Evadne implores forgiveness of Amintor for marrying him while she was the King's Mistress.
Evad. My much-abused lord!
Amin. This cannot be.
Evad. I do not kneel to live, I dare not hope it:
The wrongs I did are greater; look upon me, Though I appear with all my faults.
This is no new way to beget more sorrows: Heaven knows I have too many; do not mock me; Though I am tame and bred up with Which are my foster-brothers, I may leap Like a hand-wolf into my natural wilderness, And do an outrage: pray thee, do not mock me. Evad. My whole life is so leprous, it infects All my repentance: I would buy your pardon Though at the highest set, even with my life. That slight contrition, that's no sacrifice For what I have committed.
There cannot be a faith in that foul woman,
That knows no god more mighty than her mischiefs. Thou dost still worse, still number on thy faults, To press my poor heart thus. Can I believe There's any seed of virtue in that woman Left to shoot up, that dares go on in sin Known, and so known as thine is? O Evadne! Would there were any safety in thy sex, That I might put a thousand sorrows off, And credit thy repentance: but I must not; Thou hast brought me to the dull calamity, To that strange misbelief of all the world, And all things that are in it, that I fear I shall fall like a tree, and find my grave, Only rememb'ring that I grieve.
Give me your griefs: you are an innocent, A soul as white as heaven; let not my sins Perish your noble youth: I do not fall here To shadow my dissembling with my tears, As all say women can, or to make less
What my hot will hath done, which heaven and you
Know to be tougher than the hand of time Can cut from man's remembrance; no, I do not; I do appear the same, the same Evadne,
Drest in the shames I lived in, the same monster. But these are names of honour, to what I am; I do present myself the foulest creature, Most poisonous, dangerous, and despis'd of men, Lerna e'er bred, or Nilus; I am hell,
Till you, my dear lord, shoot your light into me, The beams of your forgiveness: I am soul-sick, And wither with the fear of one condemn'd, Till I have got your pardon.
Those heavenly powers that put this good into thee, Grant a continuance of it: I forgive thee;
Make thyself worthy of it, and take heed,
Take heed, Evadne, this be serious;
Mock not the powers above, that can and dare Give thee a great example of their justice To all ensuing eyes, if thou play'st
With thy repentance, the best sacrifice.
Evad. I have done nothing good to win belief, My life hath been so faithless; all the creatures
Made for heaven's honours have their ends, and good ones. All but the cousening Crocodiles, false women;
They reign here like those plagues, those killing sores, Men pray against; and when they die, like tales Ill told, and unbeliev'd, they pass away And go to dust forgotten: but, my lord, Those short days I shall number to my rest, (As many must not see me) shall, though too late, Though in my evening, yet perceive a will, Since I can do no good because a woman, Reach constantly at something that is near it; I will redeem one minute of my age,
Or like another Niobe I'll weep
Till I am water.
Amin. I am now dissolved:
My frozen soul melts: may each sin thou hast, Find a new mercy: rise, I am at peace: Hadst thou been thus, thus excellently good, Before that devil king tempted thy frailty, Sure thou had'st made a star: give me thy hand; From this time I will know thee, and as far As honour gives me leave, be thy Amintor:
When we meet next, I will salute thee fairly, And pray the gods to give thee happy days: My charity shall go along with thee,
Though my embraces must be far from thee.
Men's Natures more hard and subtil than Women's.
How stubbornly this fellow answer'd me! There is a vile dishonest trick in man, More than in women: all the men I meet Appear thus to me, are harsh and rude, And have a subtilty in everything,
Which love could never know; but we fond women Harbour the easiest and smoothest thoughts
And think all shall go so; it is unjust
That men and women should be matcht together.
PHILASTER; OR LOVE LIES A-BLEEDING. A TRAGICOMEDY [PUBLISHED 1620: PRODUCED BEFORE 1611]. BY FRANCIS BEAUMONT AND JOHN FLETCHER
Philaster tells the Princess Arethusa how he first found the boy Bellario.
I have a boy sent by the gods,
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 mystic order, that the rareness Delighted me: but ever when he turn'd His tender eyes upon them, he would weep, As if he meant to make them 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 died, Leaving him to the mercy of the fields,
Which gave him roots; and of the crystal springs,
Which did not stop their courses; and the sun, Which still, he thank'd him, yielded him his light. Then took he up his garland and did show, What every flower, as country people hold, Did signify; and how all order'd thus, Exprest his grief: and to my thoughts did read The prettiest lecture of his country art
That could be wish'd, so that, methought, I could Have studied it. I gladly entertain'd him, Who was as 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.
Philaster prefers Bellario to the service of the Princess
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, ay, 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 construe a simple innocence in me,
Perhaps might have been craft, the cunning of a boy Harden'd in lies and theft; yet ventured you
To part my miseries and me; for which,
I never can expect to serve a lady
That bears more honour in her breast than you.
Phi. But, boy, it will prefer thee; thou art young, And bear'st 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 place 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 saucy for himself. Phi. Why, gentle boy, I find no fault at all In thy behaviour.
[Temple Dramatists, ed. Boas.]
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 dwell'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.
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 heaven's hate those you curse, though I be one.
[Act ii., Sc. 1.1] Bellario describes to the Princess Arethusa the manner of his master Philaster's love for her.
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? Had'st thou a curst master when thou went'st to school? Thou art not capable of any other grief;
Thy brows and cheeks are smooth as waters be,
1[The whole Scene save five lines at end.]
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