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
Enow to wash me white, that I may feel
A child-like innocence within my breast!
Which, once perform'd, oh, give me leave to
stand

As fix'd as constancy herself; my eyes
Set here unmov'd, regardless of the world,
Though thousand miseries encompass me!
Mar. This is strange! Sir, how do you?
Arb. Mardonius! my mother-

Mar. Is she dead?

man

know

How she hath labour'd, since my father died,
To take by treason hence this loathed life,
That would but be to serve her. I have par-
don'd,

And pardon'd, and by that have made her fit
To practise new sins, not repent the old.
She now had hir'd a slave to come from thence,
And strike me here; whom Gobrias, sifting out,
Took, and condemn'd, and executed there.
The careful'st servant! Heav'n, 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 sav'd my life,
That I might die 'em over all for him.

Mar. Sir, let her bear her sins on her own
head;

Vex not yourself.

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 says, is grown in beauty and in grace;
In all the innocent virtues that become
A tender spotless maid: She stains her cheeks
With mourning tears, to purge her mother's ill;
And 'mongst that sacred dew she mingles pray'rs,
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, further, if I have not every night
Expostulated with my wand'ring thoughts,
If aught 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 pow'r 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 mother's blood.
Mar. I never saw such sudden 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,

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 combat 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. Oh, Tigranes!

I know you are to see a lady there;
To see, and like, I fear: Perhaps, the hope
Of her makes you forget me, ere we part.
Be happier than you know to wish! farewell!
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 king's sister that is offer'd me;
Thither shall you, and, being once got in,
Persuade her, by what subtle 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 lye!
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 could wish myself more full of courtship for your fair sake. Spa. Sir, I shall feel no want of that.

Bes. Lady, you must haste; I have receiv'd new letters from the king, that require more haste than I expected; he will follow me suddenly himself; and begins to call for your majesty already.

Tigr. He shall not do so long.

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 know'st 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 yourself
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 yourself 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 know, I know
You speak not what you think.

Pan. I would my heart

Were stone, before my softness should be urg'd
Against my mother! A more troubled thought
No virgin bears about! Should I excuse
My mother's 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 child's ear,
That it strikes reverence through it. May the
will

Of Heav'n be done, and if one needs must fall,
Take a poor virgin's 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' Ara. I know, it would not.

Gob. Nay, should I join wi' 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 bade 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 pow'r.
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! Accurs'd this womb, That after did conceive, to my disgrace!

divers letters come from Armenia, that Bessus Bac. My lord-protector, they say, there are 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 not I, nor any other, held him worth my sword.

Enter BESSUS and SPACONIA.

Bes. Health to my lord-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 commanders, can make him: Your letters will tell you all.

Pan. I will not open mine, till I do know My brother's 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 soldier that gets not a knock.

Pan. I do not ask how strange that soldier 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?

Pan. I prithee 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'll hear't some other time.

Pun. I prithee, 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 gauntlet 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' the enemies' side, call'd Tiribasus; valiant, they said, he was. Whilst these two kings were stretching themselves, this Tiribasus cast something a scornful look on me, and ask'd me, whom 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 answer'd, and a scuffle was like to grow, when one Zipetus offered to help him: I

Pan. All this is of thyself: I pray thee, Bes

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. Cry'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 combat; but that once donePun. He slips o'er all the fight.

Bes. I call'd him to me; Cosroes, said I—
Pan. I will hear no more.
Bes. No, no, I lye.

Bac. I dare be sworn thou dost.
Bes Captain, said I; so it was.

Pun. 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. An't please your grace, this is she;
Charge, will you come near the princess?
Pan. You're welcome from your country;
and this land

Shall shew unto you all the kindnesses
That I can make it. What's your name ?
Spa. Thalestris.

Pan. You're 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'er 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'll 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.

Pun. Why, captain, here's nobody thinks

otherwise.

He writes, what tears of joy he shed, to hear
How you were grown in every virtuous 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 hope to see him.

Gob. Yet I wonder much

At this: He writes, he brings along with him
A husband for you, that saine captive prince;
And if he love you, as he makes a shew,
He will allow you freedom in a 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 chose him.

Pan. But I am not built

On such wild humours; If I find him worthy, He is not less because he's offered.

Spa. 'Tis true he is not; 'would, he would seem less!

Gob. I think there is no lady can affect Another prince, your brother standing by ; He doth eclipse mens' virtues 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?
Pan. Yes.

[Exit GOB.

To leave his sceptre and his throne to him,
And take his rags to wander o'er 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, ay, and granted, or I die! I am ashamed to speak it; but where life Lies at the stake, I cannot think her woman, That will not talk something unreasonably To hazard saving of it. I shall seem A strange petitioner, that wish all ill To them I beg of, ere they give me aught; 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

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,

Enter three Men and a Woman.

1 Man. Come, come, run, run, run. 2 Man, We shall out-go her.

3 Man. One were better be hang'd than carry out women fiddling to these shows.

Wom. Is the king hard by?

What

1 Man. You heard he with the bottles said, he thought we should come too late. abundance of people here is!

Wom. But what had he in those bottles?

3 Man. I know not.

2 Man. Why, ink, goodman fool.

3 Man. Ink, what to do?

1 Man. Why, the king, look you, will many times call for those bottles, and break his mind to his friends.

Wom. Let's take our places; we shall have no room else.

2 Mun. The man told us, he would walk o' foot through the people.

3 Man. Ay, marry, did he.

1 Man. Our shops are well look'd-to now. 2 Man. 'Slife, yonder's my master, I think. 1 Man. No, 'tis not he.

Enter PHILIP, with two Citizens' Wives.

1 Cit. Lord, how fine the fields be. What sweet living 'tis in the country!

2 Cit. Ay, poor souls, God help 'em, they live as contentedly as one of us.

1 Cit. My husband's cousin would have had me gone into the country last year. Wert thou ever there?

2 Cit. Ay, 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, prithee?

2 Cit. They are fain to milk themselves i' the country.

1 Cit. Good lord! But the people there, I think, will be very dutiful to one of us.

2 Ćit. Ay, 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 ourselves. Philip, I pray, chuse us a place.

Phil. There's the best, forsooth.

1 Cit. By your leave, good people, a little. 3 Man. What's the matter?

Phil. I pray you, my friend, do not thrust my mistress so; she's with child.

2 Man. Let her look to herself then; has she not had thrusting enough yet! If she stay shouldering here, she may, haps, go home with a cake in her belly.

3 Man. How now, goodman Squitter-breech! why do you lean on me?

Phil. Because I will.

3 Man. Will you, Sir Sauce-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 quarrel, but thou'rt at one end or other on't.

3 Man. It's at the first end then, for he'll ne'er stay the last.

1 Cit. Well, Slip-string, I shall meet with you. 3 Man. When you will.

1 Cit. I'll give a crown to meet with you. 3 Man. At a bawdy-house.

1 Cit. Ay, you're full of your roguery; but if I do meet you, it shall cost me a fall.

Flourish. Enter one running.

4 Man. The king, the king, the king, the king! Now, now, now, now!

Flourish. Enter ARBACES, TIGRANES, and MARDONIUS.

All. God preserve your majesty!

Arb. I thank you all. Now are my joys 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 bestow'd on me,
All your expences to maintain my war,
Is but a little word: You will imagine
'Tis slender payment; 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,

there's nobody cries brooms.

1 Cit. No!

Under your vines, and make the miseries

Of other kingdoms a discourse for you,

And lend them sorrows. For yourselves, you

may