King. 'Tis a new language, that all love to learn: The common people speak it well already; They need no grammar. Understand me well; There be foul whispers stirring. Cast him off, And suddenly: Do it! Farewell. [Exit King.

Are. Where may a maiden live securely free, Keeping her honour safe? Not with the living; They feed upon opinions, errors, dreams, And make them truths; they draw a nourishment Out of defamings, grow upon disgraces; And, when they see a virtue fortified Strongly above the battery of their tongues, Oh, how they cast to sink it! and, defeated, (Soul-sick with poison) 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'll right your honour.
Are. Oh, my best love, that boy!
Phi. What boy?

Are. The pretty boy you give me-
Phi. What of him?

Are. Must be no more mine.

Are. The king.

Phi. Oh, my fortune!

Then 'tis no idle jealousy.-Let him go.

Are. Oh, cruel! are you hard-hearted too? Who shall now tell you, how much I loved 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'll 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, farewell for ever
All secrecy in servants! Farewell faith!
And all desire to do well for itself!

Let all, that shall succeed thee, for thy wrongs
Sell and betray chaste love!

Hast thou a medicine to restore my wits,
When I have lost them? If not, leave to talk,
And do thus.

Are. Do what, sir? Would you sleep?
Phi. For ever, Arethusa. Ŏh, ye gods,
Give me a worthy patience! Have I stood
Naked, alone, the shock of many fortunes?
Have I seen mischiefs numberless, and mighty,
Grow like a sea upon me? Have I taken
Danger as stern as death into my bosom,
And laughed 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 woman's falsehood? Oh, that boy,
That cursed boy! None but a villain boy
To ease your lust!

Are. Nay, then I am betrayed:
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 poison: How your thoughts are

woven

With thousand changes in one subtle web,
And worn so by you: How that foolish man,
That reads the story of a woman's face,
And dies believing it, is lost for ever;
How all the good you have is but a shadow,
In the 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 altogether,

A mere 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, farewell all my woe, all my delight!

[Exit PHI.

Are. Be merciful, ye gods, and strike me dead! What way have I deserved 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

1

Wert in thy cradle false, sent to make lies,
And betray innocents! Thy lord and thou
May glory in the ashes of a maid
Fooled 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 understood'st
The loathed office thou hast undergone,

Yet, if I had another Troy to lose,

Lest men should dig and find thee.

Bel. 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 hath struck his anger through my heart,
And let out all the hope of future joys.
You need not bid me fly; I came to part,
To take my latest leave. Farewell for ever!
I durst not run away, in honesty,

From such a lady, like a boy, that stole,

Might talk me out of it, and send me naked,
My hair dishevel'd, through the fiery streets.
Enter a Lady.

Lady. 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 pursued by cruel hounds,

Enter KING, PHARAMOND, ARETHUSA, GALATEA, MEGRA, DION, CLEREMONT, THRASILINE, and attendants.

King. What, are the hounds before, and all the woodmen ;

Qur horses ready, and our bows bent?
Dion, All, sir.

King. You're cloudy, sir: Come, we have forgotten

Your venial trespass; let not that sit heavy
Upon your spirit; none dare utter it.

Dion. 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 purlieus. 'Would, he would leave off poaching!

Dion. And for his horn, h'as left it at the lodge where he lay late; oh, he's a precious limehound! Turn him loose upon the pursuit of a la ly, and if he lose her, hang him up i'th' slip. When my fox-bitch, Beauty, grows proud, I'll

borrow him.

Dion. See how they muster one another! Oh 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 herself loose. As I live, she has got her a goodly protection, and a gracious; and may use her body discreetly, for her health's sake, once a week, excepting Lent and dog-days. Oh, if they were to be got for money, 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'll hunt.

Wood. She'll 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 loved his beyond-sea-ship, since he for

sook 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 dowcets; marry, the steward would have the velvet-head into the bargain, to tuft his hat withal. I think he should love venery; he is an old sir Tristrem, for, if you be remember'd, he forsook the stag once, to strike a rascal mitching in a meadow, and her he kill'd in the eye.-Who shoots else?

2 Wood. The lady Galatea.

1 Wood. That's a good wench, an 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 haunches 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 herself three times in one afternoon, (if the woods have 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 pays 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 women's looks; but digged myself a cave,
Where I, my fire, my cattle, and my bed,
Might have been shut together in one shed;
And then had taken me some mountain girl,
Beaten with winds, chaste 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 had borne at her big breasts My large coarse issue. This had been a life Free from vexation,

Euter BELLARIO.

Bel. Oh, wicked men !

An innocent may walk safe among beasts;
Nothing assaults me here. See, my grieved 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 grieved, can pity: Hear, my lord!
Phi. Is there a creature yet so miserable,
That I can pity?

Bel. 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? Begone!

Go, sell those misbeseeming clothes thou wear'st, And feed thyself with them.

