Enter ARMOSTES, with a casket.

From whence come you?

Arm. From king Amyclas,-pardon

My interruption of your studies.-Here,

In this seal'd box, he sends a treasure [to you],
Dear to him as his crown; he prays your gravity,
You would examine, ponder, sift, and bolt

The pith and circumstance of every tittle
The scroll within contains.

Tec. What is 't, Armostes?

Arm. It is the health of Sparta, the king's life,
Sinews and safety of the commonwealth;
The sum of what the oracle deliver'd,
When last he visited the prophetic temple
At Delphos: what his reasons are, for which,
After so long a silence, he requires

Your counsel now, grave man, his majesty
Will soon himself acquaint you with.

Tec. Apollo

[He takes the casket. Inspire my intellect !-The prince of Argos Is entertain'd?

Arm. He is; and has demanded

Our princess for his wife; which I conceive
One special cause the king importunes you
For resolution of the oracle.

Tec. My duty to the king, good peace to Sparta, And fair day to Armostes!

Arm. Like to Tecnicus.

[Exeunt.

SCENE II.

A Room in ITHOCLES'S House.

Soft music.-A Song within, during which PROPHILUS, BASSANES, PENTHEA, and GRAUSIS pass over the Stage. BASSANES and GRAUSIS re-enter softly, and listen in different places.

SONG.

Can you paint a thought? or number
Every fancy in a slumber?

Can you count soft minutes roving
From a dial's point by moving?
Can you grasp a sigh? or, lastly,
Rob a virgin's honour chastly?
No, oh no! yet you may
Sooner do both that and this,
This and that, and never miss,
Than by any praise display
Beauty's beauty; such a glory,
As beyond all fate, all story,
All arms, all arts,

All loves, all hearts,
Greater than those, or they,
Do, shall, and must, obey.

Bass. All silent, calm, secure.— Grausis, dost [thou] hear nothing? Grau. Not a mouse,

Or whisper of the wind.

Bass. Soldiers

Should not affect, methinks, strains so effeminate; Sounds of such delicacy are but fawnings

Upon the sloth of luxury.

Grau. What do you mean, my lord ?—speak low; that gabbling

Of yours will but undo us.

Pro. [within.] He wakes.
Bass. What's that?

Ith. [within.] Who's there?
Sister?-All quit the room else.
Bass. "T is consented!

Enter PROPHILUS.

Pro. Lord Bassanes, your brother would be

private,

We must forbear; his sleep hath newly left him.
Please you, withdraw!

Bass. By any means; 't is fit.

Pro. Pray, gentlewoman, walk too.

Grau. Yes, I will, sir.

[Exeunt.

The Scene opens: ITHOCLES is discovered in a chair, and PENTHEA beside him.

Ith. Sit nearer, sister, to me; nearer yet: We had one father, in one womb took life, Were brought up twins together, yet have liv'd At distance, like two strangers; I could wish That the first pillow whereon I was cradled, Had prov'd to me a grave.

Pen. You had been happy:

Then had you never known that sin of life
Which blots all following glories with a ven-

geance,

For forfeiting the last will of the dead,
From whom you had your being.

Ith. Sad Penthea,

Thou canst not be too cruel; my rash spleen Hath with a violent hand pluck'd from thy bosom A love-blest heart, to grind it into dust;

For which mine 's now a-breaking.

Pen. Not yet, heaven,

I do beseech thee! first, let some wildfires

Scorch, not consume it! may the heat be cherish'd
With desires infinite, but hopes impossible!
Ith. Wrong'd soul, thy prayers are heard.
Pen. Here, lo, I breathe,

A miserable creature, led to ruin
By an unnatural brother!

Ith. I consume

In languishing affections for that trespass;
Yet cannot die.

Pen. The handmaid to the wages

Of country toil, drinks the untroubled streams
With leaping kids, and with the bleating lambs,

And so allays her thirst secure; while I

Quenen my hot sighs with fleetings of my tears.
Ith. The labourer doth eat his coarsest bread,
Earn'd with his sweat, and lays him down to sleep;
While every bit I touch turns in digestion

To gall, as bitter as Penthea's curse.

Put me to any penance for my tyranny;
And I will call thee merciful.

Pen. Pray kill me,

Rid me from living with a jealous husband;
Then we will join in friendship, be again
Brother and sister.-Kill me, pray; nay, will you?
Ith. How does thy lord esteem thee?

Pen. Such a one

As only you have made me: a faith-breaker,
A spotted harlot ;-nay, nay, I am one-
In act, not in desires, the gods must witness.
Ith. Thou dost bely thy friend.

Pen. I do not, Ithocles;

For she that's wife to Orgilus, and lives
In known adultery with Bassanes,

Is, at the best, a whore. Wilt kill me now?

The ashes of our parents will assume

Some dreadful figure, and appear to charge
Thy bloody guilt, that hast betray'd their name
To infamy, in this reproachful match.

Ith. After my victories abroad, at home

I meet despair; ingratitude of nature

Hath made my actions monstrous; thou shalt stand

A deity, my sister, and be worshipp'd

For thy resolved martyrdom; wrong'd maids
And married wives shall to thy hallow'd shrine
Offer their orisons, and sacrifice

Pure turtles, crown'd with myrtle; if thy pity
Unto a yielding brother's pressure, lend

One finger but to ease it.

Pen. Oh, no more!

Ith. Death waits to waft me to the Stygian banks,

And free me from this chaos of my bondage;
And till thou wilt forgive, I must endure.
Pen. Who is the saint you serve?
Ith. Friendship, or [nearness]

Of birth to any but my sister, durst not
Have mov'd this question; 't is a secret, sister,
I dare not murmur to myself.

Pen. Let me,

By your new protestations I conjure you,
Partake her name.

Ith. Her name ?—'t is,--'t is—I dare not.
Pen. All your respects are forged.
Ith. They are not.-Peace!

Calantha is--the princess-the king's daughter-
Sole heir of Sparta.-Me, most miserable!
Do I now love thee? for my injuries

Revenge thyself with bravery, and gossip
My treasons to the king's ears, do;-Calantha
Knows it not yet, nor Prophilus, my nearest.
Pen. Suppose you were contracted to her, would
it not

Split even your very soul to see her father
Snatch her out of your arms against her will,
And force her on the prince of Argos?

Ith. Trouble not

The fountains of mine eyes with thine own story; I sweat in blood for 't.

Pen. We are reconciled.

Alas, sir, being children, but two branches
Of one stock, 't is not fit we should divide;
Have comfort, you may find it.

Ith. Yes, in thee;

Only in thee, Penthea mine.

Pen. If sorrows

Have not too much dull'd my infected brain,
I'll cheer invention, for an active strain.

Ith. Madman!-Why have I wrong'd a maid so excellent ?