Tec. I believe it.

But know then, Orgilus, what honour is:
Honour consists not in a bare opinion
By doing any act that feeds content,

Brave in appearance, 'cause we think it brave;
Such honour comes by accident, not nature,
Proceeding from the vices of our passion,
Which makes our reason drunk: but real honour
Is the reward of virtue, and acquired
By justice, or by valour which, for bases,
Hath justice to uphold it. He then fails
In honour, who, for lucre or revenge,3
Commits thefts, murther, treasons, and adulteries,
With such like, by intrenching on just laws,
Whose sovereignty is best preserv'd by Justice.
Thus, as you see how honour must be grounded
On knowledge, not opinion, (for opinion
Relies on probability and accident,
But knowledge on necessity and truth,)
I leave thee to the fit consideration

Of what becomes the grace of real honour,
Wishing success to all thy virtuous meanings.
Org. The gods increase thy wisdom, reverend
oracle,

And in thy precepts make me ever thrifty! [Exit.
Tec. I thank thy wish.-Much mystery of fate
Lies hid in that man's fortunes; curiosity

May lead his actions into rare attempts:

3 Who, for lucre or revenge.] The 4to has-" for lucre of revenge." The context shews that this can scarcely be the genuine reading.

But let the gods be moderators still;

No human power can prevent their will.

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 delivered, 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' 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, no

creaking,

No noise; dost [thou] hear nothing?

Grau. Not a mouse,

Or whisper of the wind.

Bass. The floor is matted;

The bed-posts sure are steel or marble.-Soldiers
Should not affect, methinks, strains so effeminate;
Sounds of such delicacy are but fawnings
Upon the sloth of luxury, they heighten
Cinders of covert lust up to a flame.

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

Of your's will but undo us.

Bass. Chamber-combats

Are felt, not heard.

Pro. (within) He wakes.

Bass. What's that?

Ith. (within) Who's there? Sister?-All quit the room else. Bass. 'Tis 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; 'tis 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 wild fires
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+

the handmaid to the wages

Of country toil, drinks the untroubled streams] There is a slight confusion in the old copy, arising from one of the words being shuffled out of its place; it reads:

the handmaid to the wages

The untroubled of country toil, drinks streams.