Bel. 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.
Thou'rt fallen again to thy dissembling trade:
How shouldst thou think to cozen me again?
Remains there yet a plague untried for me?
Even so thou wept'st, and look'd'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'll not betray it. Which way
Wilt thou take, that I may shun thee?
For thine eyes are poison to mine; and I
Am loth to grow in rage. This way, or that way?
Bel. Any will serve. But I will chuse to have
That path in chace, that leads into my grave.
[Exeunt PHI. and BEL. severally.

Enter DION and the Woodmen.
Dion. This is the strangest sudden chance!
You, Woodman!

1 Wood. My lord Dion!

Dion. Saw you a lady come this way, on a sable horse studded with stars of white?

2 Wood. Was she not young and tall? Dion. Yes. Rode she to the wood or to the plain?

2 Wood. Faith, my lord, we saw none.

[Exeunt Wood.

Enter CLEREMONT.

Dion. Pox of your questions then! What, is she found?

Cle. Nor will be, I think.

Dion. 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,

I

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.

say again, where is she? Mutter not! Sir, speak you; where is she?

Dion. 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 ‘ay,' then am I not to be obeyed?

Dion. Yes, if you command things possible and
honest,

Thou traitor! that dar'st confine thy king to things
Possible and honest; shew her me,
Or, let me perish, if I cover not
All Sicily with blood!

Dion. Indeed, I cannot, unless you tell me where she is.

King. You have betrayed me; have let me lose The jewel of my life: Go, bring her me, And set her here, 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 floods of Heaven. Speak, can it not?

Dion. No.

King. No! cannot the breath of kings do this? Dion. No; nor smell sweet itself, if once the lungs

Be but corrupted.

King. Is it so? Take heed!

Dion. 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 served, flattered, and adored, 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 threatenings.
I have sinned, 'tis true, and here stand to be pu-
nished;

Yet would not thus be punished. Let me chuse
My way, and lay it on.

Dion. He articles with the gods: 'Would somebody would draw bonds, for the performance of covenants betwixt them!

Enter PHARAMond, Galatea, and MEGRA. King. What, is she found?

Pha. No; we have ta'en her horse:

He galloped 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.

Dion. I know some would give five thousand pounds to find her.

Pha. Come, let us seek.

King. Each man a several way; here I myself.
Dion. Come, gentlemen, we here.

Cle. Lady, you must go search too.
Meg. I had rather be searched myself.

Enter ARETHUSA.

[Ex. omnes.

Are. Where am I now? Feet, find me out a way, Without the counsel of my troubled head: I'll follow you, boldly, about these woods, O'er mountains, through brambles, pits, and floods. Heaven, I hope, will ease me. I am sick.

Enter BELLARIO.

Bel. 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 breathes

not.

Open once more those rosy twins, and send
Unto my lord your lat'st 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 prithee, let me go;
I shall do best without thee; I am well.

Enter PHILASTER.

Phi. I am to blame to be so much in rage: I'll tell her coolly, 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, heart,

But he must ease it here!

Bel. My lord, help the princess.
Are. I am well: Forbear.

Phi. Let me love lightning, let me be embraced
And kissed by scorpions, or adore the eyes
Of basilisks, rather than trust the tongues
Of hell-bred women! Some good gods look down,
And shrink these veins up; stick me here a stone,
Lasting to ages, in the memory

Of this damned act! Hear me, you wicked ones!
You have put hills of fire into this breast,
Not to be quenched with tears; for which may guilt
Sit on your bosoms! at your meals, and beds,
Despair await you! What, before my face?
Poison of asps between your lips! Diseases
Be your best issues! nature make a curse,
And throw it on you!

Are. Dear Philaster, leave To be enraged, and hear me.

Phi. I have done;

Forgive my passion. Not the calmed sea, When Holus locks up his windy brood,

Is less disturbed than I: I'll 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 reign
In sin, without controul. Wilt thou, Bellario?
I prithee, kill me: Thou art poor, and may'st
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 madman's
time,

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 fortune 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 jealousy, 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'll 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 horsed than myself, that out-ride 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 heaven and earth.

Phi. May they divide thy soul and body! Coun. Hold, dastard, strike a woman! Thou'rt a craven, I warrant thee: Thou would'st be loth to play half a dozen of venies at wasters with a good fellow for a broken head.

Phi. Leave us, good friend.

thyself

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 blood 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 breathe?

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 PHI. Coun. I cannot follow the rogue. I prithee, wench, come and kiss me now.

Enter PHARAMOND, DION, CLEREMONT, THRASILINE, and Woodmen.

Dion. Ay.

Coun. Then I have seen something yet.

Pha. But who has hurt her?

Coun. I told you, a rogue? I ne'er 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 father's old fox fly about his ears.

Pha. How will you have me kill him? Are. Not at all; 'Tis some distracted fellow.

Pha. By this hand,

I'll 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.

Woodman.