lines ending _say_, _woman_, _them_, _detracted_, _you_, _disgrace_, _vertues_. ll. 14-16. two lines ending _fortunes_, _question_. ll. 18-20. two lines ending _affoord_, _wisht_. ll. 21 and 22. one line. ll. 27-32. four lines ending _stories_, _crowne_, _longing_, _more_. p. 87, ll. 1-12. ten lines ending _dreadfully_, _he_, _tongue_, _his_, _begin_, _love_, _you_, _beg_, _price_, _heare_. ll. 17-19. two lines ending _yet_, _in_. ll. 21-23. prose. ll. 26-30. prose. ll. 34-40. six lines ending _so_, _better_, _gods_, _some_, _us_, _it_. l. 30. b, c, d, e] two lines, _man_, _jealous_. p. 88, ll. 1-6. five lines ending _long_, _often_, _intelligence_, _agree_, _tread_. l. 6. b, c, d, e] two lines, _agree_, _tread_. l. 7. b, c, d, e] two lines, _boy_, _intent_. l. 7. this speech in prose. p. 89, l. 2. b, c, d, e] two lines, _selfe_, _prince_. l. 7. b, d, e] two lines, _made_, _himselfe_. l. 7. two lines ending _phylaster_ and _himselfe_. ll. 10 and 11. two lines ending _ever_, _lie_. ll. 18-20. two lines ending _ceremonies_ and _heart_. ll. 21 and 22. one line. ll. 27-29. prose. l. 38. this speech in prose. p. 90, ll. 4 and 5. two lines ending _much_, _princesse_. l. 6. this speech and the next in prose. l. 16. this speech beginning from 'madam' and the next speech in prose. ll. 29-34. six lines ending _regard_, _modesty_, _aske_, _deserve_, _nothing_, _yours_. l. 32. b, c, d, e] two lines, _aske_, _deserve_. l. 35. the rest of the speech in prose. p. 91, ll. 6-11. prose. ll. 13-17. prose. l. 18 and b, c, d, e] two lines ending _all_, _behaviour_. ll. 19-29. ten lines ending _ignorance_, _learne_, _larger_, _fault_, _once_, _boy_, _warning_, _stubborneness_, _off_, _mend_. ll. 32-40. seven lines ending _businesse_, _her_, _full_, _trust_, _joy_, _weepe_, _princesse_. p. 92, ll. 1-12. prose. ll. 14-20. nine lines ending _must_, _not_, _word_, _all_, _taking_, _life_, _fault_, _boulted_, _madame_. p. 93, ll. 5-12. nine lines ending _grace_, _remedy_, _morning_, _cardus_, _exercise_, _tiller_, _flebotomie_, _whay_, _anymales_. ll. 15-18. four lines ending _well_, _appetite_, _gold_, _then_. ll. 25 and 26. two lines ending _behind_, _this_. p. 94, ll. 5 and 6. two lines ending _enough_, _age_. ll. 7 and 8. two lines ending _smooth_, _enough_. ll. 16-23. prose. l. 24. two lines ending _prose_, _madame_. l. 27. two lines ending _first_, _now_. ll. 30-32. two lines ending _sweetest_, _me_. ll. 35 and 36. three lines ending _sentence, memory, me_. ll. 38-40. three lines ending _endeavour_, _night_, _for't_. p. 95, ll. 1--20. twenty-one lines ending _owne, teaching, measures, function, selfe, her, her, indeed, sir, selfe, schoolemaister, maid, gallatea, favour, now, wit, guard, toot, jubiter, lady, welcome_. ll. 25--29. six lines ending _um, want, thoughts, bashfull, with, you_. p. 96, ll. 8 and 9. one line. ll. 26--32. prose. ll. 36 and 37. prose. p. 97, ll. 17--29. prose. ll. 30--35. five lines ending _credit, sound, satyes, too, away_. ll. 37--39. prose. p. 98, ll. 1--5. prose (probably). ll. 8--10. prose. ll. 20--23. four lines ending _by, hand, princesse, selfe_. ll. 25 and 26. one line. ll. 33 and 34. two lines ending _grace, bed_. l. 37 and p. 99, ll. 1 and 2. three lines ending _late, comes, him_. p. 99, ll. 5--16. prose. ll. 19--36. prose. p. 100, ll. 11--18. prose. ll. 20--22. prose. ll. 26 and 27. two lines ending _sir, you_. ll. 33 and 34. two lines ending _life, heere_. ll. 36--39 and p. 101, l. 1. prose. p. 101, ll. 2--5. three lines ending _wrongd, lodging, say_. ll. 8--23. prose. ll. 28--32. five lines ending _two, hold, lye, not, mistaken_. ll. 37--39 and p. 102, ll. 1--9. ten lines ending _lust, thoughts, diseases, me, courtesies, daughter, court, orrenges, candles, venus_. p. 102, ll. 10--25. thirteen lines ending _laugh, king, by, fellowes, mirth, me, more, leaps, her, eighteene, when, madness, height_. ll. 32--39. seven lines ending _it, commonly, at, forraigne, tongue, people, princesse_. p. 103, ll. 1 and 2. two lines ending _her, boy_. ll. 10--17. eight lines ending _tongue, king, him, infections, brave, boy, else, gentlemen_. ll. 24--36. eleven lines ending _us, freemen, age, right, scepter, lady, boy, thing, prince, part, mind_. l. 37 and p. 104, ll. 1 and 2. three lines ending _phylaster, creature, earth_. p. 104, ll. 4--7. three lines ending _people, corne, way_. ll. 25--29. prose. l. 29. b, c, d] two lines, _doe, acceptation_. ll. 30--38. seven lines ending _know, head, king, word, attempts, me, friends_. p. 105, l. 4. b, c, d, e] two lines, _time, would_. ll. 1--9. nine lines ending _selfe, sufficient, loves, would, expect, violence, know, now, lov'd_. ll. 16--28. ten lines ending _thought, lady, pardon'd, redeemed, increase, i, hils, all, necke, denude_. ll. 29 and 30. one line. ll. 31--37. prose. l. 40 and p. 106, ll. 1 and 2. prose. p. 106, l. 4 (from 'good sir')--7. prose. ll. 21--25. prose. ll. 27 and 28. one line. ll. 29--31. three lines ending _looke, lord, selfe_. ll. 36 and 37. three lines ending _them, fault, silence_. l. 37. b, c, d, e] two lines, _slept, silence_. l. 40 and p. 107, ll. 1 and 2. two lines ending _corners, land_. p. 107, ll. 12 and 13. one line. ll. 19--39 and p. 108, ii. 1--3. twenty lines ending _her, breast, circumstances, now, simply, honourable, truth, selves, fight, sight, once, againe, fat, before, man, weare, blush, mortalitie, brow, guilty_. l. 35. b] two lines, _man, gods_. p. 108, ll. 7--9. three lines ending _me, boy, brave_. ll. 13 and 14. two lines ending _boy, here_. ll. 17--19. three lines ending _snow, boy, thee_. ll. 22--27. five lines ending _life, fond, trust, pay, me_. ll. 30--36. prose. l. 40 and p. 109, ll. 1--3. prose. p. 109, ll. 4 and 5. one line. ll. 15 (from 'come she dos')--37. prose. l. 40 and p. 110, ll. 1--3. four lines ending _lust, desires, her, ages_. p. 110, l. 3. b, c, d, e] two lines, _reveale, ages_. l. 4. b, c, d, e] two lines, _heart, disease_. l. 4. two lines ending _heart, deceit_. ll. 9 and 10. one line. ll. 15 and 16. two lines ending _life, now_. l. 16. b, c, d] two lines, _hate thee, now_. ll. 20--22. three lines ending _where, me, not_. ll. 23--26. three lines ending _life, asunder, away_. ll. 29 and 30. one line. ll. 31--33. three lines ending _live, passionate, reason_. l. 33. b, c, d, e] two lines, _passionate, reason_. ll. 35--39. four lines ending _borne, jealousie, againe, lost_. l. 39. b, c, d, e] two lines, _game, lost_. p. 111, ll. 1 and 2. two lines ending _melt, all_. ll. 4--6. three lines ending _with, of, me_. l. 6. b, c, d, e] two lines, _punishments, me_. ll. 7--24. prose. ll. 26--34. prose. ll. 35--37. two lines ending _deservest, unkind_. p. 112, ll. 3--7. five lines ending _over, him, spoken, such, stay_. l. 7. b, c, d, e] two lines, _angry, slay_. ll. 17 and 18. two lines ending _well, him_. l. 31. b, c, d, e] two lines, _me, boy_. ll. 32 and 33. one line. ll. 35--38. four lines ending _me, gods, selfe, done_. p. 113, ll. 4--6. three lines ending _foule, it, farewell_. ll. 9--15. six lines ending _truth, defamings, fortified, tongues, foule, mountains_. l. 20. two lines ending _servant, me_. ll. 21--25. prose. p. 114, ll. 6--8. four lines ending it, _eye-lids, crie, phylaster_. l. 8. b, c, d, e] my deere | deare _philaster_. ll. 9--12. three lines ending _thee, loyal, better_. l. 13. b, c, d, e] two lines, _againe, bellario_. ll. 16--18. three lines ending _all, that, wrongs_. l. 27. two lines ending _not, thus_. l. 27. b, c, d, e] two lines, _talke, thus_. ll. 30--40 and p. 115, l. 1. ten lines ending _naked, mischiefe, me, bosome, mirth, king, mourners, length, cursed boy, lust_. p. 115, l. 1. b, c, d, e] two lines, _boy, lust_. l. 3 and b, c, d, e] two lines ending _overthrow, wretched_. ll. 4--23. sixteen lines ending _this, it, foote, seeke, cave, are, hell, scorpyons, woven, you, face, have, you, night, are, altogether_. ll. 29--34. five lines ending _transparant, me, holds, constancie, now_. ll. 38--40 and p. 116, l. 2. four lines ending _passion, wicked, that, understoodst,_ p. 116, ll. 6--10. three lines ending _desease, me, swell_. ll. 14--21. eight lines ending _leave, ever, lady, fault, suffering, mine, seeke, die_. ll. 28 and 29. two lines ending _hunt, earnestness_. ll. 30--32. two lines ending _canst, thee_. p. 117, ll. 7--9. three lines ending _veniall, spirit, it_. ll. 13--15. three lines ending _enough, purlewes, poaching_. ll. 24--30. nine lines ending _repent, him, member, mouth, now, presently, almanacks, liver, dog-whip_. il. 31--33. four lines ending _lookes, neighbours, face, honest_. p. 119, ll. 17--21. five lines ending _dwelt, reedes, borne, isstie, vexation_. 1. 21. b, c, d, e] two lines, _life, vexation_. ll. 23--37. ten lines ending _beasts, as, body, speake, lord, pittie, fortunes, bounty, keepe, hunger_. p. 120, ll. 6--17. ten lines ending _me, trade, againe, so, thee, worke, way, are, rage, way_. ll. 32--37 and p. 121, ll. i and 2. eight lines ending _stray, businesse, armes, peace, us, her, seene, willingly_. p. 121, ll. 12--18. prose. l. 23. c, d, e] two lines, _not, blood_. ll. 20--34. prose. ll. 38 and 39 and p. 122, ll. i and 2. three lines ending _gods, adord, thunder_. p. 122, ll. 6 and 7. two lines ending _way, on_. ll. 12--14. prose l. 14. b, c, d, e] two lines, _wood, her_. ll. 21 and 22. prose. ll. 24 and 25. two lines ending _alive, taylor_. ll. 30 and 31. prose. l. 39 and p. 123, ll. 1--18. prose. p. 123, ll. 22--26. two lines ending _speaking, not_, and prose. l. 29 and p. 124, ll. 4--19. eleven lines ending _kist, basaliskes, women, up, act, fire, teares, beds, face, issues, you_. p. 124, ll. 4--19. thirteen lines ending _me, done, eolus, i, sword, you, controule, me, thoughts, now, pulse, more, die_. ll. 25--35. ten lines ending _that, do, last, wise, resolve, suffer, hand, earth, other, here_. l. 31. b, c, d, e] two lines, _doe, suffer_. ll. 38--40 and p. 125, ll. 1 and 2. four lines ending _power, justice, heaven, to't_. p. 125, ll. 5--10. seven lines ending _forrest, home, me, selfe, shouting, braines, wits_. ll. 19 and 20. prose. ll. 21 and 22. two lines ending _not, ye_. ll. 23 and 24. prose. l. 24. b, c, d, e] two lines, _head, to_. il. 30--32. prose. ll. 35 and 36. two lines ending _rogue, now_. p. 126, ll. 1 and 2. two lines ending _woman, her_. ll. 25--28. prose. p. 127, ll. 5--7. three lines ending _giddy, sleepe, wake_. ll. 13--25. fourteen lines ending _conceale, follow, sleeping, sleepe, wronged, broken, take, escape, blood, mischiefe, once, body, mortal, thee_. ll. 26 and 27. prose. l. 29. line ends with first _here_. ll. 33 and 34. two lines ending _thou, me_. ll. 37 and 38. one line. l. 39 and p. 128, ll. l--3. three lines ending _live, much, you_. p. 128, ll. 19 and 20. two lines ending _beasts, men_. ll.22--24. two lines ending _her, her_. ll. 25 and 26. prose. ll. 29--34. four lines ending _thoughts, death, mectne, tortour_. l. 38 and p. 129, ll. 1--11. eleven lines ending _page, carelesse, me, over-fiowde, them, turnde, streames, contem'd, great, live, revenged_. p. 129, ll. 12--14. two lines ending _life, vigor_. l. 17 and b, c, d] two lines ending _away, rudely_. ll. 24--28. four lines ending _then, you, teach, him_. ll. 30 and 31. one line. p. 130, ll. 6--20. prose. l. 20. b, c, d, e] two lines, _wealth, philaster_. 1. 23. b, c, d, e] two lines, _two, philaster_. ll. 30--38. prose. l. 32. b, c, d, e] two lines, _talke, prison_. p. 131, l. 3 and b, c, d, e] two lines ending _on, match_. l. 6. two lines ending _heads, trick_. ll. 24--33. nine lines ending _bellario, heaven, paire, bore, me, death, boy, beasts, innocence_. l. 34 and p. 132, ll. 1--6. seven lines _ending worthy, peece, you, honour, close, perjurie, nothing_. p. 132, ll. 15--17. two lines ending _sleepe, love_. ll. 20 and 21. prose. 1. 21. b, c, d, e] two lines, _it, on_. ll. 28 and 29. two lines ending _love, truely_. p. 133, h. 6 and 7. one line. ll. 10--23. twelve lines ending _at, lightly, him, bridges, rootes, thunders, back, townes, desolate, lives, sacrifice, ruines_. ll. 26--38 and p. 134, ll. 1--12. prose. p. 134, ll. 14--35. prose. ll. 36 and 37. one line. l. 40 and p. 135, 1. i. two lines ending _pharamont, heads-man_. p. 135, ll. 3 and 4. prose. ll. 7--33. twenty-three lines ending _life, monster, to, living, writ, you, men, pelion, brasse, pyramides, gods, faults, issues, wisedomes, off, self, king, sinne, soule, long, you, die, in't_. p. 136, ll. 2 and 3. one line. ll. 24--29. seven lines ending _deere, not, chronicled, prais'd, ballads, seculorum, countrimen_. p. 137, ll. 8--22. sixteen lines ending _them, raise, neede, for't, sheepe, heate, me, lord, prince, him, wits, pin, me, bakon, fat, liking_. ll. 29--39 and p. 138, ll. 1--6. thirteen lines ending _miseries, danger, you, to't, be, repentance, gods, me, thunder, wrong, boy, sea-breach, it_. p. 138, ll. 33--36. b--g] four lines ending _boyes, top-sailes, argosie, cockels_. f and g print last 2 ll. as one. p. 139, l. 26. b, c, d, e] two lines ending _you and king_. l. 36. b, c, d, e] two lines ending _kils, boyes_. p. 143, l. 11. b, c, d, e] two lines ending _earth, me_. l. 40. b, c, d, e] two lines ending _away, once_. p. 145, l. 8. b, c, d, e] two lines ending _lives, pilgrimage_. l. 17. b, c, d, e] two lines ending _she, dyed_, l. 32. b, c, d, e] two lines ending _shame, rest_. proofreaders a king, and no king. by francis beaumont and john fletcher persons represented in the play. arbaces, _king_ of iberia. tigranes, _king of_ armenia. gobrias, _lord protector, and father of_ arbaces. bacurius, _another lord_. mardonius.) bessus, ) _two captains_ ligo[n]es, _father of_ spaconia. _two gentlemen_. _three men and a woman_. philip, _a servant, and two citizens wives_. _a messenger_. _a servant to_ bacurius. _two sword-men_. _a boy_. arane, ) _the [queen-mother_. panthea,) _her daughter_. spaconia,) _a lady daughter of_ ligones mandane,) _a waiting woman, and other attendants_. * * * * * _actus primus. scena prima_. * * * * * _enter_ mardonius _and_ bessus, _two captains_. _mar_. _bessus_, the king has made a fair hand on't, he has ended the wars at a blow, would my sword had a close basket hilt to hold wine, and the blade would make knives, for we shall have nothing but eating and drinking. _bes_. we that are commanders shall do well enough. _mar_. faith _bessus_, such commanders as thou may; i had as lieve set thee perdue for a pudding i'th' dark, as _alexander_ the great. _bes_. i love these jests exceedingly. _mar_. i think thou lov'st 'em better than quarrelling _bessus_, i'le say so much i'thy behalf, and yet thou 'rt valiant enough upon a retreat, i think thou wouldst kill any man that stopt thee if thou couldst. _bes_. but was not this a brave combate _mardonius_? _mar_. why, didst thou see't? _bes_. you stood wi'me. _mar_. i did so, but me thought thou wink'dst every blow they strook. _bes_. well, i believe there are better souldiers than i, that never saw two princes fight in lists. _mar_. by my troth i think so too _bessus_, many a thousand, but certainly all that are worse than thou have seen as much. _bes_. 'twas bravely done of our king. _mar_. yes, if he had not ended the wars: i'me glad thou dar'st talk of such dangerous businesses. _bes_. to take a prince prisoner in the heart of's own country in single combat. _mar_. see how thy blood curdles at this, i think thou couldst be contented to be beaten i'this passion. _bes_. shall i tell you truly? _mar_. i. _bes_. i could willingly venture for't. _mar_. um, no venture neither _bessus_. _bes_. let me not live, if i do not think 'tis a braver piece of service than that i'me so fam'd for. _mar_. why, art thou fam'd for any valour? _bes_. fam'd! i, i warrant you. _mar_. i'me e'en heartily glad on't, i have been with thee e're since thou cam'st to th'wars, and this is the first word that ever i heard on't, prethee who fames thee. _bes_. the christian world. _mar_. 'tis heathenishly done of'em in my conscience, thou deserv'st it not. _bes_. yes, i ha' don good service. _mar_. i do not know how thou mayst wait of a man in's chamber, or thy agility of shifting of a trencher, but otherwise no service good _bessus_. _bes_. you saw me do the service your self. _mar_. not so hasty sweet _bessus_, where was it, is the place vanish'd? _bes_. at _bessus_ desp'rate redemption. _mar_. at _bessus_ desp'rate redemption, where's that? _bes_. there where i redeem'd the day, the place bears my name. _mar_. pray thee, who christened it? _bes_. the souldiers. _mar_. if i were not a very merrily dispos'd man, what would become of thee? one that had but a grain of choler in the whole composition of his body, would send thee of an errand to the worms for putting thy name upon that field: did not i beat thee there i'th' head o'th' troops with a trunchion, because thou wouldst needs run away with thy company, when we should charge the enemy? _bes_. true, but i did not run. _mar_. right _bessus_, i beat thee out on't. _bes_. but came i not up when the day was gone, and redeem'd all? _mar_. thou knowest, and so do i, thou meanedst to flie, and thy fear making thee mistake, thou ranst upon the enemy, and a hot charge thou gav'st, as i'le do thee right, thou art furious in running away, and i think, we owe thy fear for our victory; if i were the king, and were sure thou wouldst mistake alwaies and run away upon th' enemy, thou shouldst be general by this light. _bes_. you'l never leave this till i fall foul. _mar_. no more such words dear _bessus_, for though i have ever known thee a coward, and therefore durst never strike thee, yet if thou proceedest, i will allow thee valiant, and beat thee. _bes_. come, our king's a brave fellow. _mar_. he is so _bessus_, i wonder how thou cam'st to know it. but if thou wer't a man of understanding, i would tell thee, he is vain-glorious, and humble, and angry, and patient, and merry and dull, and joyful and sorrowful in extremity in an hour: do not think me thy friend for this, for if i ear'd who knew it, thou shouldst not hear it _bessus_. here he is with his prey in his foot. _enter &c. senet flourish_. _enter_ arbaces _and_ tigranes, _two kings and two gentlemen_. _arb_. 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'recome him? they that plac'd me here, intended it an honour large enough, (though he for the most valiant living, but to dare oppose me single, lost the day. what should afflict you, you are as free as i, to be my prisoner, is to be more free than you were formerly, and never think the man i held worthy to combate me shall be us'd servilely: thy ransom is to take my only sister to thy wife. a heavy one _tigranes_, for she is a lady, that the neighbour princes send blanks to fetch home. i have been too unkind to her _tigranes_, she but nine years old i left her, and ne're saw her since, your wars have held me long and taught me though a youth, the way to victory, she was a pretty child, then i was little better, but now fame cries loudly on her, and my messengers make me believe she is a miracle; she'l make you shrink, as i did, with a stroak but of her eye _tigranes_. _tigr_. is't the course of _iberia_ to use their prisoners thus? had fortune thrown my name above _arbace_, i should not thus have talk'd sir, in _armenia_ we hold it base, you should have kept your temper till you saw home again, where 'tis the fashion perhaps to brag. _arb_. be you my witness earth, need i to brag, doth not this captive prince speak me sufficiently, and all the acts that i have wrought upon his suffering land; should i then boast! where lies that foot of ground within his whole realm, that i have not past, fighting and conquering; far then from me be ostentation. i could tell the world how i have laid his kingdom desolate by this sole arm prop't by divinity, stript him out of his glories, and have sent the pride of all his youth to people graves, and made his virgins languish for their loves, if i would brag, should i that have the power to teach the neighbour world humility, mix with vain-glory? _mar_. indeed this is none. _arb. _tigranes_, nay did i but take delight to stretch my deeds as others do, on words, i could amaze my hearers. _mar_. so you do. _arb_. but he shall wrong his and my modesty, that thinks me apt to boast after any act fit for a good man to do upon his foe. a little glory in a souldiers mouth is well-becoming, be it far from vain. _mar_. 'tis pity that valour should be thus drunk. _arb_. i offer you my sister, and you answer i do insult, a lady that no suite nor treasure, nor thy crown could purchase thee, but that thou fought'st with me. _tigr_. though this be worse than that you spake before, it strikes me not; but that you think to overgrace me with the marriage of your sister, troubles me. i would give worlds for ransoms were they mine, rather than have her. _arb_. see if i insult that am the conquerour, and for a ransom offer rich treasure to the conquered, which he refuses, and i bear his scorn: it cannot be self-flattery to say, the daughters of your country set by her, would see their shame, run home and blush to death, at their own foulness; yet she is not fair, nor beautiful, those words express her not, they say her looks have something excellent, that wants a name: yet were she odious, her birth deserves the empire of the world, sister to such a brother, that hath ta'ne victory prisoner, and throughout the earth, carries her bound, and should he let her loose, she durst not leave him; nature did her wrong, to print continual conquest on her cheeks, and make no man worthy for her to taste but me that am too near her, and as strangely she did for me, but you will think i brag. _mar_. i do i'le be sworn. thy valour and thy passions sever'd, would have made two excellent fellows in their kinds: i know not whether i should be sorry thou art so valiant, or so passionate, wou'd one of 'em were away. _tigr_. do i refuse her that i doubt her worth? were she as vertuous as she would be thought, so perfect that no one of her own sex could find a want, had she so tempting fair, that she could wish it off for damning souls, i would pay any ransom, twenty lives rather than meet her married in my bed. perhaps i have a love, where i have fixt mine eyes not to be mov'd, and she on me, i am not fickle. _arb_. is that all the cause? think you, you can so knit your self in love to any other, that her searching sight cannot dissolve it? so before you tri'd, you thought your self a match for me in [f]ight, trust me _tigranes_, she can do as much in peace, as i in war, she'l conquer too, you shall see if you have the power to stand the force of her swift looks, if you dislike, i'le send you home with love, and name your ransom some other way, but if she be your choice, she frees you: to _iberia_ you must. _tigr_. sir, i have learn'd a prisoners sufferance, and will obey, but give me leave to talk in private with some friends before i go. _arb_. some to await him forth, and see him safe, but let him freely send for whom he please, and none dare to disturb his conference, i will not have him know what bondage is, [_exit tigranes_. till he be free from me. this prince, _mardonius_, is full of wisdom, valour, all the graces man can receive. _mar_. and yet you conquer'd him. _arb_. and yet i conquer'd him, and could have don't hadst thou joyn'd with him, though thy name in arms be great; must all men that are vertuous think suddenly to match themselves with me? i conquered him and bravely, did i not? _bes_. and please your majesty, i was afraid at first. _mar_. when wert thou other? _arb_. of what? _bes_. that you would not have spy'd your best advantages, for your majesty in my opinion lay too high, methinks, under favour, you should have lain thus. _mar_. like a taylor at a wake. _bes_. and then, if please your majesty to remember, at one time, by my troth i wisht my self wi'you. _mar_. by my troth thou wouldst ha' stunk 'em both out o'th' lists. _arb_. what to do? _bes_. to put your majesty in mind of an occasion; you lay thus, and _tigranes_ falsified a blow at your leg, which you by doing thus avoided; but if you had whip'd up your leg thus, and reach'd him on the ear, you had made the blood-royal run down his head. _mar_. what country fence-school learn'st thou at? _arb_. pish, did not i take him nobly? _mar_. why you did, and you have talked enough on't. _arb_. talkt enough? will you confine my word? by heaven and earth, i were much better be a king of beasts than such a people: if i had not patience above a god, i should be call'd a tyrant throughout the world. they will offend to death each minute: let me hear thee speak again, and thou art earth again: why this is like _tigranes_ speech that needs would say i brag'd. _bessus_, he said i brag'd. _bes_. ha, ha, ha. _arb_. why dost thou laugh? by all the world, i'm grown ridiculous to my own subjects: tie me in a chair and jest at me, but i shall make a start, and punish some that others may take heed how they are haughty; who will answer me? he said i boasted, speak _mardonius_, did i? he will not answer, o my temper! i give you thanks above, that taught my heart patience, i can endure his silence; what will none vouchsafe to give me answer? am i grown to such a poor respect, or do you mean to break my wind? speak, speak, some one of you, or else by heaven. _1 gent_. so please your. _arb_. monstrous, i cannot be heard out, they cut me off, as if i were too saucy, i will live in woods, and talk to trees, they will allow me to end what i begin. the meanest subject can find a freedom to discharge his soul and not i, now it is a time to speak, i hearken. _1 gent_. may it please. _arb_. i mean not you, did not i stop you once? but i am grown to balk, but i defie, let another speak. _2 gent_. i hope your majesty. _arb_. thou drawest thy words, that i must wait an hour, where other men can hear in instants; throw your words away, quick, and to purpose, i have told you this. _bes_. and please your majesty. _arb_. wilt thou devour me? this is such a rudeness as you never shew'd me, and i want power to command too, else _mardonius_ would speak at my request; were you my king, i would have answered at your word _mardonius_, i pray you speak, and truely, did i boast? _mar_. truth will offend you. _arb_. you take all great care what will offend me, when you dare to utter such things as these. _mar_. you told _tigranes_, you had won his land, with that sole arm propt by divinity: was not that bragging, and a wrong to us, that daily ventured lives? _arb_. o that thy name were as great, as mine, would i had paid my wealth, it were as great, as i might combate thee, i would through all the regions habitable search thee, and having found thee, wi'my sword drive thee about the world, till i had met some place that yet mans curiosity hath mist of; there, there would i strike thee dead: forgotten of mankind, such funeral rites as beasts would give thee, thou shouldst have. _bes_. the king rages extreamly, shall we slink away? he'l strike us. _2 gent_. content. _arb_. there i would make you know 'twas this sole arm. i grant you were my instruments, and did as i commanded you, but 'twas this arm mov'd you like wheels, it mov'd you as it pleas'd. whither slip you now? what are you too good to wait on me (_puffe_,) i had need have temper that rule such people; i have nothing left at my own choice, i would i might be private: mean men enjoy themselves, but 'tis our curse, to have a tumult that out of their loves will wait on us, whether we will or no; go get you gone: why here they stand like death, my words move nothing. _1 gent_. must we go? _bes_. i know not. _arb_. i pray you leave me sirs, i'me proud of this, that you will be intreated from my sight: why now the[y] leave me all: _mardonius_. [_exeunt all but_ arb. _and_ mar. _mar_. sir. _arb_. will you leave me quite alone? me thinks civility should teach you more than this, if i were but your friend: stay here and wait. _mar_. sir shall i speak? _arb_. why, you would now think much to be denied, but i can scar[c]e intreat what i would have: do, speak. _mar_. but will you hear me out? _arb_. with me you article to talk thus: well, i will hear you out. _mar_. sir, that i have ever lov'd you, my sword hath spoken for me; that i do, if it be doubted, i dare call an oath, a great one to my witness; and were you not my king, from amongst men, i should have chose you out to love above the rest: nor can this challenge thanks, for my own sake i should have done it, because i would have lov'd the most deserving man, for so you are. _arb_. alas _mardonius_, rise you shall not kneel, we all are souldiers, and all venture lives: and where there is no difference in mens worths, titles are jests, who can outvalue thee? _mardonius_ thou hast lov'd me, and hast wrong, thy love is not rewarded, but believe it shall be better, more than friend in arms, my father, and my tutor, good _mardonius_. _mar_. sir, you did promise you would hear me out. _arb_. and so i will; speak freely, for from thee nothing can come but worthy things and true. _mar_. though you have all this worth, you hold some qualities that do eclipse your vertues. _arb_. eclipse my vertues? _mar_. yes, your passions, which are so manifold, that they appear even in this: when i commend you, you hug me for that truth: but when i speak your faults, you make a start, and flie the hearing but. _arb_. when you commend me? o that i should live to need such commendations: if my deeds blew not my praise themselves about the earth, i were most wretched: spare your idle praise: if thou didst mean to flatter, and shouldst utter words in my praise, that thou thoughtst impudence, my deeds should make 'em modest: when you praise i hug you? 