She governs her own hours. Noble Ithocles,
We thank the gods for your success and welfare:
Our lady has of late been indisposed,

Else we had waited on you with the first.

Ith. How does Penthea now?

Pen. You best know, brother,

From whom my health and comforts are derived. Bass. [aside.] I like the answer well; 't is sad and modest.

There may be tricks yet, tricks.-Have an eye, Grausis !

Cal. Now, Crotolon, the suit we join'd in must not Fall by too long demur.

Crot. "Tis granted, princess,

For my part.

Arm. With condition, that his son

Favour the contract.

Cal. Such delay is easy.

The joys of marriage make thee, Prophilus,
A proud deserver of Euphranea's love,

And her of thy desert!

Pro. Most sweetly gracious!

Bass. The joys of marriage are the heaven on

earth,

Life's paradise, great princess, the soul's quiet,
Sinews of concord, earthly immortality,
Eternity of pleasures;-no restoratives

Like to a constant woman!-(but where is she?
'T would puzzle all the gods, but to create

Such a new monster) [aside.]-I can speak by proof, For I rest in Elysium; 't is my happiness.

Crot. Euphranea, how are you resolv'd, speak freely,

In your affections to this gentleman?

Euph. Nor more, nor less than as his love as

sures me:

Which (if your liking with my brother's warrants) I cannot but approve in all points worthy.

Crot. So, so! I know your answer.

[TO PRO.

lth. 'T had been pity,

To sunder hearts so equally consented.

Enter HEMOPHIL.

Hem. The king, lord Ithocles, commands your

Gron. Where are the lords? all must unto the king

Without delay; the prince of Argos

Cal. Well, sir?

Gron. Is coming to the court, sweet lady.
Cal. How!

The prince of Argos?

Gron. 'T was my fortune, madam, Tenjoy the honour of these happy tidings.

Ith. Penthea!

Pen. Brother.

Ith. Let me an hour hence

Meet you alone, within the palace grove;
1 have some secret with you.-Prithee, friend,
Conduct her thither, and have special care
The walks be clear'd of any to disturb us.
Pro. I shall.

Bass. How's that?

Ith. Alone, pray be alone.

I am your creature, princess.-On, my lords.

[Exeunt all but Bass. Bass. Alone! alone! what means that word

alone?

Why might not I be there?-hum!-he's her bro

ther:

Brothers and sisters are but flesh and blood,

And this same court-ease is a strong temptation
To a rebellion in the veins; besides,

His fine friend Prophilus

Re-enter GRONEAS.

Gron. My lord, you're called for.

Bass. Most heartily I thank you; where's my wife, pray?

Gron. Retired among the ladies.

Bass. Still I thank you:

There's an old waiter with her, saw you her, too?

Gron. She sits i' th' presence-lobby fast asleep, sir.

Bass. Asleep! asleep, sir!

Gron. Is your lordship troubled?

You will not to the king?

Bass. Your humblest vassal.

Gron. Your servant, my good lord.

Bass. I wait your footsteps.

SCENE III.

[Exeunt.

The Gardens of the Palace. A Grove.

Enter PROPHILUS and PENTHEA.

Pro. In this walk, lady, will your brother find

you;

And, with your favour, give me leave a little
To work a preparation: in his fashion

I have observ'd of late some kind of slackness
To such alacrity as nature [once]

And custom took delight in; sadness grows
Upon his recreations, which he hoards

In such a willing silence, that to question

The grounds will argue [little] skill in friendship,

And less good manners.

Pen. Sir, I am not inquisitive

Of secrecies, without an invitation.

Pro. With pardon, lady, not a syllable
Of mine implies so rude a sense; the drift-

Do thy best

Enter ORGILUS, as before.

To make this lady merry for an hour.
Org. Your will shall be a law, sir.

Pen. Prithee, leave me,

[TO ORG.

[Exit PRO.

I have some private thoughts I would account

with;

Use thou thine own.

Org. Speak on, fair nymph; our souls

Can dance as well to music of the spheres,
As any's who have feasted with the gods.

Pen. Your school-terms are too troublesome.
Org. What heaven

Refines mortality from dross of earth,
But such as uncompounded beauty hallows
With glorified perfection!

Pen. Set thy wits

In a less wild proportion.

Org. Time can never

On the white table of unguilty faith

Write counterfeit dishonour; turn those eyes

(The arrows of pure love) upon that fire,

Which once rose to a flame, perfum'd with vows,
As sweetly scented as the incense smoking
On Vesta's altars, **

**

* the holiest odours, virgins' tears,

** sprinkled, like dews, to feed them

And to increase their fervour.

Pen. Be not frantic.

Org. All pleasures are but mere imagination,
Feeding the hungry.appetite with steam,

And sight of banquet, while the body pines,
Not relishing the real taste of food:
Such is the leanness of a heart divided
From intercourse of troth-contracted loves;

&c.]

It is greatly to be regretted that this apparently fine passage should have been so irreparably mutilated at the press.-GIFFORD.

No horror should deface that precious figure
Seal'd with the lively stamp of equal souls.

Pen. Away! some fury hath bewitch'd thy tongue: The breath of ignorance that flies from thence, Ripens a knowledge in me of afflictions, Above all sufferance.-Thing of talk, begone, Begone, without reply!

Org. Be just, Penthea,

In thy commands; when thou send'st forth a doom
Of banishment, know first on whom it lights.
Thus I take off the shroud, in which my cares
Are folded up from view of common eyes.

[Throws off his scholar's dress.

What is thy sentence next?

Pen. Rash man! thou lay'st

A blemish on mine honour, with the hazard
Of thy too desperate life; yet I profess,
By all the laws of ceremonious wedlock,
I have not given admittance to one thought
Of female change, since cruelty enforced
Divorce betwixt my body and my heart.
Why would you fall from goodness thus?
Org. O, rather

Examine me,

how I could live to say

I have been much, much wrong'd. 'Tis for thy sake

I put on this imposture; dear Penthea,

If thy soft bosom be not turn'd to marble,
Thou 'lt pity our calamities; my interest
Confirms me, thou art mine still.

Pen. Lend your hand;

With both of mine I clasp it thus, thus kiss it,

Thus kneel before ye.

Org. You instruct my duty.

[PEN. kneels.

[ORG. kneels.

Pen. We may stand up.―[They rise.]—Have you

aught else to urge

Of new demand? as for the old, forget it;

"Tis buried in an everlasting silence,

And shall be, shall be ever: what more would you?