'tis so [false], that wert thou worthy thou shouldst receive a death, a glorious death from me: but thou shalt understand thy lies, for shouldst thou praise me into heaven, and there leave me inthron'd, i would despise thee though as much as now, which is as much as dust because i see thy envie. _mar_. however you will use me after, yet for your own promise sake, hear me the rest. _arb_. i will, and after call unto the winds, for they shall lend as large an ear as i to what you utter: speak. _mar_. would you but leave these hasty tempers, which i do not say take from you all your worth, but darken 'em, then you will shine indeed. _arb_. well. _mar_. yet i would have you keep some passions, lest men should take you for a god, your vertues are such. _arb_. why now you flatter. _mar_. i never understood the word, were you no king, and free from these moods, should i choose a companion for wit and pleasure, it should be you; or for honesty to enterchange my bosom with, it should be you; or wisdom to give me counsel, i would pick out you; or valour to defend my reputation, still i should find you out; for you are fit to fight for all the world, if it could come in question: now i have spoke, consider to your self, find out a use; if so, then what shall fall to me is not material. _arb_. is not material? more than ten such lives, as mine, _mardonius_: it was nobly said, thou hast spoke truth, and boldly such a truth as might offend another. i have been too passionate and idle, thou shalt see a swift amendment, but i want those parts you praise me for: i fight for all the world? give me a sword, and thou wilt go as far beyond me, as thou art beyond in years, i know thou dar'st and wilt; it troubles me that i should use so rough a phrase to thee, impute it to my folly, what thou wilt, so thou wilt par[d]on me: that thou and i should differ thus! _mar_. why 'tis no matter sir. _arb_. faith but it is, but thou dost ever take all things i do, thus patiently, for which i never can requite thee, but with love, and that thou shalt be sure of. thou and i have not been merry lately: pray thee tell me where hadst thou that same jewel in thine ear? _mar_. why at the taking of a town. _arb_. a wench upon my life, a wench _mardonius_ gave thee that jewel. _mar_. wench! they respect not me, i'm old and rough, and every limb about me, but that which should, grows stiffer, i'those businesses i may swear i am truly honest: for i pay justly for what i take, and would be glad to be at a certainty. _arb_. why, do the wenches encroach upon thee? _mar_. i by this light do they. _arb_. didst thou sit at an old rent with 'em? _mar_. yes faith. _arb_. and do they improve themselves? _mar_. i ten shillings to me, every new young fellow they come acquainted with. _arb_. how canst live on't? _mar_. why i think i must petition to you. _arb_. thou shalt take them up at my price. _enter two gentlemen and_ bessus. _mar_. your price? _arb_. i at the kings price. _mar_. that may be more than i'me worth. _2 gent_. is he not merry now? _1 gent_. i think not. _bes_. he is, he is: we'l shew our selves. _arb_. bessus, i thought you had been in _iberia_ by this, i bad you hast; _gobrias_ will want entertainment for me. _bes_. and please your majesty i have a sute. _arb_. is't not lousie _bessus_, what is't? _bes_. i am to carry a lady with me. _arb_. then thou hast two sutes. _bes_. and if i can prefer her to the lady _pentha_ your majesties sister, to learn fashions, as her friends term it, it will be worth something to me. _arb_. so many nights lodgings as 'tis thither, wilt not? _bes_. i know not that sir, but gold i shall be sure of. _arb_. why thou shalt bid her entertain her from me, so thou wilt resolve me one thing. _bes_. if i can. _arb_. faith 'tis a very disputable question, and yet i think thou canst decide it. _bes_. your majesty has a good opinion of my understanding. _arb_. i have so good an opinion of it: 'tis whether thou be valiant. _bes_. some body has traduced me to you: do you see this sword sir? _arb_. yes. _bes_. if i do not make my back-biters eat it to a knife within this week, say i am not valiant. _enter a messenger_. _mes_. health to your majesty. _arb_. from gobrias? _mes_. yes sir. _arb_. how does he, is he well? _mes_. in perfect health. _arb_. take that for thy good news. a trustier servant to his prince there lives not, than is good gobrias. _1 gent_. the king starts back. _mar_. his blood goes back as fast. _2 gent_. and now it comes again. _mar_. he alters strangely. _arb_. the hand of heaven is on me, be it far from me to struggle, if my secret sins have pull'd this curse upon me, lend me tears now to wash me white, that i may feel a child-like innocence within my breast; which once perform'd, o give me leave to stand as fix'd as constancy her self, my eyes set here unmov'd, regardless of the world though thousand miseries incompass me. _mar_. this is strange, sir, how do you? _arb_. mardonius, my mother. _mar_. is she dead? _arb_. alas she's not so happy, thou dost know how she hath laboured since my father died to take by treason hence this loathed life, that would but be to serve her, i have pardoned, and pardoned, and by that have made her fit to practise new sins, not repent the old: she now had stirr'd a slave to come from thence, and strike me here, whom gobrias sifting out, took and condemn'd and executed there, the carefulst servant: heaven let me but live to pay that man; nature is poor to me, that will not let me have as many deaths as are the times that he hath say'd my life, that i might dye 'em over all for him. _mar_. sir let her bear her sins on her own head, vex not your self. _arb_. what will the world conceive of me? with what unnatural sins will they suppose me loaden, when my life is sought by her that gave it to the world? but yet he writes me comfort here, my sister, he saies, is grown in beauty and in grace. in all the innocent vertues that become a tender spotless maid: she stains her cheeks with morning tears to purge her mothers ill, and 'mongst that sacred dew she mingles prayers her pure oblations for my safe return: if i have lost the duty of a son, if any pomp or vanity of state made me forget my natural offices, nay farther, if i have not every night expostulated with my wandring thoughts, if ought unto my parent they have err'd, and call'd 'em back: do you direct her arm unto this foul dissembling heart of mine: but if i have been just to her, send out your power to compass me, and hold me safe from searching treason; i will use no means but prayer: for rather suffer me to see from mine own veins issue a deadly flood, than wash my danger off with mothers blood. _mar_. i n'ere saw such suddain extremities. [exeunt. _enter_ tigranes _and_ spaconia. _tigr_. why? wilt thou have me die spaconia. what should i do? _spa_. nay let me stay alone, and when you see _armenia_ again, you shall behold a tomb more worth than i; some friend that ever lov'd me or my cause, will build me something to distinguish me from other women, many a weeping verse he will lay on, and much lament those maids, that plac'd their loves unfortunately high, as i have done, where they can never reach; but why should you go to _iberia_? _tigr_. alas, that thou wilt ask me, ask the man that rages in a fever why he lies distempered there, when all the other youths are coursing o're the meadows with their loves? can i resist it? am i not a slave to him that conquer'd me? _spa_. that conquer'd thee _tigranes_! he has won but half of thee, thy body, but thy mind may be as free as his, his will did never combate thine, and take it prisoner. _tigr_. but if he by force convey my body hence, what helps it me or thee to be unwilling? _spa_. o _tigranes_, i know you are to see a lady there, to see, and like i fear: perhaps the hope of her make[s] you forget me, ere we part, be happier than you know to wish; farewel. _tigr_. _spaconia_, stay and hear me what i say: in short, destruction meet me that i may see it, and not avoid it, when i leave to be thy faithful lover: part with me thou shalt not, there are none that know our love, and i have given gold unto a captain that goes unto _iberia_ from the king, that he will place a lady of our land with the kings sister that is offered me; thither shall you, and being once got in perswade her by what subtil means you can to be as backward in her love as i. _spa_. can you imagine that a longing maid when she beholds you, can be pull'd away with words from loving you? _tigr_. dispraise my health, my honesty, and tell her i am jealous. _spa_. why, i had rather lose you: can my heart consent to let my tongue throw out such words, and i that ever yet spoke what i thought, shall find it such a thing at first to lie? _tigr_. yet do thy best. _enter_ bessus. _bes_. what, is your majesty ready? _tigr_. there is the lady, captain. _bes_. sweet lady, by your leave, i co[u]ld wish my self more full of courtship for your fair sake. _spa_. sir i shall feel no want of that. _bes_. lady, you must hast, i have received new letters from the king that require more hast than i expected, he will follow me suddenly himself, and begins to call for your majesty already. _tigr_. he shall not do so long. _bes_. sweet lady, shall i call you my charge hereafter? _spa_. i will not take upon me to govern your tongue sir, you shall call me what you please. _actus secundus_. _enter_ gobrias, bacurius, arane, panthe, _and_ mandane, _ waiting-women with attendants_. _gob_. my lord bacurius, you must have regard unto the queen, she is your prisoner, 'tis at your peril if she make escape. _bac_. my lord, i know't, she is my prisoner from you committed; yet she is a woman, and so i keep her safe, you will not urge me to keep her close, i shall not shame to say i sorrow for her. _gob_. so do i my lord; i sorrow for her, that so little grace doth govern her: that she should stretch her arm against her king, so little womanhood and natural goodness, as to think the death of her own son. _ ara_. thou knowst the reason why, dissembling as thou art, and wilt not speak. _gob_. there is a lady takes not after you, her father is within her, that good man whose tears weigh'd down his sins, mark how she weeps, how well it does become her, and if you can find no disposition in your self to sorrow, yet by gracefulness in her find out the way, and by your reason weep: all this she does for you, and more she needs when for your self you will not lose a tear, think how this want of grief discredits you, and you will weep, because you cannot weep. _ara_. you talk to me as having got a time fit for your purpose; but you should be urg'd know i know you speak not what you think. _pan_. i would my heart were stone, before my softness against my mother, a more troubled thought no virgin bears about; should i excuse my mothers fault, i should set light a life in losing which, a brother and a king were taken from me, if i seek to save that life so lov'd, i lose another life that gave me being, i shall lose a mother, a word of such a sound in a childs ears that it strikes reverence through it; may the will of heaven be done, and if one needs must fall, take a poor virgins life to answer all. _ ara_. but _gobrias_ let us talk, you know this fault is not in me as in another mother. _gob_. i know it is not. _ ara_. yet you make it so. _gob_. why, is not all that's past beyond your help? _ ara_. i know it is. _gob_. nay should you publish it before the world, think you 'twould be believ'd? _ ara_. i know it would not. _gob_. nay should i joyn with you, should we not both be torn and yet both die uncredited? _ ara_. i think we should. _gob_. why then take you such violent courses? as for me i do but right in saving of the king from all your plots. _ ara_. the king? _gob_. i bad you rest with patience, and a time would come for me to reconcile all to your own content, but by this way you take away my power, and what was done unknown, was not by me but you: your urging being done i must preserve my own, but time may bring all this to light, and happily for all. _ ara_. accursed be this over curious brain that gave that plot a birth, accurst this womb that after did conceive to my disgrace. _bac_. my lord protector, they say there are divers letters come from _armenia_, that _bessus_ has done good service, and brought again a day, by his particular valour, receiv'd you any to that effect? _gob_. yes, 'tis most certain. _bac_. i'm sorry for't, not that the day was won, but that 'twas won by him: we held him here a coward, he did me wrong once, at which i laugh'd, and so did all the world, for nor i, nor any other held him worth my sword. _enter_ bessus _and_ spaconia. _bes_. health to my protector; from the king these letters; and to your grace madam, these. _gob_. how does his majesty? _bes_. as well as conquest by his own means and his valiant c[o]mmanders can make him; your letters will tell you all. _pan_. i will not open mine till i do know my brothers health: good captain is he well? _bes_. as the rest of us that fought are. _pan_. but how's that? is he hurt? _bes_. he's a strange souldier that gets not a knock. _pan_. i do not ask how strange that souldier is that gets no hurt, but whether he have one. _bes_. he had divers. _pan_. and is he well again? _bes_. well again, an't please your grace: why i was run twice through the body, and shot i'th' head with a cross-arrow, and yet am well again. _pan_. i do not care how thou do'st, is he well? _bes_. not care how i do? let a man out of the mightiness of his spirit, fructifie foreign countries with his blood for the good of his own, and thus he shall be answered: why i may live to relieve with spear and shield, such a lady as you distressed. _pan_. why, i will care, i'me glad that thou art well, i prethee is he so? _gob_. the king is well and will be here to morrow. _pan_. my prayer is heard, now will i open mine. _gob_. _bacurius_, i must ease you of your charge: madam, the wonted mercy of the king, that overtakes your faults, has met with this, and struck it out, he has forgiven you freely, your own will is your law, be where you please. _ ara_. i thank him. _gob_. you will be ready to wait upon his majesty to morrow? _ ara_. i will. [_exit_ arane. _bac_. madam be wise hereafter; i am glad i have lost this office. _gob_. good captain _bessus_, tell us the discourse betwixt _tigranes_ and our king, and how we got the victory. _pan_. i prethee do, and if my brother were in any danger, let not thy tale make him abide there long before thou bring him off, for all that while my heart will beat. _bes_. madam let what will beat, i must tell the truth, and thus it was; they fought single in lists, but one to one; as for my own part, i was dangerously hurt but three days before, else, perhaps, we had been two to two, i cannot tell, some thought we had, and the occasion of my hurt was this, the enemy had made trenches. _gob_. captain, without the manner of your hurt be much material to this business, we'l hear't some other time. _pan_. i prethee leave it, and go on with my brother. _bes_. i will, but 'twould be worth your hearing: to the lists they came, and single-sword and gantlet was their fight. _pan_. alas! _bes_. without the lists there stood some dozen captains of either side mingled, all which were sworn, and one of those was i: and 'twas my chance to stand next a captain o'th' enemies side, called _tiribasus_; valiant they said he was; whilst these two kings were streaching themselves, this _tiribasus_ cast something a scornful look on me, and ask't me who i thought would overcome: i smil'd and told him if he would fight with me, he should perceive by the event of that whose king would win: something he answered, and a scuffle was like to grow, when one _zipetus_ offered to help him, i-_pan_. all this is of thy self, i pray thee _bessus_ tell something of my brother, did he nothing? _bes_. why yes, i'le tell your grace, they were not to fight till the word given, which for my own part, by my troth i confess i was not to give. _pan_. see for his own part. _bac_. i fear yet this fellow's abus'd with a good report. _bes_. but i-_pan_. still of himself. _bes_. cri'd give the word, when as some of them say, _tigranes_ was stooping, but the word was not given then, yet one _cosroes_ of the enemies part, held up his finger to me, which is as much with us martialists, as i will fight with you: i said not a word, nor made sign during the combate, but that once done. _pan_. he slips o're all the fight. _bes_. i call'd him to me, _cosroes_ said i. _pan_. i will hear no more. _bes_. no, no, i lie. _bac_. i dare be sworn thou dost. _bes_. captain said i, so it was. _pan_. i tell thee, i will hear no further. _bes_. no? your grace will wish you had. _pan_. i will not wish it, what is this the lady my brother writes to me to take? _bes_. and please your grace this is she: charge, will you come near the princess? _pan_. you'r welcome from your country, and this land shall shew unto you all the kindness that i can make it; what's your name? _spa_. _thalectris_. _pan_. y'are very welcome, you have got a letter to put you to me, that has power enough to place mine enemy here; then much more you that are so far from being so to me that you ne're saw me. _bes_. madam, i dare pass my word for her truth. _spa_. my truth? _pan_. why captain, do you think i am afraid she'l steal? _bes_. i cannot tell, servants are slippery, but i dare give my word for her, and for honesty, she came along with me, and many favours she did me by the way, but by this light none but what she might do with modesty, to a man of my rank. _pan_. why captain, here's no body thinks otherwise. _bes_. nay, if you should, your grace may think your pleasure; but i am sure i brought her from _armenia_, and in all that way, if ever i touch'd any bare of her above her knee, i pray god i may sink where i stand. _spa_. above my knee? _bes_. no, you know i did not, and if any man will say, i did, this sword shall answer; nay, i'le defend the reputation of my charge whilst i live, your grace shall understand i am secret in these businesses, and know how to defend a ladies honour. _spa_. i hope your grace knows him so well already, i shall not need to tell you he's vain and foolish. _bes_. i you may call me what you please, but i'le defend your good name against the world; and so i take my leave of your grace, and of you my lord protector; i am likewise glad to see your lordship well. _bac_. o captain _bessus_, i thank you, i would speak with you anon. _bes_. when you please, i will attend your lordship. _bac_. madam, i'le take my leave too. _pan_. good _bacurius_. [_exeunt_ bes. _and_ bac. _gob_. madam what writes his majesty to you? _pan_. o my lord, the kindest words, i'le keep 'em whilst i live, here in my bosom, there's no art in 'em, they lie disordered in this paper, just as hearty nature speaks 'em. _gob_. and to me he writes what tears of joy he shed to hear how you were grown in every vertues way, and yields all thanks to me, for that dear care which i was bound to have in training you, there is no princess living that enjoys a brother of that worth. _pan_. my lord, no maid longs more for any thing, and feels more heat and cold within her breast, than i do now, in hopes to see him. _gob_. yet i wonder much at this he writes, he brings along with him a husband for you, that same captive prince, and if he loves you as he makes a shew, he will allow you freedom in your choice. _pan_. and so he will my lord, i warrant you, he will but offer and give me the power to take or leave. _gob_. trust me, were i a lady, i could not like that man were bargain'd with before i choose him. _pan_. but i am not built on such wild humours, if i find him worthy, he is not less because he's offer'd. _spa_. 'tis true, he is not, would he would seem less. _gob_. i think there's no lady can affect another prince, your brother standing by; he doth eclipse mens vertues so with his. _spa_. i know a lady may, and more i fear another lady will. _pan_. would i might see him. _gob_. why so you shall, my businesses are great, i will attend you when it is his pleasure to see you. _pan_. i thank you good my lord. _gob_. you will be ready madam. [_exit gob_. _pan_. yes. _spa_. i do beseech you madam, send away your other women, and receive from me a few sad words, which set against your joyes may make 'em shine the more. _pan_. sirs, leave me all. [_exeunt women_. _spa_. i kneel a stranger here to beg a thing unfit for me to ask, and you to grant, 'tis such another strange ill-laid request, as if a begger should intreat a king to leave his scepter, and his throne to him and take his rags to wander o're the world hungry and cold. _pan_. that were a strange request. _spa_. as ill is mine. _pan_. then do not utter it. _spa_. alas 'tis of that nature, that it must be utter'd, i, and granted, or i die: i am asham'd to speak it; but where life lies at the stake, i cannot think her woman that will not take something unreasonably to hazard saving of it: i shall seem a strange petitioner, that wish all ill to them i beg of, e're they give me ought; yet so i must: i would you were not fair, nor wise, for in your ill consists my good: if you were foolish, you would hear my prayer, if foul, you had not power to hinder me: he would not love you. _pan_. what's the meaning of it. _spa_. nay, my request is more without the bounds of reason yet: for 'tis not in the power of you to do, what i would have you grant. _pan_. why then 'tis idle, pray thee speak it out. _spa_. your brother brings a prince into this land, of such a noble shape, so sweet a grace, so full of worth withal, that every maid that looks upon him, gives away her self to him for ever; and for you to have he brings him: and so mad is my demand that i desire you not to have this man, this excellent man, for whom you needs must die, if you should miss him. i do now expect you should laugh at me. _pan_. trust me i could weep rather, for i have found him in all thy words a strange disjoynted sorrow. _spa_. 'tis by me his own desire so, that you would not love him. _pan_. his own desire! why credit me _thalestris,_ i am no common wooer: if he shall wooe me, his worth may be such, that i dare not swear i will not love him; but if he will stay to have me wooe him, i will promise thee, he may keep all his graces to himself, and fear no ravishing from me. _spa_. 'tis yet his own desire, but when he sees your face, i fear it will not be; therefore i charge you as you have pity, stop these tender ears from his enchanting voice, close up those eyes, that you may neither catch a dart from him, nor he from you; i charge you as you hope to live in quiet; for when i am dead, for certain i will walk to visit him if he break promise with me: for as fast as oaths without a formal ceremony can make me, i am to him. _pan_. then be fearless; for if he were a thing 'twixt god and man, i could gaze on him; if i knew it sin to love him without passion: dry your eyes, i swear you shall enjoy him still for me, i will not hinder you; but i perceive you are not what you seem, rise, rise _thalestris_, if your right name be so. _spa_. indeed it is not, _spaconia_ is my name; but i desire not to be known to other. _pan_. why, by me you shall not, i will never do you wrong, what good i can, i will, think not my birth or education such, that i should injure a stranger virgin; you are welcome hither, in company you wish to be commanded, but when we are alone, i shall be ready to be your servant. [_exeunt_. _enter three men and a woman_. _1_. come, come, run, run, run. _2_. we shall out-go her. _3_. one were better be hang'd than carry out women fidling to these shews. _ wom_. is the king hard by? _1_. you heard he with the bottles said, he thought we should come too late: what abundance of people here is! _ wom_. but what had he in those bottles? _3_. i know not. _2_. why, ink goodman fool. _3_. ink, what to do? _1_. why the king look you, will many times call for these bottles, and break his mind to his friends. _ wom_. let's take our places, we shall have no room else. _2_. the man told us he would walk o' foot through the people. _3_. i marry did he. _1_. our shops are well look't to now. _2_. 'slife, yonder's my master, i think. _1_. no 'tis not he. _enter a man with two citizens-wives._ _1 cit_. lord how fine the fields be, what sweet living 'tis in the country! _2 cit_. i poor souls, god help 'em; they live as contentedly as one of us. _1 cit_. my husbands cousin would have had me gone into the country last year, wert thou ever there? _2 cit_. i, poor souls, i was amongst 'em once. _1 cit_. and what kind of creatures are they, for love of god? _2 cit_. very good people, god help 'em. _1 cit_. wilt thou go down with me this summer when i am brought to bed? _2 cit_. alas, it is no place for us. _1 cit_. why, pray thee? _2 cit_. why you can have nothing there, there's no body cryes brooms. _1 cit_. no? _2 cit_. no truly, nor milk. _1 cit_. nor milk, how do they? _2 cit_. they are fain to milk themselves i'th' country. _1 cit_. good lord! but the people there, i think, will be very dutiful to one of us. _2 cit_. i god knows will they, and yet they do not greatly care for our husbands. _1 cit_. do they not? alas! i'good faith i cannot blame them: for we do not greatly care for them our selves. _philip_, i pray choose us a place. _ phil_. there's the best forsooth. _1 cit_. by your leave good people a little. _3_. what's the matter? _ phil_. i pray you my friend, do not thrust my mistress so, she's with child. _2_. let her look to her self then, has she not had showing enough yet? if she stay shouldring here, she may haps go home with a cake in her belly. _3_. how now, goodman squitter-breech, why do you lean on me? _ phi_. because i will. _3_. will you sir sawce-box? _1 cit_. look if one ha'not struck _philip_, come hither _philip_, why did he strike thee? _ phil_. for leaning on him. _1 cit_. why didst thou lean on him? _ phil_. i did not think he would have struck me. _1 cit_. as god save me la thou'rt as wild as a buck, there's no quarel but thou'rt at one end or other on't. _3_. it's at the first end then, for he'l ne'r stay the last. _1 cit_. well slip-string, i shall meet with you. _3_. when you will. _1 cit_. i'le give a crown to meet with you. _3_. at a bawdy-house. _1 cit_. i you're full of your roguery; but if i do meet you it shall cost me a fall. _ flourish. enter one running_. _4_ the king, the king, the king. now, now, now, now. _ flourish. enter_ arb. tigr. _the two kings and_ mardonius. _ all_. god preserve your majesty. _arb_. i thank you all, now are my joyes at full, when i behold you safe, my loving subjects; by you i grow, 'tis your united love that lifts me to this height: all the account that i can render you for all the love you have bestowed on me, all your expences to maintain my war, is but a little word, you will imagine 'tis slender paiment, yet 'tis such a word, as is not to be bought but with your bloods, 'tis peace. _ all_. god preserve your majesty. _arb_. now you may live securely i'your towns, your children round about you; may sit under your vines, and make the miseries of other kingdoms a discourse for you, and lend them sorrows; for your selves, you may safely forget there are such things as tears, and you may all whose good thoughts i have gain'd, hold me unworthy, where i think my life a sacrifice too great to keep you thus in such a calm estate. _ all_. god bless your majesty. _arb_. see all good people, i have brought the man whose very name you fear'd, a captive home; behold him, 'tis _tigranes_; in your heart sing songs of gladness, and deliverance. _1 cit_. out upon him. _2 cit_. how he looks. _3 wom_. hang him, hang him. _mar_. these are sweet people. _tigr_. sir, you do me wrong, to render me a scorned spectacle to common people. _arb_. it was so far from me to mean it so: if i have ought deserv'd, my loving subjects, let me beg of you, not to revile this prince, in whom there dwells all worth of which the name of a man is capable, valour beyond compare, the terrour of his name has stretcht it self where ever there is sun; and yet for you i fought with him single, and won him too; i made his valour stoop, and brought that name soar'd to so unbeliev'd a height, to fall beneath mine: this inspir'd with all your loves, i did perform, and will for your content, be ever ready for a greater work. _ all_. the lord bless your majesty. _tigr_. so he has made me amends now with a speech in commendation of himself: i would not be so vain-glorious. _arb_. if there be any thing in which i may do good to any creature, here speak out; for i must leave you: and it troubles me, that my occasions for the good of you, are such as call me from you: else, my joy would be to spend my days among you all. you shew your loves in these large multitudes that come to meet me, i will pray for you, heaven prosper you, that you may know old years, and live to see your childrens children sit at your boards with plenty: when there is a want of any thing, let it be known to me, and i will be a father to you: god keep you all. [_ flourish. exeunt kings and their train_. _ all_. god bless your majesty, god bless your majesty. _1_. come, shall we go? all's done. _ wom_. i for god sake, i have not made a fire yet. _2_. away, away, all's done. _3_. content, farewel _philip_. _1 cit_. away you halter-sack you. _2_. _philip_ will not fight, he's afraid on's face. _ phil_. i marry am i afraid of my face. _3_. thou wouldst be _philip_ if thou sawst it in a glass; it looks so like a visour. [_exeunt _2_., _3_., and woman_. _1 cit_. you'l be hang'd sirra: come _philip_ walk before us homewards; did not his majesty say he had brought us home pease for all our money? _2 cit_. yes marry did he. _1 cit_. they're the first i heard of this year by my troth, i longed for some of 'em: did he not say we should have some? _2 cit_. yes, and so we shall anon i warrant you have every one a peck brought home to our houses. _actus tertius_. _enter_ arbaces _and_ gobrias. _arb_. my sister take it ill? _gob_. not very ill. something unkindly she does take it sir to have her husband chosen to her hands. _arb_. why _gobrias_ let her, i must have her know, my will and not her own must govern her: what will she marry with some slave at home? _gob_. o she is far from any stubbornness, you much mistake her, and no doubt will like where you would have her, but when you behold her, you will be loth to part with such a jewel. _arb_. to part with her? why _gobrias_, art thou mad? she is my sister. _gob_. sir, i know she is: but it were pity to make poor our land, with such a beauty to enrich another. _arb_. pish will she have him? _gob_. i do hope she will not, i think she will sir. _arb_. were she my father and my mother too, and all the names for which we think folks friends, she should be forc't to have him when i know 'tis fit: i will not hear her say she's loth. _gob_. heaven bring my purpose luckily to pass, you know 'tis just, she will not need constraint she loves you so. _arb_. how does she love me, speak? _gob_. she loves you more than people love their health, that live by labour; more than i could love a man that died for me, if he could live again. _arb_. she is not like her mother then. _gob_. o no, when you were in _armenia_, i durst not let her know when you were hurt: for at the first on every little scratch, she kept her chamber, wept, and could not eat, till you were well, and many times the news was so long coming, that before we heard she was as near her death, as you your health. _arb_. alas poor soul, but yet she must be rul'd; i know not how i shall requite her well. i long to see her, have you sent for her, to tell her i am ready? _gob_. sir i have. _enter_ 1 gent, _and_ tigranes. _1 gent_. sir, here is the _armenian_ king. _arb_. he's welcome. _1 gent_. and the queen-mother, and the princess wait without. _arb_. good _gobrias_ bring 'em in. _tigranes_, you will think you are arriv'd in a strange land, where mothers cast to poyson their only sons; think you you shall be safe? _tigr_. too safe i am sir. _enter_ gobrias, arane, panthea, spaconia, bacurius, mardonius _and_ bessus, _and two gentlemen_. _ ara_. as low as this i bow to you, and would as low as is my grave, to shew a mind thankful for all your mercies. _arb_. o stand up, and let me kneel, the light will be asham'd to see observance done to me by you. _ ara_. you are my king. _arb_. you are my mother, rise; as far be all your faults from your own soul, as from my memory; then you shall be as white as innocence her self. _ ara_. i came only to shew my duty, and acknowledge my sorrows for my sins; longer to stay were but to draw eyes more attentively upon my shame, that power that kept you safe from me, preserve you still. _arb_. your own desires shall be your guide. [_exit_ arane. _pan_. now let me die, since i have seen my lord the king return in safetie, i have seen all good that life can shew me; i have ne're another wish for heaven to grant, nor were it fit i should; for i am bound to spend my age to come, in giving thanks that this was granted me. _gob_. why does not your majesty speak? _arb_. to whom? _gob_. to the princess. _pan_. alas sir, i am fearful, you do look on me, as if i were some loathed thing that you were finding out a way to shun. _gob_. sir, you should speak to her. _arb_. ha? _pan_. i know i am unworthy, yet not ill arm'd, with which innocence here i will kneel, till i am one with earth, but i will gain some words and kindness from you. _tigr_. will you speak sir? _arb_. speak, am i what i was? what art thou that dost creep into my breast, and dar'st not see my face? shew forth thy self: i feel a pair of fiery wings displai'd hither, from hence; you shall not tarry there, up, and be gone, if thou beest love be gone: or i will tear thee from my wounded breast, pull thy lov'd down away, and with thy quill by this right arm drawn from thy wonted wing, write to thy laughing mother i'thy bloud, that you are powers bely'd, and all your darts are to be blown away, by men resolv'd, like dust; i know thou fear'st my words, away. _tigr_. o misery! why should he be so slow? there can no falshood come of loving her; though i have given my faith; she is a thing both to be lov'd and serv'd beyond my faith: i would he would present me to her quickly. _pan_. will you not speak at all? are you so far from kind words? yet to save my modesty, that must talk till you answer, do not stand as you were dumb, say something, though it be poyson'd with anger, that it may strike me dead. _mar_. have you no life at all? for man-hood sake let her not kneel, and talk neglected thus; a tree would find a tongue to answer her, did she but give it such a lov'd respect. _arb_. you mean this lady: lift her from the earth; why do you let her kneel so long? alas, madam, your beauty uses to command, and not to beg. what is your sute to me? it shall be granted, yet the time is short, and my affairs are great: but where's my sister? i bade she should be brought. _mar_. what, is he mad? _arb. gobrias,_ where is she? _gob_. sir. _arb_. where is she man? _gob._ who, sir? _arb_. who, hast thou forgot my sister? _gob_. your sister, sir? _arb_. your sister, sir? some one that hath a wit, answer, where is she? _gob_. do you not see her there? _arb_. where? _gob_. there. _arb_. there, where? _mar_. s'light, there, are you blind? _arb_. which do you mean, that little one? _gob_. no sir. _arb_. no sir? why, do you mock me? i can see no other here, but that petitioning lady. _gob_. that's she. _arb_. away. _gob_. sir, it is she. _arb_. 'tis false. _gob_. is it? _arb_. as hell, by heaven, as false as hell, my sister: is she dead? if it be so, speak boldly to me; for i am a man, and dare not quarrel with divinity; and do not think to cozen me with this: i see you all are mute and stand amaz'd, fearful to answer me; it is too true, a decreed instant cuts off ev'ry life, for which to mourn, is to repine; she dy'd a virgin, though more innocent than sheep, as clear as her own eyes, and blessedness eternal waits upon her where she is: i know she could not make a wish to change her state for new, and you shall see me bear my crosses like a man; we all must die, and she hath taught us how. _gob_. do not mistake, and vex your self for nothing; for her death is a long life off, i hope: 'tis she, and if my speech deserve not faith, lay death upon me, and my latest words shall force a credit from you. _arb_. which, good gobrias? that lady dost thou mean? _gob_. that lady sir, she is your sister, and she is your sister that loves you so, 'tis she for whom i weep, to see you use her thus. _arb_. it cannot be. _tigr_. pish, this is tedious, i cannot hold, i must present my self, and yet the sight of my _spaconia_ touches me, as a sudden thunder-clap does one that is about to sin. _arb_. away, no more of this; here i pronounce him traytor, the direct plotter of my death, that names or thinks her for my sister, 'tis a lie, the most malicious of the world, invented to mad your king; he that will say so next, let him draw out his sword and sheath it here, it is a sin fully as pardonable: she is no kin to me, nor shall she be; if she were ever, i create her none: and which of you can question this? my power is like the sea, that is to be obey'd, and not disputed with: i have decreed her as far from having part of blood with me, as the nak'd _indians_; come and answer me, he that is boldest now; is that my sister? _mar_. o this is fine. _bes_. no marry, she is not, an't please your majesty, i never thought she was, she's nothing like you. _arb_. no 'tis true, she is not. _mar_. thou shou'dst be hang'd. _pan_. sir, i will speak but once; by the same power you make my blood a stranger unto yours, you may command me dead, and so much love a stranger may importune, pray you do; if this request appear too much to grant, adopt me of some other family, by your unquestion'd word; else i shall live like sinfull issues that are left in streets by their regardless mothers, and no name will be found for me. _arb_. i will hear no more, why should there be such musick in a voyce, and sin for me to hear it? all the world may take delight in this, and 'tis damnation for me to do so: you are fair and wise and vertuous i think, and he is blest that is so near you as my brother is; but you are nought to me but a disease; continual torment without hope of ease; such an ungodly sickness i have got, that he that undertakes my cure, must first o'rethrow divinity, all moral laws, and leave mankind as unconfin'd as beasts, allowing 'em to do all actions as freely as they drink when they desire. let me not hear you speak again; yet see i shall but lang[u]ish for the want of that, the having which, would kill me: no man here offer to speak for her; for i consider as much as you can say; i will not toil my body and my mind too, rest thou there, here's one within will labour for you both. _pan_. i would i were past speaking. _gob_. fear not madam, the king will alter, 'tis some sudden rage, and you shall see it end some other way. _pan_. pray heaven it do. _tig_. though she to whom i swore, be here, i cannot stifle my passion longer; if my father should rise again disquieted with this, and charge me to forbear, yet it would out. madam, a stranger, and a pris'ner begs to be bid welcome. _pan_. you are welcome, sir, i think, but if you be not, 'tis past me to make you so: for i am here a stranger, greater than you; we know from whence you come, but i appear a lost thing, and by whom is yet uncertain, found here i'th' court, and onely suffer'd to walk up and down, as one not worth the owning. _spa_. o, i fear _tigranes_ will be caught, he looks, me-thinks, as he would change his eyes with her; some help there is above for me, i hope. _tigr_. why do you turn away, and weep so fast, and utter things that mis-become your looks, can you want owning? _spa_. o 'tis certain so. _tigr_. acknowledge your self mine. _arb_. how now? _tigr_. and then see if you want an owner. _arb_. they are talking. _tigr_. nations shall owne you for their queen. _arb_. _tigranes_, art not thou my prisoner? _tigr_. i am. _arb_. and who is this? _tigr_. she is your sister. _arb_. she is so. _mar_. is she so again? that's well. _arb_. and then how dare you offer to change words with her? _tigr_. dare do it! why? you brought me hither sir, to that intent. _arb_. perhaps i told you so, if i had sworn it, had you so much folly to credit it? the least word that she speaks is worth a life; rule your disordered tongue, or i will temper it. _spa_. blest be the breath. _tigr_. temper my tongue! such incivilities as these, no barbarous people ever knew: you break the lawes of nature, and of nations, you talk to me as if i were a prisoner for theft: my tongue be temper'd? i must speak if thunder check me, and i will. _arb_. you will? _spa_. alas my fortune. _tigr_. do not fear his frown, dear madam, hear me. _arb_. fear not my frown? but that 'twere base in me to fight with one i know i can o'recome, again thou shouldst be conquer'd by me. _mar_. he has one ransome with him already; me-thinks 't were good to fight double, or quit. _arb_. away with him to prison: now sir, see if my frown be regardless; why delay you? seise him _bacurius_, you shall know my word sweeps like a wind, and all it grapples with, are as the chaffe before it. _tigr_. touch me not. _arb_. help there. _tigr_. away. _1 gent_. it is in vain to struggle. _2 gent_. you must be forc'd. _bac_. sir, you must pardon us, we must obey. _arb_. why do you dally there? drag him away by any thing. _bac_. come sir. _tigr_. justice, thou ought'st to give me strength enough to shake all these off; this is tyrannie, _arbaces_, sutler than the burning bulls, or that fam'd _titans_ bed. thou mightst as well search i'th' deep of winter through the snow for half starv'd people, to bring home with thee, to shew 'em fire, and send 'em back again, as use me thus. _arb_. let him be close, _bacurius_. [_exeunt_ tigr. _and_ bac. _spa_. i ne're rejoyc'd at any ill to him, but this imprisonment: what shall become of me forsaken? _gob_. you will not let your sister depart thus discontented from you, sir? _arb_. by no means _gobrias_, i have done her wrong, and made my self believe much of my self, that is not in me: you did kneel to me, whilest i stood stubborn and regardless by, and like a god incensed, gave no ear to all your prayers: behold, i kneel to you, shew a contempt as large as was my own, and i will suffer it, yet at the last forgive me. _pan_. o you wrong me more in this, than in your rage you did: you mock me now. _arb_. never forgive me then, which is the worst can happen to me. _pan_. if you be in earnest, stand up and give me but a gentle look, and two kind words, and i shall be in heaven. _arb_. rise you then to hear; i acknowledge thee my hope, the only jewel of my life, the best of sisters, dearer than my breath, a happiness as high as i could think; and when my actions call thee otherwise, perdition light upon me. _pan_. this is better than if you had not frown'd, it comes to me, like mercie at the block, and when i leave to serve you with my life, your curse be with me. _arb_. then thus i do salute thee, and again, to make this knot the stronger, paradise is there: it may be you are yet in doubt, this third kiss blots it out, i wade in sin, and foolishly intice my self along; take her away, see her a prisoner in her own chamber closely, _gobrias_. _pan_. alas sir, why? _arb_. i must not stay the answer, doe it. _gob_. good sir. _arb_. no more, doe it i say. _mard_. this is better and better. _pan_. yet hear me speak. _arb_. i will not hear you speak, away with her, let no man think to speak for such a creature; for she is a witch, a prisoner, and a traitor. _gob_. madam, this office grieves me. _pan_. nay, 'tis well the king is pleased with it. _arb_. _bessus_, go you along too with her; i will prove all this that i have said, if i may live so long; but i am desperately sick, for she has given me poison in a kiss; she had't betwixt her lips, and with her eyes she witches people: go without a word. [_exeunt_ gob. pan. bes. _and_ spaconia. why should you that have made me stand in war like fate it self, cutting what threds i pleas'd, decree such an unworthy end of me, and all my glories? what am i, alas, that you oppose me? if my secret thoughts have ever harbour'd swellings against you, they could not hurt you, and it is in you to give me sorrow, that will render me apt to receive your mercy; rather so, let it be rather so, than punish me with such unmanly sins: incest is in me dwelling already, and it must be holy that pulls it thence, where art _mardonius_? _mar_. here sir. _arb_. i pray thee bear me, if thou canst, am i not grown a strange weight? _mar_. as you were. _arb_. no heavier? _mar_. no sir. _arb_. why, my legs refuse to bear my body; o _mardonius_, thou hast in field beheld me, when thou knowst i could have gone, though i could never run. _mar_. and so i shall again. _arb_. o no, 'tis past. _mar_. pray you go rest your self. _arb_. wilt thou hereafter when they talk of me, as thou shalt hear nothing but infamy, remember some of those things? _mar_. yes i will. _arb_. i pray thee do: for thou shalt never see me so again. [_exeunt_. _enter bessus alone_. _bes_. they talk of fame, i have gotten it in the wars; and will afford any man a reasonable penny-worth: some will say, they could be content to have it, but that it is to be atchiev'd with danger; but my opinion is otherwise: for if i might stand still in cannon-proof, and have fame fall upon me, i would refuse it: my reputation came principally by thinking to run away, which no body knows but _mardonius_, and i think he conceals it to anger me. before i went to the warrs, i came to the town a young fellow, without means or parts to deserve friends; and my empty guts perswaded me to lie, and abuse people for my meat, which i did, and they beat me: then would i fast two days, till my hunger cri'd out on me, rail still, then me-thought i had a monstrous stomach to abuse 'em again, and did it. i, this state i continu'd till they hung me up by th' heels, and beat me wi' hasle sticks, as if they would have baked me, and have cousen'd some body wi'me for venison: after this i rail'd, and eat quietly: for the whole kingdom took notice of me for a baffl'd whipt fellow, and what i said was remembred in mirth but never in anger, of which i was glad; i would it were at that pass again. after this, heaven calls an aunt of mine, that left two hundred pound in a cousins hand for me, who taking me to be a gallant young spirit, raised a company for me with the money and sent me into _armenia_ with 'em: away i would have run from them, but that i could get no company, and alone i durst not run. i was never at battail but once, and there i was running, but _mardonius_ cudgel'd me; yet i got loose at last, but was so fraid, that i saw no more than my shoulders doe, but fled with my whole company amongst my enemies, and overthrew 'em: now the report of my valour is come over before me, and they say i was a raw young fellow, but now i am improv'd, a plague on their eloquence, 't will cost me many a beating; and _mardonius_ might help this too, if he would; for now they think to get honour on me, and all the men i have abus'd call me freshly worthily, as they call it by the way of challenge. _enter a gent_. _3 gent_. good morrow, captain _bessus_. _bes_. good morrow sir. _3 gent_. i come to speak with you. _bes_. you're very welcome. _3 gent_. from one that holds himself wrong'd by you some three years since: your worth he says is fam'd, and he doth nothing doubt but you will do him right, as beseems a souldier. _bes_. a pox on 'em, so they cry all. _3 gent_. and a slight note i have about me for you, for the delivery of which you must excuse me; it is an office that friendship calls upon me to do, and no way offensive to you; since i desire but right on both sides. _bes_. 'tis a challenge sir, is it not? _3 gent_. 'tis an inviting to the field. _bes_. an inviting? o sir your mercy, what a complement he delivers it with? he might as agreeable to my nature present me poison with such a speech: um um um reputation, um um um call you to account, um um um forc'd to this, um um um with my sword, um um um like a gentleman, um um um dear to me, um um um satisfaction: 'tis very well sir, i do accept it, but he must await an answer this thirteen weeks. _3 gent_. why sir, he would be glad to wipe off his stain as soon as he could. _bes_. sir upon my credit i am already ingag'd to two hundred, and twelve, all which must have their stains wip'd off, if that be the word, before him. _3 gent_. sir, if you be truly ingag'd but to one, he shall stay a competent time. _bes_. upon my faith sir, to two hundred and twelve, and i have a spent body, too much bruis'd in battel, so that i cannot fight, i must be plain, above three combats a day: all the kindness i can shew him, is to set him resolvedly in my rowle, the two hundred and thirteenth man, which is something, for i tell you, i think there will be more after him, than before him, i think so; pray you commend me to him, and tell him this. _3 gent_. i will sir, good morrow to you. [_exit 3 gent_. _bes_. good morrow good sir. certainly my safest way were to print my self a coward, with a discovery how i came by my credit, and clap it upon every post; i have received above thirty challenges within this two hours, marry all but the first i put off with ingagement, and by good fortune, the first is no madder of fighting than i, so that that's referred, the place where it must be ended, is four days journey off, and our arbitratours are these: he has chosen a gentleman in travel, and i have a special friend with a quartain ague, like to hold him this five years, for mine: and when his man comes home, we are to expect my friends health: if they would finde me challenges thus thick, as long as i liv'd, i would have no other living; i can make seven shillings a day o'th' paper to the grocers: yet i learn nothing by all these but a little skill in comparing of stiles. i do finde evidently, that there is some one scrivener in this town, that has a great hand in writing of challenges, for they are all of a cut, and six of 'em in a hand; and they all end, my reputation is dear to me, and i must require satisfaction: who's there? more paper i hope, no, 'tis my lord _bacurius_, i fear all is not well betwixt us. _enter_ bacurius. _bac_. now captain _bessus_, i come about a frivolous matter, caus'd by as idle a report: you know you were a coward. _bes_. very right. _bac_. and wronged me. _bes_. true my lord. _bac_. but now people will call you valiant, desertlesly i think, yet for their satisfaction, i will have you fight with me. _bes_. o my good lord, my deep engagements. _bac_. tell not me of your engagements, captain _bessus_, it is not to be put off with an excuse: for my own part, i am none of the multitude that believe your conversion from coward. _bes_. my lord, i seek not quarrels, and this belongs not to me, i am not to maintain it. _bac_. who then pray? _bes_. _bessus_ the coward wrong'd you. _bac_. right. _bes_. and shall _bessus_ the valiant, maintain what _bessus_ the coward did? _bac_. i pray thee leave these cheating tricks, i swear thou shalt fight with me, or thou shall be beaten extreamly, and kick'd. _bes_. since you provoke me thus far, my lord, i will fight with you, and by my sword it shall cost me twenty pound, but i will have my leg well a week sooner purposely. _bac_. your leg? why, what ailes your leg? i'le do a cure on you, stand up. _bes_. my lord, this is not noble in you. _bac_. what dost thou with such a phrase in thy mouth? i will kick thee out of all good words before i leave thee. _bes_. my lord, i take this as a punishment for the offence i did when i was a coward. _bac_. when thou wert? confess thy self a coward still, or by this light, i'le beat thee into spunge. _bes_. why i am one. _bac_. are you so sir? and why do you wear a sword then? come unbuckle. _bes_. my lord. _bac_. unbuckle i say, and give it me, or as i live, thy head will ake extreamly. _bes_. it is a pretty hilt, and if your lordship take an affection to it, with all my heart i present it to you for a new-years-gift. _bac_. i thank you very heartily, sweet captain, farewel. _bes_. one word more, i beseech your lordship to render me my knife again. _bac_. marry by all means captain; cherish your self with it, and eat hard, good captain; we cannot tell whether we shall have any more such: adue dear captain. [_exit_ bac. _bes_. i will make better use of this, than of my sword: a base spirit has this vantage of a brave one, it keeps alwayes at a stay, nothing brings it down, not beating. i remember i promis'd the king in a great audience, that i would make my back-biters eat my sword to a knife; how to get another sword i know not, nor know any means left for me to maintain my credit, but impudence: therefore i will out-swear him and all his followers, that this is all that's left uneaten of my sword. [_exit_ bessus. _enter_ mardonius. _mar_. i'le move the king, he is most strangely alter'd; i guess the cause i fear too right, heaven has some secret end in't, and 'tis a scourge no question justly laid upon him: he has followed me through twenty rooms; and ever when i stay to wait his command, he blushes like a girl, and looks upon me, as if modesty kept in his business: so turns away from me, but if i go on, he follows me again. _enter_ arbaces. see, here he is. i do not use this, yet i know not how, i cannot chuse but weep to see him; his very enemies i think, whose wounds have bred his fame, if they should see him now, would find tears i'their eyes. _arb_. i cannot utter it, why should i keep a breast to harbour thoughts? i dare not speak. darkness is in my bosom, and there lie a thousand thoughts that cannot brook the light: how wilt thou vex 'em when this deed is done, conscience, that art afraid to let me name it? _mar_. how do you sir? _arb_. why very well _mardonius_, how dost thou do? _mar_. better than you i fear. _arb_. i hope thou art; for to be plain with thee, thou art in hell else, secret scorching flames that far transcend earthly material fires are crept into me, and there is no cure. is it not strange _mardonius_, there's no cure? _mar_. sir, either i mistake, or there is something hid that you would utter to me. _arb_. so there is, but yet i cannot do it. _mar_. out with it sir, if it be dangerous, i will not shrink to do you service, i shall not esteem my life a weightier matter than indeed it is, i know it is subject to more chances than it has hours, and i were better lose it in my kings cause, than with an ague, or a fall, or sleeping, to a thief; as all these are probable enough: let me but know what i shall do for you. _arb_. it will not out: were you with _gobrias_, and bad him give my sister all content the place affords, and give her leave to send and speak to whom she please? _mar_. yes sir, i was. _arb_. and did you to _bacurius_ say as much about _tigranes_? _mar_. yes. _arb_. that's all my business. _mar_. o say not so, you had an answer of this before; besides i think this business might be utter'd more carelesly. _arb_. come thou shalt have it out, i do beseech thee by all the love thou hast profest to me, to see my sister from me. _mar_. well, and what? _arb_. that's all. _mar_. that's strange, i shall say nothing to her? _arb_. not a word; but if thou lovest me, find some subtil way to make her understand by signs. _mar_. but what shall i make her understand? _arb_. o _mardonius_, for that i must be pardon'd. _mar_. you may, but i can only see her then. _arb_. 'tis true; bear her this ring then, and one more advice, thou shall speak to her: tell her i do love my kindred all: wilt thou? _mar_. is there no more? _arb_. o yes and her the best; better than any brother loves his sister: that's all. _mar_. methinks this need not have been delivered with such a caution; i'le do it. _arb_. there is more yet, wilt thou be faith[f]ul to me? _mar_. sir, if i take upon me to deliver it, after i hear it, i'le pass through fire to do it. _arb_. i love her better than a brother ought; dost thou conceive me? _mar_. i hope you do not sir. _arb_. no, thou art dull, kneel down before her, and ne'r rise again, till she will love me. _mar_. why, i think she does. _arb_. but better than she does, another way; as wives love husbands. _mar_. why, i think there are few wives that love their husbands better than she does you. _arb_. thou wilt not understand me: is it fit this should be uttered plainly? take it then naked as it is: i would desire her love lasciviously, lewdly, incestuously, to do a sin that needs must damn us both, and thee too: dost thou understand me now? _mar_. yes, there's your ring again; what have i done dishonestly in my whole life, name it, that you should put so base a business to me? _arb_. didst thou not tell me thou wouldst do it? _mar_. yes; if i undertook it, but if all my hairs were lives, i would not be engag'd in such a case to save my last life. _arb_. o guilt! ha how poor and weak a thing art thou! this man that is my servant, whom my breath might blow upon the world, might beat me here having this cause, whil'st i prest down with sin could not resist him: hear _mardonius_, it was a motion mis-beseeming man, and i am sorry for it. _mar_. heaven grant you may be so: you must understand, nothing that you can utter, can remove my love and service from my prince. but otherwise, i think i shall not love you more. for you are sinful, and if you do this crime, you ought to have no laws. for after this, it will be great injustice in you to punish any offender for any crime. for my self i find my heart too big: i feel i have not patience to look on whilst you run these forbidden courses. means i have none but your favour, and i am rather glad that i shall lose 'em both together, than keep 'em with such conditions; i shall find a dwelling amongst some people, where though our garments perhaps be courser, we shall be richer far within, and harbour no such vices in 'em: the gods preserve you, and mend. _arb_. _mardonius_, stay _mardonius_, for though my present state requires nothing but knaves to be about me, such as are prepar'd for every wicked act, yet who does know but that my loathed fate may turn about, and i have use for honest men again? i hope i may, i prethee leave me not. _enter_ bessus. _bes_. where is the king? _mar_. there. _bes_. an't please your majesty, there's the knife. _arb_. what knife? _bes_. the sword is eaten. _mar_. away you fool, the king is serious, and cannot now admit your vanities. _bes_. vanities! i'me no honest man, if my enemies have not brought it to this, what, do you think i lie? _arb_. no, no, 'tis well _bessus_, 'tis very well i'm glad on't. _mar_. if your enemies brought it to this, your enemies are cutlers, come leave the king. _bes_. why, may not valour approach him? _mar_. yes, but he has affairs, depart, or i shall be something unmannerly with you. _arb_. no, let him stay _mardonius_, let him stay, i have occasion with him very weighty, and i can spare you now. _mar_. sir? _arb_. why i can spare you now. _bes_. _mardonius_ give way to these state affairs. _mar_. indeed you are fitter for this present purpose. [_exit_ mar. _arb_. _bessus_, i should imploy thee, wilt thou do't? _bes_. do't for you? by this air i will do any thing without exception, be it a good, bad, or indifferent thing. _arb_. do not swear. _bes_. by this light but i will, any thing whatsoever. _arb_. but i shall name the thing, thy conscience will not suffer thee to do. _bes_. i would fain hear that thing. _arb_. why i would have thee get my sister for me? thou understandst me, in a wicked manner. _bes_. o you would have a bout with her? i'le do't, i'le do't, i'faith. _arb_. wilt thou, do'st thou make no more on't? bes. more? no, why is there any thing else? if there be, it shall be done too. _arb_. hast thou no greater sense of such a sin? thou art too wicked for my company, though i have hell within me, thou may'st yet corrupt me further: pray thee answer me, how do i shew to thee after this motion? _bes_. why your majesty looks as well in my opinion, as ever you did since you were born. _arb_. but thou appear'st to me after thy grant, the ugliest, loathed detestable thing that i ever met with. thou hast eyes like the flames of _sulphur_, which me thinks do dart infection on me, and thou hast a mouth enough to take me in where there do stand four rows of iron teeth. _bes_. i feel no such thing, but 'tis no matter how i look, pie do my business as well as they that look better, and when this is dispatch'd, if you have a mind to your mother, tell me, and you shall see i'le set it hard. _arb_. my mother! heaven forgive me to hear this, i am inspir'd with horrour: now i hate thee worse than my sin, which if i could come by should suffer death eternal ne're to rise in any breast again. know i will die languishing mad, as i resolve, i shall, e're i will deal by such an instrument: thou art too sinful to imploy in this; out of the world, away. _bes_. what do you mean, sir? _arb_. hung round with curses, take thy fearful flight into the desarts, where 'mongst all the monsters if thou find'st one so beastly as thy self, thou shalt be held as innocent. _bes_. good sir. _arb_. if there were no such instruments as thou, we kings could never act such wicked deeds: seek out a man that mocks divinity, that breaks each precept both of god and man, and natures too, and does it without lust, meerly because it is a law, and good, and live with him: for him thou canst not spoil. away i say, i will not do this sin. [_exit_ bessus. i'le press it here, till it do break my breast, it heaves to get out, but thou art a sin, and spight of torture i will keep thee in. _actus quartus_. _enter_ gobrias, panthea, _and_ spaconia. _gob_. have you written madam? _pan_. yes, good _gobrias_. _gob_. and with a kindness, and such winning words as may provoke him, at one instant feel his double fault, your wrong, and his own rashness? _pan_. i have sent words enough, if words may win him from his displeasure; and such words i hope, as shall gain much upon his goodness, _gobrias_. yet fearing they are many, and a womans, a poor belief may follow, i have woven as many truths within 'em to speak for me, that if he be but gracious, and receive 'em-_gob_. good lady be not fearful, though he should not give you your present end in this, believe it, you shall feel, if your vertue can induce you to labour on't, this tempest which i know, is but a poor proof 'gainst your patience: all those contents, your spirit will arrive at, newer and sweeter to you; your royal brother, when he shall once collect himself, and see how far he has been asunder from himself; what a meer stranger to his golden temper: must from those roots of vertue, never dying, though somewhat stopt with humour, shoot again into a thousand glories, bearing his fair branches high as our hopes can look at, straight as justice, loaden with ripe contents; he loves you dearly, i know it, and i hope i need not farther win you to understand it. _pan_. i believe it. but howsoever, i am sure i love him dearly: so dearly, that if any thing i write for my enlarging should beget his anger, heaven be a witness with me and my faith, i had rather live intomb'd here. _gob_. you shall not feel a worse stroke than your grief, i am sorry 'tis so sharp, i kiss your hand, and this night will deliver this true story, with this hand to your brother. _ pan._ peace go with you, you are a good man. [_exit_ gob. my _spaconia_, why are you ever sad thus? _spa_. o dear lady. _pan_. prethee discover not a way to sadness, nearer than i have in me, our two sorrows work like two eager hawks, who shall get highest; how shall i lessen thine? for mine i fear is easier known than cur'd. _spa_. heaven comfort both, and give you happy ends, however i fall in my stubborn fortunes. _pan_. this but teaches how to be more familiar with our sorrows, that are too much our masters: good _spaconia_ how shall i do you service? _spa_. noblest lady, you make me more a slave still to your goodness, and only live to purchase thanks to pay you, for that is all the business of my life: now i will be bold, since you will have it so, to ask a noble favour of you. _pan_. speak it, 'tis yours, for from so sweet a vertue, no ill demand has issue. _spa_. then ever vertuous, let me beg your will in helping me to see the prince _tigranes_, with whom i am equal prisoner, if not more. _pan_. reserve me to a greater end _spaconia_; _bacurius_ cannot want so much good manners as to deny your gentle visitation, though you came only with your own command. _spa_. i know they will deny me gracious madam, being a stranger, and so little fam'd, so utter empty of those excellencies that tame authority; but in you sweet lady, all these are natural; beside, a power deriv'd immediate from your royal brother, whose least word in you may command the kingdom. _pan_. more than my word _spaconia_, you shall carry, for fear it fail you. _spa_. dare you trust a token? madam i fear i am grown too bold a begger. _pan_. you are a pretty one, and trust me lady it joyes me, i shall do a good to you, though to my self i never shall be happy: here, take this ring, and from me as a token deliver it; i think they will not stay you: so all your own desires go with you lady. _spa_. and sweet peace to your grace. _pan_. pray heaven i find it. [_exeunt_. _enter_ tigranes, _in prison_. _tigr_. fool that i am, i have undone my self, and with my own hand turn'd my fortune round, that was a fair one: i have childishly plaid with my hope so long, till i have broke it, and now too late i mourn for't; o _spaconia_! thou hast found an even way to thy revenge now, why didst thou follow me like a faint shadow, to wither my desires? but wretched fool, why did i plant thee 'twixt the sun and me, to make me freeze thus? why did i prefer her to the fair princess? o thou fool, thou fool, thou family of fools, live like a slave still, and in thee bear thine own hell and thy torment, thou hast deserv'd: couldst thou find no lady but she that has thy hopes to put her to, and hazard all thy peace? none to abuse, but she that lov'd thee ever? poor _spaconia_, and so much lov'd thee, that in honesty and honour thou art bound to meet her vertues: she that forgot the greatness of her grief and miseries, that must follow such mad passions, endless and wild as women; she that for thee and with thee left her liberty, her name, and country, you have paid me equal, heavens, and sent my own rod to correct me with; a woman: for inconstancy i'le suffer, lay it on justice, till my soul melt in me for my unmanly, beastly, sudden doting upon a new face: after all my oaths many and strange ones, i feel my old fire flame again and burn so strong and violent, that should i see her again, the grief and that would kill me. _enter_ bacurius _and_ spaconia. _bac_. lady, your token i acknowledge, you may pass; there is the king. _spa_. i thank your lordship for it. [_exit_ bac. _tigr_. she comes, she comes, shame hide me ever from her, would i were buried, or so far remov'd light might not find me out, i dare not see her. _spa_. nay never hide your self; or were you hid where earth hides all her riches, near her center; my wrongs without more day would light me to you: i must speak e're i die; were all your greatness doubled upon you, y'are a perjur'd man, and only mighty in your wickedness of wronging women. thou art false, false prince; i live to see it, poor _spaconia_ lives to tell thee thou art false; and then no more; she lives to tell thee thou art more unconstant, than all ill women ever were together. thy faith is firm as raging over-flowes, that no bank can command; as lasting as boyes gay bubbles, blown i'th' air and broken: the wind is fixt to thee: and sooner shall the beaten mariner with his shrill whistle calm the loud murmur of the troubled main, and strike it smooth again; than thy soul fall to have peace in love with any: thou art all that all good men must hate; and if thy story shall tell succeeding ages what thou wert, o let it spare me in it, lest true lovers in pity of my wrong, burn thy black legend, and with their curses, shake thy sleeping ashes. _tigr_. oh! oh! _spa_. the destinies, i hope, have pointed out our ends, that thou maist die for love, though not for me; for this assure thy self, the princess hates thee deadly, and will sooner be won to marry with a bull, and safer than such a beast as thou art: i have struck, i fear, too deep; beshrow me for't; sir, this sorrow works me like a cunning friendship, into the same piece with it; 'tis asham'd, alas, i have been too rugged: dear my lord, i am sorry i have spoken any thing, indeed i am, that may add more restraint to that too much you have: good sir, be pleas'd to think it was a fault of love, not malice; and do as i will do, forgive it prince. i do, and can forgive the greatest sins to me you can repent of; pray believe. _tigr_. o my _spaconia_! o thou vertuous woman! _spa_. nay, more, the king sir. _enter_ arbaces, bacurius, mardonius. _arb_. have you been carefull of our noble prisoner, that he want nothing fitting for his greatness? _bac_. i hope his grace will quit me for my care sir. _arb_. 'tis well, royal _tigranes_, health. _tigr_. more than the strictness of this place can give sir, i offer back again to great _arbaces_. _arb_. we thank you worthy prince, and pray excuse us, we have not seen you since your being here, i hope your noble usage has been equall with your own person: your imprisonment, if it be any, i dare say is easie, and shall not last t[w]o dayes. _tigr_. i thank you; my usage here has been the same it was, worthy a royal conqueror. for my restraint, it came unkindly, because much unlook'd for; but i must bear it. _arb_. what lady's that? _bacurius_? _bac_. one of the princess women, sir. _arb_. i fear'd it, why comes she hither? _bac_. to speak with the prince _tigranes_. _arb_. from whom, _bacurius_? _bac_. from the princess, sir. _arb_. i knew i had seen her. _mar_. his fit begins to take him now again, 'tis a strange feaver, and 'twill shake us all anon, i fear, would he were well cur'd of this raging folly: give me the warrs, where men are mad, and may talk what they list, and held the bravest fellows; this pelting prating peace is good for nothing: drinking's a vertue to't. _arb_. i see there's truth in no man, nor obedience, but for his own ends, why did you let her in? _bac_. it was your own command to barr none from him, besides, the princess sent her ring sir, for my warrant. _arb_. a token to _tigranes_, did she not? sir tell truth. _bac_. i do not use to lie sir, 'tis no way i eat or live by, and i think, this is no token sir. _mar_. this combat has undone him: if he had been well beaten, he had been temperate; i shall never see him handsome again, till he have a horse-mans staffe yok'd thorow his shoulders, or an arm broken with a bullet. _arb_. i am trifled with. _bac_. sir? _arb_. i know it, as i know thee to be false. _mar_. now the clap comes. _bac_. you never knew me so, sir i dare speak it, and durst a worse man tell me, though my better-_mar_. 'tis well said, by my soul. _arb_. sirra, you answer as you had no life. _bac_. that i fear sir to lose nobly. _arb_. i say sir, once again. _bac_. you may say what yo[u] please, sir, would i might do so. _arb_. i will, sir, and say openly, this woman carries letters, by my life i know she carries letters, this woman does it. _mar_. would _bessus_ were here to take her aside and search her, he would quickly tell you what she carried sir. _arb_. i have found it out, this woman carries letters. _mar_. if this hold, 'twill be an ill world for bawdes, chamber-maids and post-boyes, i thank heaven i have none i but his letters patents, things of his own enditing. _arb_. prince, this cunning cannot do't. _tigr_. doe, what sir? i reach you not. _arb_. it shall not serve your turn, prince. _tigr_. serve my turn sir? _arb_. i sir, it shall not serve your turn. _tigr_. be plainer, good sir. _arb_. this woman shall carry no more letters back to your love _panthea_, by heaven she shall not, i say she shall not. _mar_. this would make a saint swear like a souldier. _tigr_. this beats me more, king, than the blowes you gave me. _arb_. take'em away both, and together let them prisoners be, strictly and closely kept, or sirra, your life shall answer it, and let no body speak with'em hereafter. _tigr_. well, i am subject to you, and must indure these passions: this is the imprisonment i have look'd for always. and the dearer place i would choose. [_exeunt_ tigr. spa. bac. _mar_. sir, you have done well now. _arb_. dare you reprove it? _mar_. no. _arb_. you must be crossing me. _mar_. i have no letters sir to anger you, but a dry sonnet of my corporals to an old suttlers wife, and that i'll burn, sir. 'tis like to prove a fine age for the ignorant. _arb_. how darst thou so often forfeit thy life? thou know'st 'tis in my power to take it. _mar_. yes, and i know you wo'not, or if you doe, you'll miss it quickly. _arb_. why? _mar_. who shall tell you of these childish follies when i am dead? who shall put to his power to draw those vertues out of a flood of humors, when they are drown'd, and make'em shine again? no, cut my head off: then you may talk, and be believed, and grow worse, and have your too self-glorious temper rot into a deep sleep, and the kingdom with you, till forraign swords be in your throats, and slaughter be every where about you like your flatterers. do, kill me. _arb_. prethee be tamer, good _mardonius,_ thou know'st i love thee, nay i honour thee, believe it good old souldier, i am thine; but i am rack'd clean from my self, bear with me, woot thou bear with me my _mardonius?_ _enter_ gobrias. _mar_. there comes a good man, love him too, he's temperate, you may live to have need of such a vertue, rage is not still in fashion. _arb_. welcome good _gobrias_. _gob_. my service and this letter to your grace. _arb_. from whom? _gob_. from the rich mine of vertue and beauty, your mournfull sister. _arb_. she is in prison, _gobrias,_ is she not? _gob_. she is sir, till your pleasure to enlarge her, which on my knees i beg. oh 'tis not fit, that all the sweetness of the world in one, the youth and vertue that would tame wild tygers, and wilder people, that have known no manners, should live thus cloistred up; for your loves sake, if there be any in that noble heart, to her a wretched lady, and forlorn, or for her love to you, which is as much as nature and obedience ever gave, have pity on her beauties. _arb_. pray thee stand up; 'tis true, she is too fair, and all these commendations but her own, would thou had'st never so commended her, or i nere liv'd to have heard it _gobrias;_ if thou but know'st the wrong her beautie does her, thou wouldst in pity of her be a lyar, thy ignorance has drawn me wretched man, whither my self nor thou canst well tell: o my fate! i think she loves me, but i fear another is deeper in her heart: how thinkst thou _gobrias_? _gob_. i do beseech your grace believe it not, for let me perish if it be not false. good sir, read her letter. _mar_. this love, or what a devil it is i know not, begets more mischief than a wake. i had rather be well beaten, starv'd, or lowsie, than live within the air on't. he that had seen this brave fellow charge through a grove of pikes but t'other day, and look upon him now, will ne'r believe his eyes again: if he continue thus but two days more, a taylor may beat him with one hand tied behind him. _arb_. alas, she would be at liberty. and there be a thousand reasons _gobrias,_ thousands that will deny't: which if she knew, she would contentedly be where she is: and bless her vertues for it, and me, though she were closer, she would, _gobrias,_ good man indeed she would. _gob_. then good sir, for her satisfaction, send for her and with reason make her know why she must live thus from you. _arb_. i will; go bring her to me. [_exeunt all_. _enter_ bessus, _and two sword-men, and a boy_. _bes_. y'are very welcome both; some stools boy, and reach a table; gentlemen o'th' sword, pray sit without more complement; be gone child. i have been curious in the searching of you, because i understand you wise and valiant persons. _1_. we understand our selves sir. _bes_. nay gentlemen, and dear friends o'th' sword, no complement i pray, but to the cause i hang upon, which in few, is my honour. _2_. you cannot hang too much sir, for your honour, but to your cause. _bes_. be wise, and speak truth, my first doubt is, my beating by my prince. _1_. stay there a little sir, do you doubt a beating? or have you had a beating by your prince? _bes_. gentlemen o'th' sword, my prince has beaten me. _2_. brother, what think you of this case? _1_. if he has beaten him, the case is clear. _2_. if he have beaten him, i grant the case; but how? we cannot be too subtil in this business, i say, but how? _bes_. even with his royal hand. _1_. was it a blow of love, or indignation? _bes_. 'twas twenty blows of indignation, gentlemen, besides two blows o'th face. _2_. those blows o'th' face have made a new cause on't, the rest were but an horrible rudeness. _1_. two blows o'th' face, and given by a worse man, i must confess, as the sword-men say, had turn'd the business: mark me brother, by a worse man; but being by his prince, had they been ten, and those ten drawn teeth, besides the hazard of his nose for ever; all this had been but favours: this is my flat opinion, which i'le die in. _2_. the king may do much captain, believe it; for had he crackt your scull through, like a bottle, or broke a rib or two with tossing of you, yet you had lost no honour: this is strange you may imagine, but this is truth now captain. _bes_. i will be glad to embrace it gentlemen; but how far may he strike me? _1_. there is another: a new cause rising from the time and distance, in which i will deliver my opinion: he may strike, beat, or cause to be beaten: for these are natural to man: your prince, i say, may beat you, so far forth as his dominion reacheth, that's for the distance; the time, ten miles a day, i take it. _2_. brother, you err, 'tis fifteen miles a day, his stage is ten, his beatings are fifteen. _bes_. 'tis the longest, but we subjects must-_1_. be subject to it; you are wise and vertuous. _bes_. obedience ever makes that noble use on't, to which i dedicate my beaten body; i must trouble you a little further, gentlemen o'th' sword. _2_. no trouble at all to us sir, if we may profit your understanding, we are bound by vertue of our calling to utter our opinions, shortly, and discreetly. _bes_. my sorest business is, i have been kick'd. _2_. how far sir? _bes_. not to flatter my self in it, all over, my sword forc'd but not lost; for discreetly i rendred it to save that imputation. _1_. it shew'd discretion, the best part of valour. _2_. brother, this is a pretty cause, pray ponder on't; our friend here has been kick'd. _1_. he has so, brother. _2_. sorely he saies: now, had he set down here upon the meer kick, 't had been cowardly. _1_. i think it had been cowardly indeed. _2_. but our friend has redeem'd it in delivering his sword without compulsion; and that man that took it of him, i pronounce a weak one, and his kicks nullities. he should have kick'd him after the delivering which is the confirmation of a coward. _1_. brother, i take it, you mistake the question; for, say that i were kick'd. _2_. i must not say so; nor i must not hear it spoke by the tongue of man. you kick'd, dear brother! you're merry. _1_. but put the case i were kick'd? _2_. let them put it that are things weary of their lives, and know not honour; put the case you were kick'd? _1_. i do not say i was kickt. _2_. nor no silly creature that wears his head without a case, his soul in a skin-coat: you kickt dear brother? _bes_. nay gentlemen, let us do what we shall do, truly and honest[l]y; good sirs to the question. _1_. why then i say, suppose your boy kick't, captain? _2_. the boy may be suppos'd is liable. _1_. a foolish forward zeal sir, in my friend; but to the boy, suppose the boy were kickt. _bes_. i do suppose it. _1_. has your boy a sword? _bes_. surely no; i pray suppose a sword too. _1_. i do suppose it; you grant your boy was kick't then. _2_. by no means captain, let it be supposed still; the word grant, makes not for us. _1_. i say this must be granted. _2_ this must be granted brother? _1_. i, this must be granted. _2_. still this must? _1_. i say this must be granted. _2_. i, give me the must again, brother, you palter. _1_. i will not hear you, wasp. _2_. brother, i say you palter, the must three times together; i wear as sharp steel as another man, and my fox bites as deep, musted, my dear brother. but to the cause again. _bes_. nay look you gentlemen. _2_. in a word, i ha' done. _1_. a tall man but intemperate, 'tis great pity; once more suppose the boy kick'd. _2_. forward. _1_. and being thorowly kick'd, laughs at the kicker. _2_ so much for us; proceed. _1_. and in this beaten scorn, as i may call it, delivers up his weapon; where lies the error? _bes_. it lies i'th' beating sir, i found it four dayes since. _2_. the error, and a sore one as i take it, lies in the thing kicking. _bes_. i understand that well, 'tis so indeed sir. _1_. that is according to the man that did it. _2_. there springs a new branch, whose was the foot? _bes_. a lords. _1_. the cause is mighty, but had it been two lords, and both had kick'd you, if you laugh, 'tis clear. _bes_. i did laugh, but how will that help me, gentlemen? _2_. yes, it shall help you if you laught aloud. _bes_. as loud as a kick'd man could laugh, i laught sir. _1_. my reason now, the valiant man is known by suffering and contemning; you have enough of both, and you are valiant. _2_. if he be sure he has been kick'd enough: for that brave sufferance you speak of brother, consists not in a beating and away, but in a cudgell'd body, from eighteen to eight and thirty; in a head rebuk'd with pots of all size, degrees, stools, and bed-staves, this showes a valiant man. _bes_. then i am valiant, as valiant as the proudest, for these are all familiar things to me; familiar as my sleep, or want of money, all my whole body's but one bruise with beating, i think i have been cudgell'd with all nations, and almost all religions. _2_. embrace him brother, this man is valiant, i know it by my self, he's valiant. _1_. captain, thou art a valiant gentleman, to bide upon, a very valiant man. _bes_. my equall friends o'th'sword, i must request your hands to this. _2_. 'tis fit it should be. _bes_. boy, get me some wine, and pen and ink within: am i clear, gentlemen? _1_. sir, the world has taken notice what we have done, make much of your body, for i'll pawn my steel, men will be coyer of their legs hereafter. _bes_. i must request you goe along and testife to the lord _bacurius_, whose foot has struck me, how you find my cause. _2_. we will, and tell that lord he must be rul'd, or there are those abroad, will rule his lordship. [_exeunt_. _enter_ arbaces _at one door, and_ gob. _and_ panthea _at another_. _gob_. sir, here's the princess. _arb_. leave us then alone, for the main cause of her imprisonment must not be heard by any but her self. [_exit_ gob. you're welcome sister, and would to heaven i could so bid you by another name: if you above love not such sins as these, circle my heart with thoughts as cold as snow to quench these rising flames that harbour here. _ [p]an_. sir, does it please you i should speak? _arb_. please me? i, more than all the art of musick can, thy speech doth please me, for it ever sounds, as thou brought'st joyfull unexpected news; and yet it is not fit thou shouldst be heard. i pray thee think so. _pan_. be it so, i will. am i the first that ever had a wrong so far from being fit to have redress, that 'twas unfit to hear it? i will back to prison, rather than disquiet you, and wait till it be fit. _arb_. no, do not goe; for i will hear thee with a serious thought: i have collected all that's man about me together strongly, and i am resolv'd to hear thee largely, but i do beseech thee, do not come nearer to me, for there is something in that, that will undoe us both. _pan_. alas sir, am i venome? _arb_. yes, to me; though of thy self i think thee to be in equall degree of heat or cold, as nature can make: yet as unsound men convert the sweetest and the nourishing'st meats into diseases; so shall i distemper'd, do thee, i pray thee draw no nearer to me. _pan_. sir, this is that i would: i am of late shut from the world, and why it should be thus, is all i wish to know. _arb_. why credit me _panthea_, credit me that am thy brother, thy loving brother, that there is a cause sufficient, yet unfit for thee to know, that might undoe thee everlastingly, only to hear, wilt thou but credit this? by heaven 'tis true, believe it if thou canst. _pan_. children and fools are ever credulous, and i am both, i think, for i believe; if you dissemble, be it on your head; i'le back unto my prison: yet me-thinks i might be kept in some place where you are; for in my self, i find i know not what to call it, but it is a great desire to see you often. _arb_. fie, you come in a step, what do you mean? dear sister, do not so: alas _panthea_, where i am would you be? why that's the cause you are imprison'd, that you may not be where i am. _pan_. then i must indure it sir, heaven keep you. _arb_. nay, you shall hear the case in short _panthea_, and when thou hear'st it, thou wilt blush for me, and hang thy head down like a violet full of the mornings dew: there is a way to gain thy freedome, but 'tis such a one as puts thee in worse bondage, and i know, thou wouldst encounter fire, and make a proof whether the gods have care of innocence, rather than follow it: know that i have lost, the only difference betwixt man and beast, my reason. _pan_. heaven forbid. _arb_. nay 'tis gone; and i am left as far without a bound, as the wild ocean, that obeys the winds; each sodain passion throwes me where it lists, and overwhelms all that oppose my will: i have beheld thee with a lustfull eye; my heart is set on wickedness to act such sins with thee, as i have been afraid to think of, if thou dar'st consent to this, which i beseech thee do not, thou maist gain thy liberty, and yield me a content; if not, thy dwelling must be dark and close, where i may never see thee; for heaven knows that laid this punishment upon my pride, thy sight at some time will enforce my madness to make a start e'ne to thy ravishing; now spit upon me, and call all reproaches thou canst devise together, and at once hurle'em against me: for i am a sickness as killing as the plague, ready to seize thee. _pan_. far be it from me to revile the king: but it is true, that i shall rather choose to search out death, that else would search out me, and in a grave sleep with my innocence, than welcome such a sin: it is my fate, to these cross accidents i was ordain'd, and must have patience; and but that my eyes have more of woman in 'em than my heart, i would not weep: peace enter you again. _arb_. farwell, and good _panthea_ pray for me, thy prayers are pure, that i may find a death however soon before my passions grow that they forget what i desire is sin; for thither they are tending: if that happen, then i shall force thee tho' thou wert a virgin by vow to heaven, and shall pull a heap of strange yet uninvented sin upon me. _pan_. sir, i will pray for you, yet you shall know it is a sullen fate that governs us, for i could wish as heartily as you i were no sister to you, i should then imbrace your lawfull love, sooner than health. _arb_. couldst thou affect me then? _pan_. so perfectly, that as it is, i ne're shall sway my heart, to like another. _arb_. then i curse my birth, must this be added to my miseries that thou art willing too? is there no stop to our full happiness, but these meer sounds brother and sister? _pan_. there is nothing else, but these alas will separate us more than twenty worlds betwixt us. _arb_. i have liv'd to conquer men and now am overthrown only by words brother and sister: where have those words dwelling? i will find 'em out, and utterly destroy 'em; but they are not to be grasp'd: let 'em be men or beasts, and i will cut 'em from the earth, or towns, and i will raze 'em, and the[n] blow 'em up: let 'em be seas, and i will drink 'em off, and yet have unquencht fire left in my breast: let 'em be any thing but meerly voice. _pan_. but 'tis not in the power of any force, or policy to conquer them. _arb_. _panthea_, what shall we do? shall we stand firmly here, and gaze our eyes out? _pan_. would i could do so, but i shall weep out mine. _arb_. accursed man, thou bought'st thy reason at too dear a rate, for thou hast all thy actions bounded in with curious rules, when every beast is free: what is there that acknowledges a kindred but wretched man? who ever saw the bull fearfully leave the heifer that he lik'd because they had one dam? _pan_. sir, i disturb you and my self too; 'twere better i were gone. _arb_. i will not be so foolish as i was, stay, we will love just as becomes our births, no otherwise: brothers and sisters may walk hand in hand together; so will we, come nearer: is there any hurt in this? _pan_. i hope not. _arb_. faith there is none at all: and tell me truly now, is there not one you love above me? _pan_. no by heaven. _arb_. why yet you sent unto _tigranes_, sister. _pan_. true, but for another: for the truth-_arb_. no more, i'le credit thee, thou canst not lie, thou art all truth. _pan_. but is there nothing else, that we may do, but only walk? methinks brothers and sisters lawfully may kiss. _arb_. and so they may _panthea_, so will we, and kiss again too; we were too scrupulous, and foolish, but we will be so no more. _pan_. if you have any mercy, let me go to prison, to my death, to any thing: i feel a sin growing upon my blood, worse than all these, hotter than yours. _arb_. that is impossible, what shou'd we do? _pan_. flie sir, for heavens sake. _arb_. so we must away, sin grows upon us more by this delay. [_exeunt several wayes_. _actus quintus_. _enter_ mardonius _and_ lygones. _mar_. sir, the king has seen your commission, and believes it, and freely by this warrant gives you power to visit prince tigranes, your noble master. _lygr_. i thank his grace and kiss his hand. _mar_. but is the main of all your business ended in this? _lyg_. i have another, but a worse, i am asham'd, it is a business. _mar_. you serve a worthy person, and a stranger i am sure you are; you may imploy me if you please without your purse, such offices should ever be their own rewards. _lyg_. i am bound to your nobleness. _mar_. i may have need of you, and then this courtesie, if it be any, is not ill bestowed; but may i civilly desire the rest? i shall not be a hurter if no helper. _lyg_. sir you shall know i have lost a foolish daughter, and with her all my patience, pilfer'd away by a mean captain of your kings. _mar_. stay there sir: if he have reacht the noble worth of captain, he may well claim a worthy gentlewoman, though she were yours, and noble. _lyg_. i grant all that too: but this wretched fellow reaches no further than the empty name that serves to feed him; were he valiant, or had but in him any noble nature that might hereafter promise him a good man, my cares were so much lighter, and my grave a span yet from me. _mar_. i confess such fellows be in all royal camps, and have and must be, to make the sin of coward more detested in the mean souldier that with such a foil sets off much valour. by description i should now guess him to you, it was _bessus_, i dare almost with confidence pronounce it. _lyg_. 'tis such a scurvie name as _bessus_, and now i think 'tis he. _mar_. captain do you call him? believe me sir, you have a misery too mighty for your age: a pox upon him, for that must be the end of all his service: your daughter was not mad sir? _lyg_. no, would she had been, the fault had had more credit: i would do something. _mar_. i would fain counsel you, but to what i know not, he's so below a beating, that the women find him not worthy of their distaves, and to hang him were to cast away a rope; he's such an airie, thin unbodyed coward, that no revenge can catch him: i'le tell you sir, and tell you truth; this rascal fears neither god nor man, he has been so beaten: sufferance has made him wainscot: he has had since he was first a slave, at least three hundred daggers set in's head, as little boys do new knives in hot meat, there's not a rib in's body o' my conscience that has not been thrice broken with dry beating: and now his sides look like two wicker targets, every way bended; children will shortly take him for a wall, and set their stone-bows in his forehead, he is of so base a sense, i cannot in a week imagine what shall be done to him. _lyg_. sure i have committed some great sin that this fellow should be made my rod, i would see him, but i shall have no patience. _mar_. 'tis no great matter if you have not: if a laming of him, or such a toy may do you pleasure sir, he has it for you, and i'le help you to him: 'tis no news to him to have a leg broken, or shoulder out, with being turn'd o'th' stones like a tansie: draw not your sword if you love it; for on my conscience his head will break it: we use him i'th' wars like a ram to shake a wall withal. here comes the very person of him, do as you shall find your temper, i must leave you: but if you do not break him like a bisket, you are much to blame sir. [_exit_ mar. _enter_ bessus _and the sword men_. _lyg_. is your name _bessus_? _bes_. men call me captain bessus. _lyg_. then ca[p]tain _bessus_, you are a rank rascall, without more exordiums, a durty frozen slave; and with the favor of your friends here i will beat you. _2 sword_. pray use your pleasure sir, you seem to be a gentleman. _lyg_. thus captain _bessus_, thus; thus twing your nose, thus kick, thus tread you. _bes_. i do beseech you yield your cause sir quickly. _lyg_. indeed i should have told that first. _bes_. i take it so. _1 sword_. captain, he should indeed, he is mistaken. _lyg_. sir, you shall have it quickly, and more beating, you have stoln away a lady, captain coward, and such an one. _beats him_. _bes_. hold, i beseech you, hold sir, i never yet stole any living thing that had a tooth about it. _lyg_. i know you dare lie. _bes_. with none but summer whores upon my life sir, my means and manners never could attempt above a hedge or hay-cock. _lyg_. sirra, that quits not me, where is this lady? do that you do not use to do; tell truth, or by my hand, i'le beat your captains brains out, wash'em, and put 'em in again, that will i. _bes_. there was a lady sir, i must confess, once in my charge: the prince tigranes gave her to my guard for her safety, how i us'd her, she may her self report, she's with the prince now: i did but wait upon her like a groom, which she will testife i am sure: if not, my brains are at your service when you please sir, and glad i have 'em for you. _lyg_. this is most likely, sir, i ask you pardon, and am sorry i was so intemperate. _bes_. well i can ask no more, you will think it strange not to have me beat you at first sight. _lyg_. indeed i would, but i know your goodness can forget twenty beatings, you must forgive me. _bes_. yes there's my hand, go where you will, i shall think you a valiant fellow for all this. _lyg_. my da[u]ghter is a whore, i feel it now too sensible; yet i will see her, discharge my self from being father to her, and then back to my country, and there die, farwell captain. [_exit lygo_. _bes_. farwell sir, farwell, commend me to the gentlewoman i pray. _1 sword_. how now captain? bear up man. _bes_. gentlemen o'th'sword, your hands once more; i have been kickt agen, but the foolish fellow is penitent, has askt me mercy, and my honour's safe. _2 sword_. we knew that, or the foolish fellow had better have kickt his grandsir. _bes_. confirm, confirm i pray. _1 sword_. there be our hands agen, now let him come and say he was not sorry, and he sleeps for it. _bes_. alas good ignorant old man, let him go, let him go, these courses will undo him. [_exeunt clear_. _enter_ lygones _and_ bacurius. _bac_. my lord, your authority is good, and i am glad it is so, for my consent would never hinder you from seeing your own king, i am a minister, but not a governor of this state, yonder is your king, i'le leave you. [_exit_. _enter_ tigranes _and_ spaconia. _lyg_. there he is indeed, and with him my disloyal child. _tigr_. i do perceive my fault so much, that yet me thinks thou shouldst not have forgiven me. _lyg_. health to your majesty. _tigr_. what? good _lygones_ welcome, what business brought thee hither? _lyg_. several businesses. my publick businesses will appear by this, i have a message to deliver, which if it please you so to authorize, is an embassage from the armenian state, unto arbaces for your liberty: the offer's there set down, please you to read it. _tigr_. there is no alteration happened since i came thence? _lyg_. none sir, all is as it was. _tigr_. and all our friends are well? _lyg_. all very well. _spa_. though i have done nothing but what was good, i dare not see my father, it was fault enough not to acquaint him with that good. _lyg_. madam i should have seen you. _spa_. o good sir forgive me. _lyg_. forgive you, why? i am no kin to you, am i? _spa_. should it be measur'd by my mean deserts, indeed you are not. _lyg_. thou couldest prate unhappily ere thou couldst go, would thou couldst do as well, and how does your custome hold out here? _spa_. sir? _lyg_. are you in private still, or how? _spa_. what do you mean? _lyg_. do you take mony? are you come to sell sin yet? perhaps i can help you to liberal clients: or has not the king cast you off yet? o thou vile creature, whose best commendation is, that thou art a young whore, i would thy mother had liv'd to see this, or rather that i had died ere i had seen it; why didst not make me acquainted when thou wert first resolv'd to be a whore, i would have seen thy hot lust satisfied more privately: i would have kept a dancer and a whole consort of musicians in my own house only to fiddle thee. _spa_. sir, i was never whore. _lyg_. if thou couldst not say so much for thy self, thou shouldst be carted. _tigr_. _lygones_, i have read it, and i like it, you shall deliver it. _lyg_. well sir, i will: but i have private business with you. _tigr_. speak, what is't? _lyg_. how has my age deserv'd so ill of you, that you can pick no strumpets i'th' land, but out of my breed? _tigr_. strumpets, good _lygones_? _lyg_. yes, and i wish to have you know, i scorn to get a whore for any prince alive, and yet scorn will not help methinks: my daughter might have been spar'd, there were enow besides. _tigr_. may i not prosper but she's innocent as morning light for me, and i dare swear for all the world. _lyg_. why is she with you then? can she wait on you better than your man, has she a gift in plucking off your stockings, can she make cawdles well or cut your cornes? why do you keep her with you? for a queen i know you do contemn her, so should i, and every subject else think much at it. _tigr_. let 'em think much, but 'tis more firm than earth: thou see'st thy queen there. _lyg_. then have i made a fair hand, i call'd her whore. if i shall speak now as her father, i cannot chuse but greatly rejoyce that she shall be a queen: but if i shall speak to you as a states-man, she were more fit to be your whore. _tigr_. get you about your business to _arbaces_, now you talk idlely. _lyg_. yes sir, i will go, and shall she be a queen? she had more wit than her old father, when she ran away: shall she be queen? now by my troth 'tis fine, i'le dance out of all measure at her wedding: shall i not sir? _tigr_. yes marry shalt thou. _lyg_. i'le make these withered kexes bear my body two hours together above ground. _tigr_. nay go, my business requires hast. _lyg_. good heaven preserve you, you are an excellent king. _spa_. farwell good father. _lyg_. farwell sweet vertuous daughter, i never was so joyfull in all my life, that i remember: shall she be a queen? now i perceive a man may weep for joy, i had thought they had lyed that said so. [_exit_ lygones. _tigr_. come my dear love. _spa_. but you may see another may alter that again. _tigr_. urge it no more, i have made up a new strong constancy, not to be shook with eyes: i know i have the passions of a man, but if i meet with any subject that should hold my eyes more firmly than is fit, i'le think of thee, and run away from it: let that suffice. [_exeunt all_. _enter_ bacurius _and his servant_. _bac_. three gentlemen without to speak with me? _ser_. yes sir. _bac_. let them come in. _enter_ bessus _with the two sword-men_. _ser_. they are entred sir already. _bac_. now fellows your business? are these the gentlemen? _bes_. my lord, i have made bold to bring these gentlemen, my friends o'th' sword along with me. _bac_. i am afraid you'l fight then. _bes_. my good lord, i will not, your lordship is much mistaken, fear not lord. _bac_. sir, i am sorry for't. _bes_. i ask no more in honour, gentlemen you hear my lord is sorry. _bac_. not that i have beaten you, but beaten one that will be beaten: one whose dull body will require a laming, as surfeits do the diet, spring and fall; now to your sword-men; what come they for, good captain stock-fish? _bes_. it seems your lordship has forgot my name. _bac_. no, nor your nature neither, though they are things fitter i must confess for any thing, than my remembrance, or any honest mans: what shall these billets do; be pil'd up in my wood-yard? _bes_. your lordship holds your mirth still, heaven continue it: but for these gentlemen, they come- _bac_. to swear you are a coward, spare your book, i do believe it. _bes_. your lordship still draws wide, they come to vouch under their valiant hands i am no coward. _bac_. that would be a show indeed worth seeing: sirra be wise, and take mony for this motion, travel with it, and where the name of _bessus_ has been known or a good coward stirring, 'twill yield more than a tilting. this will prove more beneficial to you, if you be thrifty, than your captainship, and more natural: men of most valiant hands is this true? _2 sword_. it is so, most renowned. _bac_. 'tis somewhat strange. _1 sword_. lord, it is strange, yet true; we have examined from your lordships foot there, to this mans head, the nature of the beatings; and we do find his honour is come off clean and sufficient: this as our swords shall help us. _bac_. you are much bound to your bil-bow-men, i am glad you are straight again captain; 'twere good you would think on some way to gratifie them, they have undergone a labour for you, _bessus_ would have puzl'd _hercules_ with all his valour. _2 sword_. your lordship must understand we are no men o'th' law, that take pay for our opinions: it is sufficient we have clear'd our friend. _bac_. yet there is something due, which i as toucht in conscience will discharge captain; i'le pay this rent for you. _bes_. spare your self my good lord; my brave friends aim at nothing but the vertue. _bac_. that's but a cold discharge sir for the pains. _2 sword_. o lord, my good lord. _bac_. be not so modest, i will give you something. _bes_. they shall dine with your lordship, that's sufficient. _bac_. something in hand the while, you rogues, you apple-squires: do you come hither with your botled valour, your windy froth, to limit out my beatings? _1 sword_. i do beseech your lordship. _2 sword_. o good lord. _bac_. s'foot-what a heavy of beaten slaves are here! get me a cudgel sirra, and a tough one. _2 sword_. more of your foot, i do beseech your lordship. _bac_. you shall, you shall dog, and your fellow-beagle. _1 sword_. o' this side good my lord. _bac_. off with your swords, for if you hurt my foot, i'le have you flead you rascals. _1 sword_. mine's off my lord. _2 sword_. i beseech your lordship stay a little, my strap's tied to my cod piece-point: now when you please. _bac_. captain these are your valiant friends, you long for a little too? _bes_. i am very well, i humbly thank your lordship. _bac_. what's that in your pocket, hurts my toe you mungril? thy buttocks cannot be so hard, out with it quickly. _2 sword_. here 'tis sir, a small piece of artillery, that a gentleman a dear friend of your lordships sent me with, to get it mended sir, for if you mark, the nose is somewhat loose. _bac_. a friend of mine you rascal? i was never wearier of doing any thing, than kicking these two foot-balls. _enter_ servant. _serv_. here is a good cudgel sir. _bac_. it comes too late i'me weary, pray thee do thou beat them. _2 sword_. my lord, this is foul play i'faith, to put a fresh man upon us, men are but men sir. _bac_. that jest shall save your bones; captain, rally up your rotten regiment and be gone: i had rather thrash than be bound to kick these rascals, till they cry'd ho; _bessus_ you may put your hand to them now, and then you are quit. farewel, as you like this, pray visit me again, 'twill keep me in good health. [_exit_ bac. _2 sword_. h'as a devilish hard foot, i never felt the like. _1 sword_. nor i, and yet i am sure i have felt a hundred. _2 sword_. if he kick thus i'th' dog-daies, he will be dry foundred: what cure now captain besides oyl of baies? _bes_. why well enough i warrant you, you can go. _2 sword_. yes, heaven be thanked; but i feel a shrowd ach, sure h'as sprang my huckle-bone. _1 sword_. i ha' lost a hanch. _bes_. a little butter, friend a little butter, butter and parseley and a soveraign matter: _probatum est_. _2 sword_. captain we must request your hand now to our honours. _bes_. yes marry shall ye, and then let all the world come, we are valiant to our selves, and there's an end. _1 sword_. nay then we must be valiant; o my ribs. _2 sword_. o my small guts, a plague upon these sharp-toed shooes, they are murtherers. [_exeunt clear_. _enter_ arbaces _with his sword drawn_. _arb_. it is resolv'd, i bare it whilst i could, i can no more, i must begin with murther of my friends, and so go on to that incestuous ravishing, and end my life and sins with a forbidden blow, upon my self. _enter_ mardonius. _mar_. what tragedy is near? that hand was never wont to draw a sword, but it cry'd dead to something. _arb_. _mardonius_, have you bid _gobrias_ come? _mar_. how do you sir? _arb_. well, is he coming? _mar_. why sir, are you thus? why do your hands proclaim a lawless war against your self? _arb_. thou answerest me one question with an other, is _gobrias_ coming? _mar_. sir he is. _arb_. 'tis well, i can forbear your questions then, be gone. _mar_. sir, i have mark't. _arb_. mark less, it troubles you and me. _mar_. you are more variable than you were. _arb_. it may be so. _mar_. to day no hermit could be humbler than you were to us all. _arb_. and what of this? _mar_. and now you take new rage into your eyes, as you would look us all out of the land. _arb_. i do confess it, will that satisfie? i prethee get thee gone. _mar_. sir, i will speak. _arb_. will ye? _mar_. it is my duty. i fear you will kill your self: i am a subject, and you shall do me wrong in't: 'tis my cause, and i may speak. _arb_. thou art not train'd in sin, it seems _mardonius_: kill my self! by heaven i will not do it yet; and when i will, i'le tell thee then: i shall be such a creature, that thou wilt give me leave without a word. there is a method in mans wickedness, it grows up by degrees: i am not come so high as killing of my self, there are a hundred thousand sins 'twixt me and it, which i must doe, and i shall come to't at last; but take my oath not now, be satisfied, and get thee hence. _mar_. i am sorry 'tis so ill. _arb_. be sorry then, true sorrow is alone, grieve by thy self. _mar_. i pray you let me see your sword put up before i go: i'le leave you then. _arb_. why so? what folly is this in thee, is it not as apt to mischief as it was before? can i not reach it thinkst thou? these are toyes for children to be pleas'd with, and not men, now i am safe you think: i would the book of fate were here, my sword is not so sure but i would get it out and mangle that, that all the destinies should quite forget their fixt decrees, and hast to make us new, for other fortunes, mine could not be worse, wilt thou now leave me? _mar_. heaven put into your bosome temperate thoughts, i'le leave you though i fear. _arb_. go, thou art honest, why should the hasty error of my youth be so unpardonable to draw a sin helpless upon me? _enter_ gobrias. _gob_. there is the king, now it is ripe. _arb_. draw near thou guilty man, that art the authour of the loathedst crime five ages have brought forth, and hear me speak; curses more incurable, and all the evils mans body or his spirit can receive be with thee. _gob_. why sir do you curse me thus? _arb_. why do i curse thee? if there be a man subtil in curses, that exceeds the rest, his worst wish on thee, thou hast broke my heart. _gob_. how sir, have i preserv'd you from a child, from all the arrows, malice, or ambition could shoot at you, and have i this for my pay? _arb_. 'tis true, thou didst preserve me, and in that wert crueller than hardned murtherers of infants and their mothers! thou didst save me only till thou hadst studied out a way how to destroy me cunningly thy self: this was a curious way of torturing. _gob_. what do you mean? _arb_. thou knowst the evils thou hast done to me; dost thou remember all those witching letters thou sent'st unto me to armenia, fill'd with the praise of my beloved sister, where thou extol'st her beauty, what had i to do with that? what could her beauty be to me? and thou didst write how well she lov'd me, dost thou remember this? so that i doted something before i saw her. _gob_. this is true. _arb_. is it? and when i was return'd thou knowst thou didst pursue it, till thou woundst me into such a strange and unbeliev'd affection, as good men cannot think on. _gob_. this i grant, i think i was the cause. _arb_. wert thou? nay more, i think thou meant'st it. _gob_. sir, i hate to lie, as i love heaven and honesty, i did, it was my meaning. _arb_. be thine own sad judge, a further condemnation will not need, prepare thy self to dy. _gob_. why sir to dy? _arb_. why shouldst thou live? was ever yet offender so impudent, that had a thought of mercy after confession of a crime like this? get out i cannot where thou hurl'st me in, but i can take revenge, that's all the sweetness left for me. _gob_. now is the time, hear me but speak. _arb_. no, yet i will be far more mercifull than thou wert to me; thou didst steal into me and never gav'st me warning: so much time as i give thee now, had prevented thee for ever. notwithstanding all thy sins, if thou hast hope, that there is yet a prayer to save thee, turn and speak it to thy self. _gob_. sir, you shall know your sins before you do'em, if you kill me. _arb_. i will not stay then. _gob_. know you kill your father. _arb_. how? _gob_. you kill your father. _arb_. my father? though i know't for a lie, made out of fear to save thy stained life; the very reverence of the word comes cross me, and ties mine arm down. _gob_. i will tell you that shall heighten you again, i am thy father, i charge thee hear me. _arb_. if it should be so, as 'tis most false, and that i should be found a bastard issue, the despised fruit of lawless lust, i should no more admire all my wild passions: but another truth shall be wrung from thee: if i could come by the spirit of pain, it should be poured on thee, till thou allow'st thy self more full of lies than he that teaches thee. _enter_ arane. _ara_. turn thee about, i come to speak to thee thou wicked man, hear me thou tyrant. _arb_. i will turn to thee, hear me thou strumpet; i have blotted out the name of mother, as thou hast thy shame. _ara_. my shame! thou hast less shame than any thing; why dost thou keep my daughter in a prison? why dost thou call her sister, and do this? _arb_. cease thy strange impudence, and answer quickly if thou contemnest me, this will ask an answer, and have it. _ara_. help me gentle _gobrias_. _arb_. guilt [dare] not help guilt though they grow together in doing ill, yet at the [punishment] they sever, and each flies the noise of other, think not of help, answer. _ara_. i will, to what? _arb_. to such a thing, as if it be a truth think what a creature thou hast made thy self, that didst not shame to do, what i must blush only to ask thee: tell me who i am, whose son i am without all circumstance, be thou as hasty as my sword will be if thou refusest. _ara_. why, you are his son. _arb_. his son? swear, swear, thou worse than woman damn'd. _ara_. by all that's good you are. _arb_. then art thou all that ever was known bad, now is the cause of all my strange mis-fortunes come to light: what reverence expectest thou from a child, to bring forth which thou hast offended heaven, thy husband, and the land? adulterous witch, i know now why thou wouldst have poyson'd me, i was thy lust which thou wouldst have forgot: then wicked mother of my sins, and me, show me the way to the inheritance i have by thee: which is a spacious world of impious acts, that i may soon possess it: plagues rot thee, as thou liv'st, and such diseases, as use to pay lust, recompence thy deed. _gob_. you do not know why you curse thus. _arb_. too well; you are a pair of vipers; and behold the serpent you have got; there is no beast but if he knew it, has a pedigree as brave as mine, for they have more descents, and i am every way as beastly got, as far without the compass of law as they. _ara_. you spend your rage and words in vain, and rail upon a guess; hear us a little. _arb_. no, i will never hear, but talk away my breath, and die. _gob_. why, but you are no bastard. _arb_. how's that? _ara_. nor child of mine. _arb_. still you go on in wonders to me. _gob_. pray you be more patient, i may bring comfort to you. _arb_. i will kneel, and hear with the obedience of a child; good father speak, i do acknowledge you, so you bring comfort. _gob_. first know, our last king, your supposed father was old and feeble when he married her, and almost all the land thought she was past hope of issue from him. _arb_. therefore she took leave to play the whore, because the king was old: is this the comfort? _ara_. what will you find out to give me satisfaction, when you find how you have injur'd me? let fire consume me, if ever i were a whore. _gob_. for-bear these starts, or i will leave you wedded to despair, as you are now: if you can find a temper, my breath shall be a pleasant western wind that cools and blasts not. _arb_. bring it out good father. i'le lie, and listen here as reverently as to an angel: if i breath too loud, tell me; for i would be as still as night. _gob_. our king i say, was old, and this our queen desir'd to bring an heir, but yet her husband she thought was past it, and to be dishonest i think she would not: if she would have been, the truth is, she was watcht so narrowly, and had so slender opportunities, she hardly could have been: but yet her cunning found out this way; she feign'd her self with child, and posts were sent in hast throughout the land, and humble thanks was given in every church, and prayers were made for her safe going and delivery: she feign'd now to grow bigger, and perceiv'd this hope of issue made her fear'd, and brought a far more large respect from every man, and saw her power increase, and was resolv'd, since she believ'd, she could not hav't indeed, at least she would be thought to have a child. _arb_. do i not hear it well? nay i will make no noise at all; but pray you to the point, quickly as you can. _gob_. now when the time was full, she should be brought to bed, i had a son born, which was you, this the queen hearing of mov'd me to let her have you; and such reasons she shewed me, as she knew would tie my secrecie, she swore you should be king, and to be short, i did deliver you unto her, and pretended you were dead, and in mine own house kept a funeral, and had an empty coffin put in earth, that night this queen feign'd hastily to labour and by a pair of women of her own, which she had charm'd, she made the world believe she was delivered of you. you grew up as the kings son, till you were six years old; then did the king dye, and did leave to me protection of the realm; and contrary to his own expectation, left this queen truely with child indeed, of the fair princess _panthea_: then she could have torn her hair and did alone to me, yet durst not speak in publick, for she knew she should be found a traytor: and her tale would have been thought madness, or any thing rather than truth. this was the only cause why she did seek to poyson you, and i to keep you safe; and this the reason, why i sought to kindle some sparks of love in you to fair _panthea_, that she might get part of her right again. _arb_. and have you made an end now? is this all? if not, i will be still till i be aged, till all my hairs be silver. _gob_. this is all. _arb_. and is it true say you too madam? _ara_. yes heaven knows it is most true. _arb_. _panthea_ then is not my sister? _gob_. no. _arb_. but can you prove this? _gob_. if you will give consent, else who dares go about it? _arb_. give consent? why i will have 'em all that know it rackt, to get this from 'em, all that wait without, come in, what ere you be, come in and be partakers of my joy, o you are welcome. _enter_ bessus, gentlemen, mardonius, _and other attendants_. _arb_. the best news, nay draw no nearer, they all shall hear it, i am found no king. _mar_. is that so good news? _arb_. yes the happiest news that ere was heard. _mar_. indeed 'twere well for you if you might be a little less obey'd. _arb_. one call the queen. _mar_. why she is there. _arb_. the queen _mardonius_, _panthea_ is the queen and i am plain _arbaces_; go some one, she is in _gobrias_ house, since i saw you there are a thousand things delivered to me, you little dream of. [_exit a gent_. _mar_. so it should seem my lord, what fury's this? _gob_. believe me 'tis no fury, all that he saies is truth. _mar_. 'tis very strange. _arb_. why do you keep your hats off gentlemen? is it to me? i swear it must not be; nay, trust me, in good faith it must not be; i cannot now command you, but i pray you for the respect you bare me, when you took me for your king, each man clap on his hat at my desire. _mar_. we will, you are not found so mean a man, but that you may be cover'd as well as we, may you not? _arb_. o not here, you may, but not i, for here is my father in presence. _mar_. where? _arb_. why there: o the whole story would be a wilderness to lose thy self for ever: o pardon me dear father for all the idle and unreverent words that i have spoke in idle moods to you: i am _arbaces_, we all fellow-subjects, nor is the queen _panthea_ now my sister. _bes_. why if you remember fellow-subject _arbaces_; i told you once she was not your sister: i, and she lookt nothing like you. _arb_. i think you did, good captain _bessus_. _bes_. here will arise another question now amongst the sword-men, whether i be to call him to account for beating me, now he is proved no king. _enter_ lygones. _mar_. sir here's lygones, the agent for the armenian_ state. _arb_. where is he? i know your business good lygones. _lyg_. we must have our king again, and will. _arb_. i knew that was your business: you shall have your king again, and have him so again as never king was had, go one of you and bid _bacurius_ bring _tigranes_ hither; and bring the lady with him, that _panthea_, the queen _panthea_ sent me word this [morning], was brave _tigranes_ mistress. [_ex. two gent_. _lyg_. 'tis _spaconia_. _arb_. i, i, _spaconia_. _lyg_. she is my daughter. _arb_. she is so: i could now tell any thing i never heard: your king shall go so home, as never man went. _mar_. shall he go on's head? _arb_. he shall have chariots easier than air that i will have invented; and ne're think one shall pay any ransome, and thy self that art the messenger, shalt ride before him on a horse cut out of an intire diamond, that shall be made to go with golden wheeles, i know not how yet. _lyg_. why i shall be made for ever? they beli'd this king with us, and said he was unkind. _arb_. and then thy daughter, she shall have some strange thing, wee'l have the kingdom sold utterly, and put into a toy which she shall wear about her carelesly some where or other. see the vertuous queen; behold the humblest subject that you have kneel here before you. _enter_ panthea _and_ 1 gent. _pan_. why kneel you to me that am your vassal? _arb_. grant me one request. _pan_. alas what can i grant you? what i can, i will. _arb_. that you will please to marry me if i can prove it lawfull. _pan_. is that all? more willingly than i would draw this air. _arb_. i'le kiss this hand in earnest. _2 gent_. sir, _tigranes_ is coming though he made it strange at first, to see the princess any more. _enter_ tigranes _and_ spaconia. _arb_. the queen thou meanest, o my _tigranes_. pardon me, tread on my neck, i freely offer it, and if thou beest so given take revenge, for i have injur'd thee. _tigr_. no, i forgive, and rejoyce more that you have found repentance, than i my liberty. _arb_. mayest thou be happy in thy fair choice, for thou art temperate. you owe no ransom to the state, know that i have a thousand joyes to tell you of, which yet i dare not utter till i pay my thanks to heaven for 'em: will you go with me and help me? pray you do. _tigr_. i will. _arb_. take then your fair one with you; and you queen of goodness and of us, o give me leave to take your arm in mine: come every one that takes delight in goodness, help to sing loud thanks for me, that i am prov'd no king. * * * * * (a) a king and no king. | acted at the globe, by his majesties servants. | written by francis beamount, and john flecher. | at london | printed for thomas walkley, and are to bee sold | at his shoppe at the eagle and childe in | brittans-bursse. 1619. (b) a king | and | no king. | acted at the blacke-fryars, by his | majesties servants. | and now the second time printed, according | to the true copie. | written by francis beamount and | john flecher. | london, | printed for thomas walkley, and are to be sold at | his shop at the eagle and childe in | brittans-burse. 1625. (c) a king, | and | no king. | acted at the blacke-fryars, by his | majesties servants. | and now the third time printed, according | to the true copie. | written by francis beamont & john fletcher gent. | the stationer to | dramatophilus. | a play and no play, who this booke shall read, | will judge, and weepe, as if 'twere done indeed. | london, | printed by a. m. for richard hawkins, and are to bee sold | at his shop in chancerie lane, neere | serjeants inne. 1631. (d) a king | and | no king. | acted at the black-fryars, by his | majesties servants. | and now the fourth time printed, according | to the true copie. | written by francis beaumont & john fletcher gent. | the stationer to | dramatophilus. | a play and no play, who this booke shall read, | will judge, and weepe, as if 'twere done indeed. london, | printed by e. g. for william leake, and are to be sold | at his shop in chancery-lane, neere unto the | rowles. 1639. (e) a king | and | no king. | acted at the black-fryers, by his | majesties servants. | and now the fifth time printed, according | to the true copie. | written by francis beaumont & john fletcher gent. | the statinor to | dramatophilus.| a play and no play, who this book shall read, will judge, and weep, as if 'twere done indeed | london, | printed for william leak, and are to be sold | at his shop at the signe of the crown in fleet-| street, between the two temple gates. 1655. on the back of the last page is printed a list of books printed or sold by william leake. (f) a | king, | and | no king. | acted at the black-fryars, by his | majesties servants. | and now the fourth time printed, according to | the true copie. | written by francis beaumont and john fletcher gent. | the stationer to | dramatophilus. | a play and no play, who this book shall read, | will judge, and weep, as if 'twere done indeed. | london, printed in the year, 1661. (g) a | king | and | no king. | as it is now acted at the | theatre royal, | by | his majesties servants. | written by francis beaumont and john fletcher gent. | london: | printed by andr. clark, for william and john leake at the | crown in fleetstreet, betwixt the two temple-gates. | m.dc.lxxvi. a contains on the title-page a wood-cut representing arbaces with his crown partly lifted from his head by a hand emerging from a cloud. a prefixes the following dedication] to the right worshipfull and worthie knight, sir henrie nevill. worthy sir, i present, or rather returne unto your view, that which formerly hath beene received from you, hereby effecting what you did desire: to commend the worke in my unlearned method, were rather to detract from it, then to give it any luster. it sufficeth it hath your worships approbation and patronage, to the commendation of the authors, and incouragement of their further labours: and thus wholy committing my selfe and it to your worships dispose i rest, ever readie to doe you service, not onely in the like, but in what i may. thomas walkley. p. 149, l. 4. a and b _omit_ the list of persons represented in the play. c--f] the personated persons. g] the persons represented. g _omits_] in the play. g includes in its list of the persons represented the names of the players of the chief parts, viz.] arbaces, mr hart; tigranes, mr kynaston; gobrias, mr wintershall; bacurius, mr lydall; mardonius, mr mohun; bessus, mr lacy, or mr shottrell; lygones, mr cartwright; two sword-men, mr watson, mr haynes; arane, mrs corey; panthea, mrs cox; spaconia, mrs marshall. l. 12. folio _misprints_] ligoces. l. 21. c--g and folio] the queenes mother. l. 27. a--g omit] actus primus. scena prima. g] act i. l. 29. a _omits_] he. ll. 35 and 36. b] had's. p. 150, l. 2. a] them. l. 3. a] thou art. l. 5. a] and thou couldst. l. 8. a] with me. l. 9. a--f] winkst. g] winkedst. l. 10. a] strake. 1. 17. a] i am glad. l. 19. a] of his owne. l. 21. a] cruddles. b and g] crudles. l. 22. a] wouldst. a] in this passion. l. 25. a] for it. i. 26. a] neither good bessus. l. 27. a] it is. l.30. a] i famed, i, i warrant you. i. 31. a] i am verie heartily. i. 32. a] ever. a] ath' warres. b--g omit] is. l. 39. a, b and g] in shifting a. p. 151, 11. 4 and 5. a] desperate. l. 5. a omits] at. l. 8. a] prethee. l. 9. a, b and g] the souldier. l. 10. a] meerely. l. 12. e] compasion. f] compassion. l. 14. b--f] a'th. l. 19. a, b and g] not i. l. 21. a] mean'st. b, c and g] meant'st. d, e and f] meanest. l. 26. a] the enemie. b] shouldest. l. 31. a--g] proceedst. l. 33. a] come, come. l. 34. a] comst. l. 37. a] extreamities. l. 40. a] the prey. p. 152, ll. 1 and 2. in place of these lines a] enter arbaces and tigranes, with attendants. l. 2. b and c] two kings, &c. the two gentlemen. l. 4. a] fall victorie. l. 9. a--g] are free as i. l. 18. a, b, c and g] yeare. l. 27. a _omits_] tigr. l. 28. a--d and g] arbaces. l. 29. a] talkt: for in armenia. p. 153, l. 11. a] tigranes, no. l. 16. a] an act. l. 17. a and g] fit for a god. b--f _omit_] man. l. 20. a] its. l. 26. a] spoke. a] not mee. l. 40. a] are something. p. 154, l. 8. a] to take. b and g] her for to take. l. 17. a] no owne of. l. 18. a] would finde. l. 19. a] off her damning. l. 20. a] twenty times. l. 29. folio] sight. l. 40. a] some two. p. 155, l. 3. for _exit tigranes_ a] exe. l. 8. b and g _omit_] don't. a] don. l. 20. a] ift. l. 21. a and g] with you. l. 22. a] sunke. l. 28. a] th' eare. l. 29. b and g] runne about his head. a] bloud runne abouts head. l. 30. a] didst thou learn that at. b--f] learn'st that at. g] learn'st thou that at. l. 31. a] pust, did i not. l. 33. a--f] talke. l. 34. a] while you. a--g] words. p. 156, l. 6. a] to a chaire. l. 8. a--f] other. a] will take. l. 14. a] give mee audience. g _omits_] me. l. 16. a] soone one of you. ll. 29 and 30. g _omits_] but i am grown to balk, but i defie. l. 30. a] but i desire, let. l. 32. b, c and g] draulst. d] drawlst. l. 34. g] in an instant. l. 36. a] an't. l. 38. a, b and g] as yet you. l. 39. a] command mee else. p. 157, l. 11. b, c and g] were great as. l. 12. a] that i might. l. 14. a] with. l. 28. a _omits_] puffe. b and g _omit_ the bracket, and print 'puffe' in roman type as part of the speech. l. 29. d, e and f] rules. l. 34. a] will you be gone. l. 35. a] my word mooves. c--f] my words moves. l. 36. a] 2 gent. l. 39. a] that they will. b _omits_] you. a _omits_] exeunt all but arb. and mar. l. 40. folio] the. p. 158, l. 7. folio] scare. l. 17. a] doted, because. b--f _omit_] it. l. 35. a _omits_] but. a] of your faults. l. 39. a] above the earth. p. 159, l. 4. folio] safe. l. 15. a, b and g] would. l. 21. a] these wilde moodes. l. 22. a] honest. l. 23. a, b and g] would. l. 25. a] would. l. 34. a, b, c and g] give thee. l. 37. folio _ misprints_] paron. l. 40. c] doest. f _omits_] i. p. 160, l. 4. b, c and d] i' thine eare. f] thy eare. l. 10. a] ith those. g] in those. l. 12. b] they wenches. l. 18. b by mistake _adds_] enter bessus, and the two gent. l. 22. a _omits_ this stage-direction. l. 25. a] i am. l. 26. a] 1 gent. l. 27. a] 2 gent. l. 30. a] i bad you; halfe. l. 31. a] an't. l. 35. a] panthan. l. 38. a] will not. l. 39. a _omits_] sir. p. 161, l. 6. e and f] a good an opinion. l. 15. a _omits_] a. g] enter a messenger, with a packet. l. 21. a] thanke thee for. l. 29. a] teares enough. b--f] tears i'now. g] tears enow. l. 32. c--f] set her. p. 162, l. 2. a] now has hired. l. 7. f] them. l. 12. a] laden. l. 16. e and f] that come. l. 18. a--d and g] mourning. l. 19. a] her sacred dew. l. 32. a] prayers. l. 34. a] dangers. l. 35. a _omits_] exeunt. p. #163#, l. 3. a, b and g] either loves. l. 7. a--g] place. a] unfortunately too light. l. 17. a _omits_] thee. l. 24. folio] make. l. 31. b and g] gi'n. a, b and g] to. l. 33. a] would place. p. #164#, l. 11. folio _misprints_] could. l. 15. a--g] requires. a] more speed. l. 18. b] he shall not doe so lord. l. 21. a _adds_] finis actus primi. b and c _add_] the end of the first act. l. 24. a] attendance. g _adds_] and guards. p. #165#, l. 5. a] paid downe. l. 20. a] let light. l. 25. a--d] eare. l. 30. a] another woman. l. 36. a] twill. f] 'twood not. l. 37. f _omits_] not. p. #, l. 9. a] mine own. l. 21. b--f] a did. l. 23. a] held time. l. 25. a--g with variations in spelling] my lord protectour. l. 29. folio _misprints_] cammanders. p. #167#, l. 7. a _omits_] as you. l. 12. a, b and g] prayers are. a] i will. l. 20. a _omits_] arane. l. 23. a] betweene. l. 36. a] heare it. l. 37. a] i, i prethee. p. #168#, l. 1. f] captain. l. 3. a] neere a captaine. l. 4. a] of the. l. 7. a--g] whom. l. 11. a] prethee. l. 14. f] was given. l. 18. a] i, but i. l. 20. a] saide. ll. 21 and 22. a] when one. l. 23. a] marshallists. l. 30. f] doest. l. 31. a] twas so. b--g] so 'twas. l. 36. a] an't. l. 37. a and b] neerer. g] nearer. l. 39. a] kindnesses. p. #169#, l. 1. a and g] thalestris. l. 10. a] for her honestie. l. 17. a] on her. l. 33. a _adds_] exit. b--g with various abbreviations _add_] exit bessus. l. 34. a, b and g _add_] exit. l. 35. a--g _omit_ stage-direction. l. 39. f] speeks them. p. #170#, l. 1. a] vertuous. l. 6. a] or feeles. l. 7. a--g] hope. l. 11. a--d and g] love. l. 16. e and f] where bargain'd. l. 18. a] find time worthy. l. 20. a, b and g] there is. l. 22. a] with this. l. 27. a] to see you madam. l. 29. a _omits_] gob. l. 35. a _omits_] exeunt women. p. #171#, l. 9. f] a stake. l.14. f] if foole. l. 20. a] prethee. l.22. f] noble sharp. l. 33. a] desire too. e and f] his one desire. p. #172#, l. i. a--d and g] those tender. l. 4. a, b and g] i shall. l. 13. b, c and f] thalectris. l. 16. b, c and g] others. l. 26. a, b and g] women out. l. 29. a] say. l. 35. a--d and g] those. l. 37. a] places quickly. l. 38. a, d and f] a foote. b, c and e] afoote. g] afoot. p. #173#, l. 2. a] looke. l. 5. a] enter two citizens wives, and philip. l. 15. a, b and g] with me downe. l. 16. a] abed. l. 17. a] tis. l. 18. a] prethee. l. 29. a] in good faith. l.34. a] i. l. 35. a _omits_] you. l. 37. a] had thrusting. g] shoving. l. 38. a] hap to go. p. #174#, l. 2. a] so on me. l. 5. a] have not. l. 10. a] law, thou art. a] there is. l. 11. a] thou art. a] of it. l. 12. a] he will never. l. 13. a] stripling. l. 17. a] you are. l. 18. b--f] cast. l. 19. a _omits_ this line. l. 20. a--d and g] the king, the king, the king, the king. l. 21. a _omits_] flourish. a] enter arbaces, tigranes, mardonius, and others. l. 23. e and f] i think. l. 29. a] without our blouds. b and g] but with our. g] bloud. l. 31. a] in your townes. l. 32. a--d and g] about you; you may sit. l. 37. a, b and g] may you. f] you may fall. l. 38. a, b and g] when i. p. 175, l. 5. e and f] beheld. l. 6. a] hearts. l. 9. a] hang him, hang him, hang him. l. 13. a, b and g] was farre. l. 14. e and f] nor to revile. l. 15. a--d and g] the nature. l. 19. a] made that name. l. 21. c and d] and well for. l. 22. b--g] word. l. 25. a] commendations. l. 29. a] thus my. l. 30. a] calles. l. 36. a] eate at. l. 40. in place of this line a] exeunt. p. 176, l. 1. a _omits_ one 'god bless your majesty.' l. 7. a] n*. l. 10. a _omits_] so. b, c, d and g] women. a] exeunt 1, 2, 3, and women. l. 11. a--g] afore. l. 12. a] homeward. l. 13. a _omits_] all. l. 15. a] they are. a--g] heard on. l. 18. a _adds_] finis actus secundi. b and c _add_] the end of the second act. l. 19. a] actus tertii scaena prima. l. 23. a] doth. l. 29. a--d and g] where you will have her. l. 37. a _omits_] i do hope she will not. p. 177, l. 6. a] sir, sheele not. l. 15. b and g] would. l. 18. c--f _omit_] you. l. 24. a _omits_] i gent. and. l. 25. a] here's. l. 29. a] them. b and g _add_] exit gobrias. l. 35. a _omits_] and two gentlemen. g _adds_] attendants, and guards. p. 178, l. 11. a, b and g] sorrow. l. 14. a _adds_] exit. l. 15. a _omits_] exit arane. l. 32. g] words and kind ones. l. 35. c] doest. l. 36. d] forth my selfe. l. 38. a and g] thence. l. 40. a] wounded flesh. p. 179, l. 1. a, b and g] a quill. l. 2. a, b, c and g] wanton wing. l. 3. a] in thy bloud. l. 16. a, b and g _omit_] it. l. 33. a by mistake gives the words 'some one that hath [a has] a wit, answer, where is she' to gobrias, with the result that the names of the speakers of the following four speeches are transposed. p. 180, l. 18. a] sleepe. l. 27. a] is a long life of yet, i hope. l. 31. c, d and e] doest. ll. 33--35. a _omits_ these lines. p. 181, l. 11. a] if shee were any. l.14. d] dispute. l. 16. f and g] naked. l. 19. a, b and g] is she not. l. 39. a, b and g] your brother. p. 182, l. 6. a] them. l. 8. a] yet so. l. 9. folio _prints_] langish. l. 17. a] sudden change. l. 19. a, b and g] pray god it doe. l. 24. a] prisoner. l. 31. a] in the. p. 183, l. 13. a, b and g] and how dare you then. c and d] and how then dare you. l. 21. a, b and g] that breath. l. 24. a] law. p. 184, l. 11*. a] subtiller. g] subtiler. l. 13. a and g] tyrants. b] tirants. f] mightest. l. 14. a] in the depth. b] i' the depth. c and g] i' the deepe. l. 18. a _omits_] exeunt tigr. and bac. l. 21. g _adds_] exit spaconia. l. 39. a and b] then to; here i. g] then too; here i. p. 185, l. 11. a] still in doubt. l. 12. a] this, this third. l. 25. a, b, c and g] a poysoner. l. 26. a by mistake gives this speech to bacurius and the following one to gobrias. l. 32. a] had it twixt. a] exeunt omnes, prae. ar. mar. g] exeunt gob. pan. and bes. p. 186, l. 9. a] i prethee. l. 10. b and g] am not i. l. 19. f] o do. l. 25. a] i prethee. l. 26. a _adds_] _mar_. i warrant ye. l. 28. g] of game. l. 30. b and g _omit_] it. p. 187, l. 2. a] them. l. 3. a] in this state (_omits_ i). b, c, d and g] i' this state. l. 4. b--f] b' the. a] with. l. 5. a] with. l. 10. a, b and g with variations of spelling] god cald. c and d] heaven cald. l. 11. a] pounds. l. 17. a and g] afraid. l. 21. g] a pox. a--g] of their. l. 23. a] of me. l. 24. a] freshly to account, worthily. l. 25. b and g _omit_] the. l. 26. a _omits_] a. l. 27. here and throughout the scene '3 gent' is in a described as 'gent.' l. 30. a] you are. l. 32. a] he nothing doubts. p. 188, l. 2. a--d, f and g with variations of spelling] o cry you mercie. e] o cir you mercy. l. 3. a, b, c and g with variations of spelling] agreeablie. l. 4. here and in the following three lines a reads only one 'um' in place of three. l. 12. a by mistake _omits_] _bes_. l. 19. a] plaine with you. l. 20. a] can doe him. a] resolutely. l. 21. b and c] hundreth. l. 22. f] no more. l. 23. a] pray ye. l. 26. a simply] exit. l. 30. d] these two houres. l. 32. f _omits_] that. a] reserv'd. l. 34. a] are there. l. 35. a] likely to hold him this time here for mine. l. 36. b, c and g] yeare. d] these five yeares. l. 37. a] send me. p. 189, l. 27. a] i prethee. l. 28. a--d and g] beate. l. 31. a] pounds. l. 32. a _omits_] well. f] well and walk sooner. l. 33. c] i do. l. 36. c] doest. p. 190, l. 5. a--g] come, unbuckle, quicke. l. 7. c--f] unbuckle say. l. 17. a _omits_] bac. l. 24. a] will i. l. 25. a] that this is all is left. g] that is left. l. 26. a _omits_] bessus. l. 28. g] he's. l. 32. a, b and g] await. l. 35. a _omits_ this stage-direction. l. 39. a] in their eyes. p. 191, l. 3. a--g] lies. l. 5. a--g] vex me. l. 6. g] thou art. l. 8. a _omits_] do. l. 12. f] fire. l. 14. a, b and g] is not that. g] there is. l. 18. a, b and g] i shall not. l. 20. a--g] i know 'tis. l. 21. a] hath ... 22. a] or fall. l. 34. a] of all this. p. 192, l. 2. a, b and g] shall i. l. 6. a] but what, what should. b and g] should. l. 11. a, b and g] on more advice. l. 17. a _omits_] a. l. 19. folio _misprints_] faithul. l. 21. f] doe't. l. 23. c--f] doest. l. 24. a, b and g] i hope i. l. 37. e and f] doest. p. 193, l. 4. a, b and g] cause. l. 5. a, b, c and g _omit_] ha. l. 7. a, b, c and g] blow about the world. l. 8. a, b and g] his cause. l. 9. a] deare mardonius. l. 12. a, b and g] pray god you. l. 24. a, b and g] god preserve you, and mend you. l. 26. a, b and g] require. l. 30. a, b and g] use of. l. 32. a _adds_] to them. p. 194, l. 2. a] i am. l. 4. a, b, f and g] i am. a includes the words 'i am glad on't' in the following speech of mardonius. l. 5. a, b and g] to that. ll. 7--9. a _omits_ these lines. l. 11. a, b and g] occasions. l. 15. a, b, c and g] to the. l. 16. a--d and g] for his. l. 17. a _omits_] mar. l. 19. a] doe for. the letters 'ith' are in c cut off at the end of the line. l. 23. a, b and g] a thing. l. 26. g] would fain have thee. l. 27. a] understands. g] understandest. l. 30. a] dost make. l. 32. a, b and g] tell me, it shall. c has the same reading, though the word 'tell' is by mistake cut off from the end of the line. a _omits_] too. l. 35. a, b and c] and mayst yet. p. 195, l. 2. a--d and g] that i have ever. l. 3. a, b and g _omit_] the. l. 8. a, b, c and g] your businesse. l. 12. a, b and g _omit_] now. l. 29. a--f] gods and mans. l. 30. g] nature. l. 36. a _adds_] finis actus tertii. b and c _add_] the end of the third act. p. 196, l. 1. a] actus quarti scaena prima. l. 2. a--g _omit_] and. l. 11. a, b, c and g] yet fearing since they. a] th' are many. l. 13. f] them. l. 14. f] them. l. 15. a] fearefull; if he. l. 18. a] labour out this. l. 19. a] against. ll. 25 and 26. a encloses the words 'never ... humour' within brackets. l. 26. d, e and f] shot. l. 30. f] no farther. l. 33. a _omits_] but. p. 197, l. 3. a _adds_] exit. l. 4. a _omits_] exit gob. l. 13. a] yours. l. 29. g] i'm. a] if no more. l. 36. b--g] these. l. 37. a] that have authority. l. 38. f] besides. p. 198, l. 1. a] words. l. 4. a] ime. l. 12. a, b and g] pray god. l. 13. a _omits_] in prison. l. 15. a and f] mine. a] turne. l. 27. a, b and g] deserv'd it. l. 33. a] griefes. l. 35. a] womans. f] woman. l. 36. a] lost. l. 39. g] unconstancy. p. 199, l. 7. a] kill me ladie. l. 9. a _omits_] lady. l. 15. a] for were. l. 20. a] in the. l. 26. a, b and g] is as firme. l. 27. a] and as lasting. l. 28. a, b and g] in the. c] in th' ayre. l. 31. a] murmurs. l. 37. a--d and g] wrongs. p. 200, l. 1. a by mistake _omits_] spa. l. 2. a, b, c and g] our ends alike. l. 9. a] hee's asham'd. l. 17. a] pray believe me. l. 19. a, b and g] no more. l. 20. a] and mardonius. l. 32. a--g] outlast. folio _misprints_] too. l. 38. a] is that. p. 201, l. 5. a] know. l. 10. a] pratling. l. 11. a] to it. l. 15. a--g] beside. l. 17. a] sirra. l. 23. a] staffe poak't. a, b, c and g] through. f] throw. l. 24. a--d and g] broke. l. 25. d, e and f] stifled with. l. 30. f] worst. l. 35. a] you may say sir what. folio _misprints_] you. l. 36. a gives this line to mardonius. p. 202, l. 3. a, b and g] i thank god. l. 5. a] doe it. l. 6. a _omits_] doe. l. 13. a _adds_] and a souldier like a termogant. l. 16. a] let um be prisoners. l. 18. f] them. ll. 19 and 20. a gives these lines to bacurius. ll. 21 and 22. a and g give these lines to spaconia. l. 22. a, b, c and g] deare. l. 23. a] ex. bacu. with tig. and spa. l. 24. a, b, c and g] have you. l. 25. f] prove. l. 30. a] sadlers. l. 32. a, d and f] darest. l. 33. a] knowest. l. 34. g] will not. l. 37. a] shall then tell. b] of this. l. 40. a] where. f] them. p. 203, l. 1. a _adds after_ off] doe, kill me. l. 2. a _omits_] worse. l. 4. a, b, c and g] a dead sleepe. l. 5. a] like forraigne swords. l. 10. a] all thine. l. 12. g] wilt. a] with me good mardonius. l. 20. a, b and g] and all beautie. l. 22. f] she is not. l. 23. a] doe enlarge her. l. 26. a] that would have. l. 29. e and f] heat. l. 30. e] to here wretched. f _omits_] a. l. 38. a] knew of. b, c and d] knewst the. p. 204, l. 7. a] is it. l. 15. a--d and g _omit_] a. l. 16. a _omits_] thousands. e and f] thousand. a] denie it. l. 18. a, b and g] vertue. l. 24. a _omits_] all. l. 26. a--g] stooles there boy. l. 32. a, b and g] and my deare. l. 33. b, c and g] to th' cause. l. 35. f _omits_ this line. l. 37. a prints the words 'be wise, and speake truth' as the conclusion of the second sword-man's speech. p. 205, l. 4. a] if he have. l. 5. b--e] if a have. f] if i have. l. 12. a] case. l. 13. a, b and g] an honourable. l. 15. a, b and g] we sword-men. l. 17. a, b and g] drawne ten teeth. a--g] beside. l. 18. a] all these. l. 21. b--e] a crackt. l. 22. a] with crossing. l. 26. a--g] there's. l. 30. a, b, c and g] mile. l. 32. a--g] mile. l. 34. a, b and c] 'tis a the longest. g] o' the longest. l. 35. a by mistake gives this line to bessus and the following speech to the first sword-man. p. 206, ll. 5 and 6. f] word forc'd. l. 9. a--d and g] case. l. 12. a] sit. g] sat. l. 13. a] it had. l. 15. e and f] delivery. l. 19. b--e] a should. f] and should. a--d and g] deliverie. l. 24. a] by th'. l. 25. a] you are. l. 28. a _omits_] the. l. 32. b and g] that we. l. 33. folio _misprints_] honesty. a] good sir to th'. l. 35. a] the boy may be supposd, hee's lyable; but kicke my brother. p. 207, l. 7. a] still the must. l. 9. a--d and g _omit_] i. a] againe, againe. l. 12. f _omits_] my. l. 20. a] at the kicke. l. 22. f] baren scorn, as i will call it. l. 27. a--g] sore indeed sir. l. 29. a] the foole. l. 30. a] ah lords. l. 32. a, b, c and g] laught. p. 208, l. 5. a--g] size, daggers. f] sizes. l. 16. a] to abide upon't. l. 20. a, b, c and g _omit_] me. f] both get me. l. 21. f] cleane. l. 22. g] what you have done. l. 27. f] go will, and tell. l. 28. a--d] or there be. l. 29. a _omits_ and _before_ gob. l. 33. a _omits_] exit gob. l. 34. a] you are. a, b, c and g] and i would. a, b and g] to god. l. 38. g] the rising. l. 39. b, c and g] i shall. l. 40. folio _misprints_] ban. p. 209, l. 3. a] does. l. 6. a] i prethee. l. 8. a, b and g] i am. l. 23. a, b and g] in as equal a degree. c and d] in equal a degree. l. 27. a] i prethee. l. 33. c, d and e] and there is. e] no cause. f] and there is none can see. p. 210, l. 6. d, e and f] stop. l. 11. a, b and g] god keepe you. l. 12. a, b and g] cause. l. 19. a] innocents. l. 20. a, b and g _omit_] that. l. 24. a, b and g] it is. l. 27. a, b and g] as it lists. l. 33. a encloses 'which i beseech thee doe not' within brackets. l. 36. a, b and g] for god knows. l. 39. a] start eye to. p. 211, l. 2. f] them. l. 5. a] should. l. 11. f] them. l. 20. a, b and g] sinnes. l. 32. a] no steppe. p. 212, ll. 1-6 and 8. f] them. l. 2. a] them. l. 5. folio] and them. l. 6. a] drinke them off. l. 25. a gives this line to panthea. l. 27. d, e and f] brother. l. 29. b] i' this. l. 35. a _omits_] why. l. 38. a, b and g] i know thou. p. 213, l. 4. a, b and g _omit_ too _before_ scrupulous. ll. 8 and 9. in place of these lines g reads] i dare no longer stay. l. 9. a and b] hotter i feare then yours. l. 11. a, b and g] for god's sake. l. 14. a _omits_ stage-direction. b and g _omit_] several wayes. a _adds_] finis actus quarti. b and c _add_] the end of the fourth act. l. 15. a] actus quinti scaena prima. l. 19. a] leave to visit. l. 20. a] hands. l. 26. a] officers. p. 214, l. 3. b--f] were a valiant. l. 6. a] something lighter. l. 28. a--d _omit_] he. g] h'as. l. 29. b--f] a was. l. 30. a] in his. e and f] in in's. l. 31. a--e] a my. f] in my. g] i'my. l. 33. a, b and g] like to wicker targets. l. 35. a _omits_] he. a] so low a sence. l. 36. a] should. l. 38. a, b and g] that this strange fellow. p. 215, l. 3. a--d and g] broke. a--g] or a shoulder out. a--f] ath' stones. l. 4. a] of my. l. 10. a _omits_] the. l. 13. folio _ misprints_] catain. l. 16. a _omits_] sword. l. 19. a] thus kicke you, and thus. b and g] thus kicke, and thus. l. 21. a--d and g] told you that. l. 23. a _omits_] sword. a--f] a should. l. 25. a, b, c and g] a one. l. 26. a _omits_] beats him. l. 29. a, b and g] sir i know. l. 30. a _prints_ 'bes.' at the beginning of the following line, thus making this line part of lygones' speech. p. 216, l. 6. a, b and g] you would. l. 7. a, b, c and g] strange now to have. l. 12. folio _misprints_] danghter. l. 13. a, b and g] of being. l. 15. a _omits_] lygo. l. 18. a _omits_] sword. l. 19. a] ath' sword. l. 20. g] h'as. l. 23. a] a kick't. l. 24. a _omits_ 'bes.,' thus making this line part of the second sword-man's speech. l. 25. a _omits_] sword. a gives the words 'now let him come and say he was not sorry, and he sleepes for it' to '2,' i.e., the second sword-man. l. 26. b--f] a was not. b--f] a sleepes. l. 28. a _omits_] clear. g] exeunt omnes. l. 34. a prints this stage-direction after the words 'there he is indeed' in l. 35. p. 217, l. 3. a, b, c and g] businesse will. l. 5. b] the armenia state. l. 9. f _omits_] is. l. 20. a--g] couldst prate. l. 28. a] vild. b and c] vilde. b--f] commendations. l. 30. a, b and g] or rather would i. l. 34. a and f] mine own. l. 38. a] and like it. p. 218, l. 3. a] in the. b, c, d and g] i' the. l. 6. b _ misprints_] my prince. l. 8. a] beside. l. 12. a] men. l. 13. c] cawdle. l. 14. a] your queene. l. 21. a] should speake. l. 27. a] a queene. l. 33. a, b and g] good god. l. 37. a, b and g _omit_] all. p. 219, l. 4. a] that shall. l. 6. a _omits_] all. l. 7. a] a servant. l. 11. a] and swordmen. in a this stage-direction is printed after the following line. l. 15. a--f] ath' sword. l. 17. a--d and g _omit_] much. l. 20. a] i can aske. l. 23. a] will require launcing. l. 24. a] and full. l. 28. a _omits_] must. l. 31. a, b and g] god continue it. l. 32. f _misprints_] they to it. p. 220, l. 5. the two sword-men are throughout the scene referred to in a as '2' or '1.' l. 6. a _omits_ 'bac.,' thus giving the line to the second sword-man. l. 13. a--g _omit_] on. f] them, that have. l. 16. a--f] ath' law. l. 22. f] that is. a] their paines. l. 26. a] ye rogues, ye apple-squiers. l. 31. a] a many of. f] a beautie of. l. 33. e] i do beseech. l. 35. a--f] a this side. p. 221, l. 4. a] in your pocket slave, my key you. b and g] in your pocket slave, my toe. l. 5. a] with't. l. 11. a--g] doing nothing. l. 12. a _omits_ this stage-direction. b] enter servant, will. adkinson. l. 13. a--d] here's. l. 14. a] i am. a] prethee. l. 15. a] beate um. l. 17. a _omits_] sir. l. 18. a _omits_] captain, rally. a] up with your. f] rally upon. l. 20. a] cride hold. l. 22. e and f] vit me. l. 23. a, b and g] breath. a _omits_] exit bac. l. 25. a] ime sure i ha. l. 26. b--f] a kicke. b--f] a will. l. 27. c--f] beside. l. 29. a, b and g] yes, god be thanked. l. 33. a, b, c and g] is a. l. 34. a] hands. p. 222, l. 2. a _omits_] clear. g] exeunt omnes. l. 4. a--d and g] bore. after this line a _adds_]--hell open all thy gates, and i will thorough them; if they be shut, ile batter um, but i will find the place where the most damn'd have dwelling; ere i end, amongst them all they shall not have a sinne, but i will call it mine: l. 5. a--d and g] friend. a, b and g] to an. l. 13. b, c and d] a comming. l. 14. a--g] does your hand. l. 19. this line from 'i can' and the next line are given by a to mardonius. l. 24. a] humblier. p. 223, l. 4. a, b and g _omit_] and. l. 12. a] thinkest. l. 13. g] these are tales. l. 15. a--d and g] should get. l. 17. a] farre other fortunes. l. 19. a, b and g] god put. g] temporall. l. 20. a _adds_] exit. b and. g _add_] exit mar. l. 21. a--d and g] errors. l. 27. a, b and g _omit_] more. l. 35. a--d and g _omit_] my. p. 224, l. 4. f] knowest. l. 9. a] doest. l. 12. a] and i when i. f] knowest. l. 16. b and f] meanst. l. 17. a, b, c and g] a lie. a, b and g] god and. l. 22. a, b and g] wouldst. l. 28. a] gavest. l. 31. a] your selfe. b and g] it thy selfe. l. 38. a and g] know it. l. 39. e and f] staind. p. 225, l. 7. a, b, c and g] allowest. l. 15. c--f] doest ... doest. l. 17. a--d and g] cease thou strange. l. 18. a] contemn'st. ll. 20 and 21. folio _misprints_] dear ... punishnment. l. 35. a and c] expects. b] expectes. d] expectst. g] expect'st. l. 39. a] thou wicked. p. 226, l. 10. a, b, c and g] of a law. l. 19. a _omits_] you. ll. 25 and 26. a--g] land as she. l. 29. a _misprints_] _arb_. l. 31. a--d and g _omit_] a. p. 227, l. 2. a] opportunitie. ll. 4 and 5. a, b and g] and god was humbly thankt in every church, that so had blest the queene, and prayers etc. l. 12. a--d and g] quicke. l. 14. a] abed. l. 16. a] sware. l. 20. a] the queene. l. 23. a--g] yeare. l. 28. a] her talke. l. 32. a] sparke. l. 35. a, b and g] till i am. a] are silver. l. 37. a _omits_] too. i. 38. a, b and g] yes god knowes. p. 228, l. 2. a by mistake _omits_] _gob_. a] dare. l, 3. a] them. l. 4. a--g] waites. l. 7. a] ent. mar. bessus, and others. l. 8. a _omits_] _arb_. a] mardonius, the best. b _misprints_] _mar_. l. 11. e and f] happie. l. 14. a] on, call. l. 19. a _omits_] _exit a gent_. l. 24. a _omits_] i swear it must not be; nay, trust me. l. 26. b and c] beare. l. 28. a] but you are not. p. 229, l. 1. a] i say she. l. 8. a] armenian king. i. 15. folio _ misprints_] morrning. l. 16. a _omits_ this stage-direction. l. 24. a and g] he shall. b] a shall. c] an shall. l. 25. a--g] shall. l. 26. f _omits_] that. l. 31. a _misprints_] thinke. l. 35. in place of this stage-direction a after the word 'queen' in l. 33 _reads_] enter pan. p. 230, l. 6. a gives this speech to mardonius. l. 7. a _omits_] at first. l. 8. in a this stage-direction occurs after 'queen' in the following line. l. 14. a and f] maist. g] may'st. l. 17. f] them. l. 20. a--g] your queene. l. 23. a--g _add_] finis. a king and no king. verse and prose variations [1]. p. 152, ll. 8 and 9. a--d and g] 3 ll. _dare, day, i_. l. 27. a] 2 ll. _of, thus_. ll. 33--35. a] 3 ll. _earth, prince, acts_. p. 157, l. 20. a] 2 ll. _king, away_. p. 159, ll. 3--8. a--d and g] 8 ll. _praise, worthy, death, lies, there, though, dust, envy_. ll. 11 and 12. a--d and g] 3 ll. _ windes, i, speake_. ll. 29--38. a--d and g] 14 ll. _lives, said, truth, bin, see, parts, world, farre, yeares, mee, thee, wilt, i, thus_. l. 40 and p. 160, ll. 1--4. a--d and g] 6 ll. _take, which, love, i, mee, eare_. p. 160, ll. 6 and 7. a, b and g] 2 ll. _mardonius, jewell_. p. 161, ll. 21 and 22. a--d and g] 3 ll. _newes, not, gobrias_. ll. 27--33. a--d and g] 9 ll. _farre, sinnes, teares, feele, brest, stand, eyes, world, me_. ll. 37--39 and p. 162, ll. 1--7. a--d and g] 14 ll. _know, died, life, pardon'd, fit, olde, thence, out, there, live, me, deathes, life, him_. p. 163, ll. 16--22. a, b, c and g] 9 ll. _of_ (c = _halfe_), _ free, thine, prisoner, force, me, unwilling, tigranes, there_. d] 7 ll. _halfe, free, thine, force, me, tigranes, there_. p. 164, ll. 1 and 2. a--d and g] 2 ll. _health, jealous_. ll. 25--35 and p. 165, ll. 1 and 2. a--d and g] 16 ll. _regard, prisoner, escape, prisoner, woman, me, say, her, lord, grace, arme, womanhood, death, sonne, why, speake_. p. 165, ll. 14--17. a--d and g] 5 ll. _time, know, thinke, heart, urgd_. ll. 35 and 36. a--d and g] 2 ll. _it, believ'd_. ll. 38 and 39. a--d and g] 3 ll. _you, die, uncredited_ (d = _should_). p. 166, ll. i and 2. a--d and g] 4 ll. _then, me, king, plots_ (d adds l. 3). ll. 5--8. a--d and g] 5 ll. _me, content, power, me, done_. ll. 19--23. a--and g] prose. ll. 25 and 26. a] _these, these_. p. 167, ll. 9 and 10. a] 2 ll. _well, so_. l. 19. a--d and g] 2 ll. _readie, morrow_. ll. 21--28. a] 10 ll. _hereafter, office, discourse, how, victorie, doe, danger, long, while, beate_. ll. 21--24. b--d and g] 4 ll. _hereafter, office, discourse, victory_. ll. 25--28. b--d and g] prose. p. 168, ll. 11 and 12. a--d and g] 2 ll. _bessus, nothing_. ll. 39 and 40. a--d and g] 2 ll. _kindnesses, name_. p. 169, ll. 2--5. a--d and g] 5 ll. _letter, enough, you, me, me_. ll. 25 and 26. a and g] 2 ll. _already, foolish_. ll. 37--40 and p. 170, ll. 1--4. a--d and g] 12 ll. _lord, live, um, just, um, mee, heare, way, care, you, enjoyes, worth_. p. 170, ll. 5--10. a--d and g] prose. ll. 13--18. a--d and g] 8 ll. _you, power, leave, like, him, humours, lesse, offer'd_. ll. 27--29. a] 2 ll. _pleasure, madam_. p. 171, ll. 10--15. a--d and g] 9 ll. _unreasonably, seeme, ill, ought, faire, good, prayer, me, you_. ll. 31--40 and p. 172, ll. 1--6. a--d] 24 ll. _weepe, words, sorrow, me, him, thalestris, me, sweare, slay, thee, himselfe, me, yet, face, you, eares, eyes, him, hope, dead, him, fast, ceremony, him_. p. 172, ll. 15--21. a--d and g] 11 ll. _not, desire, others, me_ (or _not_), _wrong, birth, injure, hither, commanded, ready, servand_. p. 174, l. 20. a--d] 2 ll. _king, now_. ll. 23--29. a--d and g] 11 ll. _full, subjects, love, height, you, me, warre, imagine, word, blouds, peace_. [footnote 1: the prose printings of e and f have not been recorded.] p. 175, ll. 4--6. a--d and g] 4 ll. _man, home, hearts, deliverance_. ll. 11--22. a--d and g] 17 ll. _wrong, spectacle, people, me, deserved, you, dwels, man, compare, selfe, you, too, name, fall, loves, content, worke_. ll. 35 and 36. a--d and g] 2 ll. _children, is_. p. 176, ll. 23--35. a--d and g] 14 ll. _sir, hands, know, her, home, stubbornnesse, like, her, jewell, mad, sister, is, land, another_. p. 177, ll. 1--10. a--d and g] 11 ll. _too, friends, know, loth, passe, constraint, so, speake, health, love, againe_. p. 178, ll. 16 and 17. a--d and g] 3 ll. _die, returne, life_. ll. 30--32. a--d and g] 4 ll. _ill, kneele, gaine, you_. p. 179, ll. 21--25. a--d and g] 7 ll. _earth, alas, command, me, short, sister brought_. p. 180, l. 31. a--d and g] 7 ll. _gobrias, meane_. p. 191, ll. 35 and 36. a--d and g] 2 ll. _utterd, careleslie_. p. 192, ll. 9--12. e and f] 3 ll. _and, love, thou_. ll. 10--12. a--d and g] 3 ll. _advice, love, thou_. ll. 16 and 17. a--d and g] 3 ll. _this, caution, it_ (g _adds_ l. 18). ll. 20 and 21. a--d and g] 2 ll. _it, it_. p. 194, ll. 5 and 6. a] 2 ll. _cutlers, king_. l. 22. a] 2 ll. _will, whatsoever_. p. 195, ll. 21 and 22. a] 2 ll. _in-, monsters_. p. 196, l. 38, and p. 197, ll. 1--3. a] prose. p. 197, ll. 4 and 5. a] 3 ll. _you, spaconia, thus_. p. 199, ll. 9 and 10. b--d and g] 3 ll. _ladie, passe, king_. ll. 12 and 13. a and g] 2 ll. _from, remov'd_. p. 201, ll. 7 and 8. a] 2 ll. _all, folly_. l. 15. a] 2 ll. _sir, warrant_. ll. 39 and 40. p. 202, ll. 19--22. a] prose. p. 204, l. 6. a--d and g] 2 ll. _false, letter_. ll. 36--38. a] 2 ll. _truth, prince_. p. 205, ll. 26 and 27. a--d and g] 3 ll. _another, distance, opinion_. p. 207, ll. 11--13. a--d and g] 3 ll. _toge-, man, brother_. i. 24. a--d and g] 2 ll. _sir, since_. p. 209, ll. 31 and 32. a] 2 ll. _me, brother_. p. 212, ll. ii and 12. a] 3 ll. _panthea, gaze, out_. ll. 23 and 24. a] 2 ll. _you, gone_. act 5 is in verse in quartos a, b, c and d, in prose in quartos e and f from p. 214, i. 22. as the second folio also prints it in prose it has been decided to give here the verse of quarto a (1619) in full. actus quinti scaena prima. _enter mardonius, and ligones_. _mar_. sir, the king has seene your commission, and beleeves it, and freely by this warrant gives you leave to visit prince _tigranes_ your noble master. _lig_. i thanke his grace, and kisse his hands. _mar_. but is the maine of all your businesse ended in this? _lig_. i have another, but a worse; i am asham'd, it is a businesse.-_mar_. you serve a worthy person, and a stranger i am sure you are; you may imploy mee if you please, without your purse, such officers should ever be their owne rewards. _lig_. i am bound to your noblenesse. _mar_. i may have neede of you, and then this curtesie, if it be any, is not ill bestowed: but may i civilly desire the rest? i shall not be a hurter, if no helper. _lig_. sir, you shall know i have lost a foolish daughter, and with her all my patience; pilferd away by a meane captaine of your kings. _mar_. stay there sir: if he have reacht the noble worth of captaine, he may well claime a worthy gentlewoman, though shee were yours, and noble. _lig_. i grant all that too: but this wretched fellow reaches no further then the emptie name, that serves to feede him; were he valiant, or had but in him any noble nature, that might hereafter promise him a good man; my cares were something lighter, and my grave a span yet from me. _mar_. i confesse such fellowes be in all royall campes, and have, and must be to make the sinne of coward more detested in the meane souldier, that with such a foyle sets of much valour: by description i should now guesse him to you. it was _bessus_, i dare almost with confidence pronounce it. _lig_. tis such a scurvy name as _bessus_, and now i thinke tis hee. _mar_. captaine, doe you call him? beleeve me sir, you have a miserie too mighty for your age: a pox upon him, for that must be the end of all his service: your daughter was not mad sir? _lig_. no, would shee had beene, the fault had had more credit: i would doe something. _mar_. i would faine counsell you; but to what i know not: hee's so below a beating, that the women find him not worthy of their distaves; and to hang him, were to cast away a rope, hee's such an ayrie thin unbodied coward, that no revenge can catch him: he tell you sir, and tell you truth; this rascall feares neither god nor man, has beene so beaten: sufferance has made him wanscote; he has had since hee was first a slave, at least three hundred daggers set in his head, as little boyes doe new knives in hot meat; ther's not a rib in's bodie a my conscience, that has not beene thrice broken with drie beating; and now his sides looke like to wicker targets, everie way bended: children will shortly take him for a wall, and set their stone-bowes in his forhead: is of so low a sence, i cannot in a weeke imagine what should be done to him. _lig_. sure i have committed some great sinne, that this strange fellow should be made my rod: i would see him, but i shall have no patience: _mar_. tis no great matter if you have not, if a laming of him, or such a toy may doe you pleasure sir, he has it for you, and ile helpe you to him: tis no newes to him to have a leg broke, or a shoulder out, with being turnd ath' stones like a tanzie: draw not your sword, if you love it; for my conscience his head will breake it: we use him ith' warres like a ramme to shake a wall withall; here comes the verie person of him, doe as you shall find your temper i must leave you: but if you doe not breake him like a bisket, you are much too blame sir. _ex. mardo. enter bessus and sword-men_. _lig_. is your name bessus? _bes_. men call me captaine bessus. _lig_. then captaine _bessus_ you are a ranke rascall, without more exordiums, a durty frozen slave; and with the favour of your friends here, i will beate you. _2_. pray use your pleasure sir, you seem to be a gentleman. _lig_. thus captaine _bessus_, thus; thus twinge your nose, thus kicke you, and thus tread you. _bess_. i doe beseech you yeeld your cause sir quickly. _lig_. indeed i should have told you that first. _bess_. i take it so. _1_. captaine, a should indeed, he is mistaken: _lig_. sir you shall have it quickly, and more beating, you have stolne away a lady captaine coward, and such a one. _bes_. hold, i beseech you, hold sir, i never yet stole any living thing that had a tooth about it. _lig_. sir i know you dare lie with none but summer whores upon my life sir. _bes_. my meanes and manners never could attempt above a hedge or hey-cocke. _lig_. sirra that quits not me, where is this ladie, doe that you doe not use to doe, tell truth, or by my hand ile beat your captaines braines out. wash um, and put um in againe, that will i. _bes_. there was a ladie sir, i must confesse once in my charge: the prince _tigranes_ gave her to my guard for her safetie, how i usd her she may her selfe report, shee's with the prince now: i did but waite upon her like a groome, which she will testifie i am sure: if not, my braines are at your service when you please sir, and glad i have um for you? _lig_. this is most likely, sir i aske your pardon, and am sorrie i was so intemperate. _bes_. well, i can aske no more, you would thinke it strange now to have me beat you at first sight. _lig_. indeed i would but i know your goodnes can forget twentie beatings. you must forgive me. _bes_. yes, ther's my hand, goe where you will, i shall thinke you a valiant fellow for all this. _lig_. my daughter is a whore, i feele it now too sencible; yet i will see her, discharge my selfe of being father to her, and then backe to my countrie, and there die; farewell captaine. _exit_. _bes_. farewell sir, farewell, commend me to the gentlewoman i praia. _1_. how now captaine, beare up man. _bes_. gentlemen ath' sword your hands once more, i have beene kickt againe, but the foolish fellow is penitent, has ask't me mercy, and my honor's safe. _2_. we knew that, or the foolish fellow had better a kick't his grandsire. confirme, confirme i pray. _1_. there be our hands againe. _2_. now let him come, and say he was not sorry, and he sleepes for it. _bes_. alas good ignorant old man, let him goe, let him goe, these courses will undoe him. _exeunt_. _enter ligones, and bacurius_. _bac_. my lord your authoritie is good, and i am glad it is so, for my consent would never hinder you from seeing your owne king. i am a minister, but not a governour of this state; yonder is your king, ile leave you. _exit_. _lig_. there he is indeed, _enter tig. and spaco_. and with him my disloyall childe. _tig_. i doe perceive my fault so much, that yet me thinkes thou shouldst not have forgiven me. _lig_. health to your maiestie. _tig_. what? good ligones, welcome; what businesse brought thee hether? _lig_. severall businesses. my publique businesse will appeare by this: i have a message to deliver, which if it please you so to authorise, is an embassage from the armenian state, unto _arbaces_ for your libertie: the offer's there set downe, please you to read it. _tig_. there is no alteration happened since i came thence? _lig_. none sir, all is as it was. _tig_. and all our friends are well. _lig_. all verie well. _spa_. though i have done nothing but what was good, i dare not see my father: it was fault enough not to acquaint him with that good. _lig_. madam i should have scene you. _spa_. o good sir forgive me. _lig_. forgive you, why i am no kin to you, am i? _spa_. should it be measur'd by my meane deserts, indeed you are not. _lig_. thou couldst prate unhappily ere thou couldst goe, would thou couldst doe as well. and how does your custome hold out here. _spa_. sir. _lig_. are you in private still, or how? _spa_. what doe you meane? _lig_. doe you take money? are you come to sell sinne yet? perhaps i can helpe you to liberall clients: or has not the king cast you off yet? o thou wild creature, whose best commendation is, that thou art a young whore. i would thy mother had liv'd to see this: or rather would i had dyed ere i had seene it: why did'st not make me acquainted when thou wert first resolv'd to be a whore? i would have seene thy hot lust satisfied more privately. i would have kept a dancer, and a whole consort of musitions in mine owne house, onely to fiddle thee. _spa_. sir i was never whore. _lig_. if thou couldst not say so much for thy selfe thou shouldst be carted. _tig._ _ligones_ i have read it, and like it, you shall deliver it. _lig_. well sir i will: but i have private busines with you. _tig_. speake, what ist? _lig_. how has my age deserv'd so ill of you, that you can picke no strumpets in the land, but out of my breed. _tig_. strumpets good _ligones_? _lig_. yes, and i wish to have you know, i scorne to get a whore for any prince alive, and yet scorne will not helpe me thinkes: my daughter might have beene spar'd, there were enough beside. _tig_. may i not prosper, but shee's innocent as morning light for me, and i dare sweare for all the world. _lig_. why is she with you then? can she waite on you better then your men, has she a gift in plucking off your stockings, can she make cawdles well, or cut your comes, why doe you keepe her with you? for your queene i know you doe contemne her, so should i and every subject else thinke much at it. _tig_. let um thinke much, but tis more firme then earth thou seest thy queene there. _lig_. then have i made a faire hand, i cald her whore, if i shall speake now as her father, i cannot chuse but greatly rejoyce that she shall be a queene: but if i should speake to you as a statesman shee were more fit to be your whore. _tig_. get you about your businesse to _arbaces_, now you talke idlie. _lig_. yes sir, i will goe. and shall she be a queene, she had more wit then her old father when she ranne away: shall shee be a queene, now by my troth tis fine, ile dance out of all measure at her wedding: shall i not sir? _tigr_. yes marrie shalt thou. _lig_. he make these witherd kexes beare my bodie two houres together above ground. _tigr_. nay, goe, my businesse requires haste. _lig_. good god preserve you, you are an excellent king. _spa_. farewell good father. _lig_. farewell sweete vertuous daughter; i never was so joyfull in my life, that i remember: shall shee be a queene? now i perceive a man may weepe for joy, i had thought they had lied that said so. _exit_. _tig_. come my deare love. _spa_. but you may see another may alter that againe. _tigr_. urge it no more; i have made up a new strong constancie, not to be shooke with eyes; i know i have the passions of a man, but if i meete with any subject that shall hold my eyes more firmely then is fit; ile thinke of thee, and runne away from it: let that suffice. _exeunt_. _enter bacurius, and a servant_. _bac_. three gentlemen without to speake with me? _ser_. yes sir. _bac_. let them come in. _ser_. they are enterd sir already. _enter bessus, and swordmen_. _bac_. now fellowes, your busines, are these the gentlemen. _bess_. my lord i have made bold to bring these gentlemen my friends ath' sword along with me. _bac_. i am afraid youle fight then. _bes_. my good lord i will not, your lordship is mistaken, feare not lord. _bac_. sir i am sorrie fort. _bes_. i can aske no more in honor, gentlemen you heare my lord is sorrie. _bac_. not that i have beaten you, but beaten one that will be beaten: one whose dull bodie will require launcing: as surfeits doe the diet, spring and full. now to your swordmen, what come they for good captaine stock-fish? _bes_. it seemes your lordship has forgot my name. _bac_. no, nor your nature neither, though they are things fitter i confesse for anything, then my remembrance, or anie honestmans, what shall these billets doe, be pilde up in my wood-yard? _bes_. your lordship holds your mirth still, god continue it: but for these gentlemen they come. _bac_. to sweare you are a coward, spare your booke, i doe beleeve it. _bes_. your lordship still drawes wide, they come to vouch under their valiant hands, i am no coward. _bac_. that would be a shew indeed worth seeing: sirra be wise and take money for this motion, travell with it, and where the name of _bessus_ has been knowne, or a good coward stirring, twill yeeld more then a tilting. this will prove more beneficiall to you, if you be thriftie, then your captaineship, and more naturall; men of most valiant hands is this true? _2_. it is so most renowned, tis somewhat strange. _1_. lord, it is strange, yet true; wee have examined from your lordships foote there to this mans head, the nature of the beatings; and we doe find his honour is come off cleane, and sufficient: this as our swords shall helpe us. _bac_. you are much bound to you bilbow-men, i am glad you are straight again captaine: twere good you would thinke some way to gratifie them, they have undergone a labour for you _bessus_, would have puzzled _hercules_, with all his valour. _2_. your lordship must understand we are no men ath' law, that take pay for our opinions: it is sufficient wee have cleer'd our friend. _bac_. yet here is something due, which i as toucht in conscience will discharge captaine; ile pay this rent for you. _bess_. spare your selfe my good lord; my brave friends aime at nothing but the vertue. _bac_. thats but a cold discharge sir for their paines. _2_. o lord, my good lord. _bac_. be not so modest, i will give you something. _bes_. they shall dine with your lordship, that's sufficient. _bac_. something in hand the while; ye rogues, ye apple-squiers: doe you come hether with your botled valour, your windie frothe, to limit out my beatings. _1_. i doe beseech your lordship. _2_. o good lord. _bac_. sfoote, what a many of beaten slaves are here? get me a cudgell sirra, and a tough one. _2_. more of your foot, i doe beseech your lordship. _bac_. you shall, you shall dog, and your fellow beagle. _1_. a this side good my lord. _bac_. off with your swords, for if you hurt my foote, ile have you fleade you rascals. _1_. mines off my lord. _2_. i beseech your lordship stay a little, my strap's tied to my codpiece point: now when you please. _bac_. captaine, these are your valiant friends, you long for a little too? _bess_. i am verie well, i humblie thanke your lordship. _bac_. whats that in your pocket slave, my key you mungrell? thy buttocks cannot be so hard, out with't quicklie. _2_. here tis sir, a small piece of artillerie, that a gentleman a deare friend of your lordships sent me with to get it mended sir; for it you marke, the nose is somewhat loose. _bac_. a friend of mine you rascall, i was never wearier of doing nothing, then kicking these two foote-bals. _ser_. heres a good cudgell sir. _bac_. it comes too late; i am wearie, prethee doe thou beate um. _2_. my lord this is foule play ifaith, to put a fresh man upon us; men, are but men. _bac_. that jest shall save your bones, up with your rotten regiment, and be gone; i had rather thresh, then be bound to kicke these raskals, till they cride hold: _bessus_ you may put your hand to them now, and then you are quit. farewell, as you like this, pray visit mee againe, twill keepe me in good breath. 2. has a divellish hard foote, i never felt the like. 1. nor i, and yet ime sure i ha felt a hundred. 2. if he kicke thus ith dog-daies, he will be drie founderd: what cure now captaine, besides oyle of bayes? _bess_. why well enough i warrant you, you can goe. 2. yes, god be thanked; but i feele a shrewd ach, sure he has sprang my huckle bone. 1. i ha lost a haunch. _bess_. a little butter friend, a little butter; butter and parselie is a soveraigne matter: _probatum est_. 1. captaine, we must request your hands now to our honours. _bess_. yes marrie shall ye, and then let all the world come, we are valiant to our selves, and theres an end. 1. nay, then we must be valiant; o my ribbes. 2. o my small guts, a plague upon these sharpe toe'd shooes, they are murderers. _exeunt_. _enter arbaces with his sword drawne_. _arb_. it is resolv'd, i bore it whilst i could, i can no more, hell open all thy gates, and i will thorough them; if they be shut, ile batter um, but i will find the place where the most damn'd have dwelling; ere i end, amongst them all they shall not have a sinne, but i may call it mine: i must beginne with murder of my friend, and so goe on to an incestuous ravishing, and end my life and sinnes with a forbidden blow upon my selfe. _enter mardonius_. _mardo_. what tragedie is here? that hand was never wont to draw a sword, but it cride dead to something: _arb_. _mar_. have you bid _gobrius_ come? _mar_. how doe you sir? _arb_. well, is he comming? _mar_. why sir are you thus? why does your hand proclaime a lawlesse warre against your selfe? _arb_. thou answerest me one question with another, is _gobrius_ comming? _mar_. sir he is. _arb_. tis well. _mar_. i can forbeare your questions then, be gone sir, i have markt. _arb_. marke lesse, it troubles you and me. _mar_. you are more variable then you were. _arb_. it may be so. _mar_. to day no hermit could be humblier then you were to us all. _arb_. and what of this? _mar_. and now you take new rage into your eies, as you would looke us all out of the land. _arb_. i doe confesse it, will that satisfie, i prethee get thee gone. _mar_. sir i will speake. _arb_. will ye? _mar_. it is my dutie, i feare you will kill your selfe: i am a subject, and you shall doe me wrong in't: tis my cause, and i may speake. _arb_. thou art not traind in sinne, it seemes _mardonius_: kill my selfe, by heaven i will not doe it yet; and when i will, ile tell thee then: i shall be such a creature, that thou wilt give me leave without a word. there is a method in mans wickednesse, it growes up by degrees; i am not come so high as killing of my selfe, there are a hundred thousand sinnes twixt me and it, which i must doe, i shall come toot at last; but take my oath not now, be satisfied, and get thee hence. _mar_. i am sorrie tis so ill. _arb_. be sorrie then, true sorrow is alone, grieve by thy selfe. _mar_. i pray you let mee see your sword put up before i goe; ile leave you then. _arb_. why so? what follie is this in thee? is it not as apt to mischiefe as it was before? can i not reach it thinkest thou? these are toyes for children to be pleas'd with, and not men; now i am safe you thinke: i would the booke of fate were here, my sword is not so sure, but i should get it out, and mangle that that all the destinies should quite forget their fix't decrees, and hast to make us new farre other fortunes mine could not be worse, wilt thou now leave me? _mar_. god put into your bosome temperate thoughts, he leave you though i feare. _exit_. _arb_. goe, thou art honest, why should the hastie errors of my youth be so unpardonable, to draw a sinne helpelesse upon me? _enter gobrius_. _gob_. there is the king, now it is ripe. _arb_. draw neere thou guiltie man, that are the author of the loathedst crime five ages have brought forth, and heare me speake curses incurable, and all the evils mans bodie or his spirit can receive be with thee. _gob_. why sir doe you curse me thus? _arb_. why doe i curse thee, if there be a man subtill in curses, that exceedes the rest, his worst wish on thee. thou hast broke my hart. _gob_. how sir? have i preserv'd you from a childe, from all the arrowes, malice or ambition could shoot at you, and have i this for pay? _arb_. tis true thou didst preserve me, and in that wert crueller then hardned murderers of infants and their mothers; thou didst save me onely till thou hadst studdied out a way how to destroy me cunningly thy selfe: this was a curious way of torturing. _gob_. what doe you meane? _arb_. thou knowst the evils thou hast done to me, dost thou remember all those witching letters thou sentst unto me to _armenia_, fild with the praise of my beloved sister, where thou extolst her beautie; what had i to doe with that, what could her beautie be to me, and thou didst write how well shee lov'd me, doest thou remember this: so that i doated something before i saw her. _gob_. this is true. _arb_. is it, and i when i was returnd thou knowst thou didst pursue it, till thou woundst mee into such a strange, and unbeleev'd affection, as good men cannot thinke on. _gob_. this i grant, i thinke i was the cause. _arb_. wert thou? nay more, i thinke thou meantst it. _gob_. sir i hate a lie. as i love god and honestie, i did: it was my meaning. _arb_. be thine owne sad judge, a further condemnation will not need: prepare thy selfe to die. _gob_. why sir to die? _arb_. why wouldst thou live, was ever yet offender so impudent, that had a thought of mercy after confession of a crime like this? get out i cannot, where thou hurlst me in, but i can take revenge, that's all the sweetnesse left for me. _gob_. now is the time, heare me but speake. _arb_. no, yet i will be farre more mercifull then thou wert to me; thou didst steale into me, and never gavest me warning: so much time as i give thee now, had prevented thee for ever. notwithstanding all thy sinnes, if thou hast hope, that there is yet a prayer to save thee, turne, and speake it to your selfe. _gob_. sir, you shall know your sinnes before you doe um if you kill me. _arb_. i will not stay then. _gob_. know you kill your father. _arb_. how? _gob_. you kill your father. _arb_. my father? though i know it for a lie made out of feare to save thy stained life: the verie reverence of the word comes crosse me, and ties mine arme downe. _gob_. i will tell you that shall heighten you againe, i am thy father, i charge thee heare me. _arb_. if it should be so, as tis most false, and that i should be found a bastard issue, the dispised fruite of lawlesse lust, i should no more admire all my wilde passions: but another truth shall be wrung from thee: if i could come by the spirit of paine, it should be powr'd on thee, till thou allowest thy selfe more full of lies then he that teaches thee. _enter arane_. _arane_. turne thee about, i come to speake to thee thou wicked man, heare me thou tyrant. _arb_. i will turne to thee, heare me thou strumpet: i have blotted out the name of mother, as thou hast thy shame. _ara_. my shame, thou hast lesse shame then anything: why dost thou keepe my daughter in a prison? why dost thou call her sister, and doe this? _arb_. cease thou strange impudence, and answere quickly, if thou contemn'st me, this will aske an answere, and have it. _ara_. helpe me gentle _gobrius_. _arb_. guilt dare not helpe guilt, though they grow together in doing ill, yet at the punishment they sever, and each flies the noyse of other, thinke not of helpe, answere. _ara_. i will, to what? _arb_. to such a thing as if it be a truth, thinke what a creature thou hast made thy selfe, that didst not shame to doe, what i must blush onely to aske thee: tell me who i am, whose sonne i am, without all circumstance; be thou as hastie, as my sword will be if thou refusest. _ara_. why you are his sonne. _arb_. his sonne? sweare, sweare, thou worse then woman damn'd. _ara_. by all thats good you are. _arb_. then art thou all that ever was knowne bad. now is the cause of all my strange misfortunes come to light: what reverence expects thou from a childe to bring forth which thou hast offended heaven, thy husband and the land: adulterous witch i know now why thou wouldst have poyson'd me, i was thy lust which thou wouldst have forgot: thou wicked mother of my sinnes, and me, shew me the way to the inheritance i have by thee: which is a spacious world of impious acts, that i may soone possesse it: plagues rott thee, as thou liv'st, and such diseases as use to pay lust, recompence thy deed. _gob_. you doe not know why you curse thus. _arb_. too well: you are a paire of vipers, and behold the serpent you have got; there is no beast but if he knew, it has a pedigree as brave as mine, for they have more discents, and i am every way as beastly got, as farre without the compasse of a law, as they. _ara_. you spend your rage, and words in vaine, and raile upon a guesse: heare us a little. _arb_. no i will never heare, but talke away my breath, and die. _gob_. why but you are no bastard. _arb_. howe's that? _ara_. nor childe of mine. _arb_. still you goe on in wonders to me. _gob_. pray be more patient, i may bring comfort to you. _arb_. i will kneele, and heare with the obedience of a childe; good father speake, i doe acknowledge you, so you bring comfort. _gob_. first know our last king your supposed father was olde and feeble when he marryed her, and almost all the land as shee past hope of issue from him. _arb_. therefore shee tooke leave to play the whoore, because the king was old: is this the comfort? _ara_. what will you find out to give me satisfaction, when you find how you have injur'd me: let fire consume mee, if ever i were whore. _gob_. forbeare these starts, or i will leave you wedded to despaire, as you are now: if you can find a temper, my breath shall be a pleasant westerne wind, that cooles, and blastes not. _arb_. bring it out good father, he lie, artd listen here as reverentlie as to an angell: if i breathe too loude, tell me; for i would be as still as night. _gob_. our king i say was old, and this our queene desired to bring an heire; but yet her husband shee thought was past it, and to be dishonest i thinke shee would not; if shee would have beene, the truth is, shee was watcht so narrowlie, and had so slender opportunitie, shee hardly could have beene: but yet her cunning found out this way; shee fain'd her selfe with child, and postes were sent in haste throughout the land, and god was humbly thankt in every church, that so had blest the queen, and prayers were made for her safe going, and deliverie: shee fain'd now to grow bigger, and perceiv'd this hope of issue made her feard, and brought a farre more large respect from everie man. and saw her power increase, and was resolv'd, since shee believ'd shee could not have't indeede; at least shee would be thought to have a child. _arb_. doe i not heare it well: nay, i will make no noise at all; but pray you to the point, quicke as you can. _gob_. now when the time was full, shee should be brought abed; i had a sonne borne, which was you: this the queene hearing of, mov'd me to let her have you, and such reasons shee shewed me, as shee knew would tie my secresie: shee sware you should be king; and to be short, i did deliver you unto her, and pretended you were dead; and in mine owne house kept a funerall, and had an emptie coffin put in earth: that night the queene fain'd hastilie to labour, and by a paire of women of her owne, which shee had charm'd, shee made the world believe shee was deliver'd of you: you grew up as the kings sonne, till you were six yeere olde; then did the king die, and did leave to me protection of the realme; and contrarie to his owne expectation, left this queene truly with childe indeed of the faire princesse _panthea_: then shee could have torne her heire, and did alone to me yet durst not speake in publike; for shee knew shee should be found a traytor, and her talke would have beene thought madnesse or any thing rather then truth: this was the onely cause why shee did seeke to poyson you, and i to keepe you safe: and this the reason why i sought to kindle some sparke of love in you to faire _panthea_, that shee might get part of her right agen. _arb_. and have you made an end now, is this all? if not, i will be still till i am aged, till all my heires are silver. _gob_. this is all. _arb_. and is it true say you maddam? _ara_. yes, god knowes it is most true. _arb_. _panthea_ then is not my sister. _gob_. no. _arb_. but can you prove this? [_gob_.] if you will give consent: else who dare goe about it. _arb_. give consent? why i will have them all that know it rackt to get this from um: all that waites without come in, what ere you be come in, and be partakers of my joy: o you are welcome. _ent. mar: bessus, and others_. _mardonius_ the best newes, nay, draw no neerer they all shall heare it: i am found no king. _mar_. is that so good newes? _art_. yes, the happiest newes that ere was heard. _mar_. indeed twere well for you, if you might be a little lesse obey'd. _arb_. on, call the queene. _mar_. why she is there. _arb_. the queene _mardonius_, _panthea_ is the queene, and i am plaine _arbaces_, goe some one, she is in _gobrius_ house; since i saw you there are a thousand things delivered to me you little dreame of. _mar_. so it should seeme: my lord, what furi's this. _gob_. beleeve me tis no fury, all that he sayes is truth. _mar_. tis verie strange. _arb_. why doe you keepe your hats off gentlemen, is it to me? in good faith it must not be: i cannot now command you, but i pray you for the respect you bare me, when you tooke me for your king, each man clap on his hat at my desire. _mar_. we will: but you are not found so meane a man, but that you may be cover'd as well as we, may you not? _arb_. o not here, you may, but not i, for here is my father in presence. _mar_. where? _arb_. why there: o the whole storie would be a wildernesse to loose thy selfe for ever; o pardon me deare father, for all the idle, and unreverent words that i have spoke in idle moodes to you: i am _arbaces_, we all fellow subjects, nor is the queene _panthea_ now my sister. _bes_. why if you remember fellow subject _arbaces_, i tolde you once she was not your sister, i say she look't nothing like you. _arb_. i thinke you did good captaine _bessus_. _bes_. here will arise another question now amongst the swordmen, whether i be to call him to account for beating me, now he's prov'd no king. _enter ligones_. _ma_. sir, heres _ligones_ the agent for the armenian king. _arb_. where is he, i know your businesse good _ligones_. _lig_. we must have our king againe, and will. _arb_. i knew that was your businesse, you shall have you king againe, and have him so againe as never king was had. goe one of you and bid _bacurius_ bring _tigranes_ hither, and bring the ladie with him, that _panthea_ the queene _panthea_ sent me word this morning was brave _tigranes_ mistresse. _lig_. tis _spaconia_. _arb_. i, i, _spaconia_. _lig_. she is my daughter. _arb_. shee is so, i could now tell any thing i never heard; your king shall goe so home as never man went. _mar_. shall he goe on's head? _arb_. he shall have chariots easier than ayre that i will have invented; and nere thinke he shall pay any ransome; and thy selfe that art the messenger shall ride before him on a horse cut out of an entire diamond, that shall be made to goe with golden wheeles, i know not how yet. _lig_. why i shall be made for ever, they belied this king with us and sayd he was unkind. _arb_. and then thy daughter, she shall have some strange thinke, wele have the kingdome sold utterly, and put into a toy. which she shall weare about her carelesly some where or other. see the vertuous queene. _enter pan_. behold the humblest subject that you have kneele here before you. _pan_. why kneele you to me that am your vassall? _arb_. grant me one request. _pan_. alas, what can i grant you? what i can i will. _arb_. that you will please to marry me, if i can prove it lawfull. _pan_. is that all? more willingly, then i would draw this ayre. _arb_. ile kisse this hand in earnest. _mar_. sir, _tigranes_ is comming though he made it strange to see the princesse any more. _arb_. the queene, _enter tig. and spa_. thou meanest: o my tigranes pardon me, tread on my necke i freely offer it, and if thou beest so given; take revenge, for i have injur'd thee. _tig_. no, i forgive, and rejoice more that you have found repentance, then i my libertie. _arb_. maist thou be happie in thy faire choice; for thou art temperate: you owe no ransome to the state, know that; i have a thousand joyes to tell you of, which yet i dare not utter, till i pay my thankes to heaven for um: will you goe with me, and helpe me; pray you doe. _tig_. i will. _arb_. take then your faire one with you and your queene of goodnesse, and of us; o give me leave to take your arme in mine: come every one that takes delight in goodnesse, helpe to sing loude thankes for me, that i am prov'd no king. finis. the following verse variations have also been noted between the act printed above from a and the quartos b, c, d and g. p. 434, ll. 46 and 47. b, c, d, g] two lines, _hint, rope_. p. 436, ll. 19 and 20. b--d] two lines, _better, grandsire_. p. 437, ll. 16--18. b, c, d, g] six lines, _whore, satisfied, dancer, musilians, thee, whore_. p. 438, ll. 40 and 41. b, c, d, g] four lines, _laming, fall, sword-men, stock-fish_. p. 442, ll. 22 and 23. b, c, d, g] two lines, _in-, affection_. p. 443, ll. 24 and 25. b, c, d, g] three lines, _impudence, me, answere_. ll. 44 and 45. three lines, _all, cause, light_. p. 446, ll. 17 and 18. b, c, d, g] one line, _this_. ll. 19 and 20. b, c, d, g] one line, _truth_. l. 26. two lines, _hat, desire_. p. 447, ll. 16 and 17. b, c, d, g] two lines, _ever, us_. ll. 23 and 24. b, c, d, g] one line, _queene_. ll. 29 and 30. b, c, d, g] one line, _will_. 