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 discharg'd 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.

Bell. I am gone;

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.
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 can'st 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,

When no breath troubles them: believe me, boy,

Care

Care seeks out wrinkled brows, and hollow eyes,
And builds himself caves to abide in them,

Come, sir, tell me truly, does your lord love me?
Bell. Love, madam? I know not what it is.

Are. Canst thou know grief, and never yet knew'st love?
Thou art deceiv'd, boy. Does he speak of me
As if he wish'd me well?

Bell. If it be love,

To forget all respect of his own friends,
In thinking of your face; if it be love,
To sit cross-arm'd and sigh away the day,
Mingled with starts, crying your name as loud
And hastily, as men i'the streets do fire;
If it be love to weep himself away,

When he but hears of any lady dead,

Or kill'd, because it might have been your chance ;
If when he goes to rest (which will not be)
T'wixt every prayer he says to name you once,
As others drop a bead, be to be in love;
Then, madam, I dare swear he loves you.
Are. O you're a cunning boy, and taught to lie
For your lord's credit; but thou know'st a lie
That bears this sound, is welcomer to me
Than any truth that says he loves me not.

Philaster is jealous of Bellario with the Princess.
Bell. Health to you, my lord;

The princess doth commend her love, her life,
And this unto you.

Phi. O Bellario,

Now I perceive she loves me, she does shew it
In loving thee, my boy, she has made thee brave.
Bell. My lord, she has attired me past my wish,
Past my desert, more fit for her attendant,
Though far unfit for me who do attend.

Phi. Thou art grown courtly, boy. O let all women That love black deeds learn to dissemble here.

Here by this paper she does write to me

As if her heart were mines of adamant

Το

To all the world besides, but unto me
A maiden snow that melted with my looks.

Tell me, my boy, how doth the princess use thee?
For I shall guess her love to me by that.

Bell. Scarce like her servant, but as if I were
Something allied to her; or had preserv'd
Her life three times by my fidelity;

As mothers fond do use their only sons;
As I'd use one that's left unto my trust,
For whom my life should pay if he met harm,
So she does use me.

Phi. Why this is wond'rous well:

But what kind language does she feed thee with?

Bell. Why, she does tell me, she will trust my youth With all her loving secrets, and does call me

Her pretty servant, bids me weep no more
For leaving you; she'll see my services
Regarded and such words of that soft strain,
That I am nearer weeping when she ends
Than ere she spake.

Phi. This is much better still.
Bell. Are you ill, my lord?
Phi. Ill? No, Bellario.
Bell. Methinks your words

Fall not from off your tongue so evenly,

Nor is there in your looks that quietness,

That I was wont to see.

Phi. Thou art deceiv'd, boy.-And she strokes thy head?

Bell. Yes.

Phi. And she does clap thy cheeks?

Bell. She does, my lord.

Phi. And she does kiss thee, boy, ha?

Bell. How, my lord?

Phi. She kisses thee?
Bell. Not so, my lord.

Phi. Come, come, I know she does.
Bell. No, by my life.

Aye,

Aye, now I see why my disturbed thoughts
Were so perplext when first I went to her;
My heart held augury. You are abus'd,
Some villain has abus'd you; I do see
Whereto you tend; fall rocks upon his head,
That put this to you; 'tis some subtil train
To bring that noble frame of yours to nought.

Phi. Thou think'st I will be angry with thee. Come.
Thou shalt know all my drift. I hate her more,
Than I love happiness, and plac'd thee there
Το pry with narrow eyes into her deeds.

Hast thou discover'd? is she fal'n to lust,

As I would wish her? Speak some comfort to me.

Bell. My lord, you did mistake the boy you sent;

Had she a sin that way, hid from the world,

I would not aid

Her base desires; but what I came to know

As servant to her, I would not reveal,

To make my life last ages.

Phi. O my heart!

This is a salve worse than the main disease.
Tell me thy thoughts; for I will know the least
That dwells within thee, or will rip thy heart
To know it; I will see thy thoughts as plain
As I do know thy face.

Bell. Why, so you do.

She is (for aught I know) by all the gods,

As chaste as ice; but were she foul as hell,

And I did know it, thus; the breath of kings,

The points of swords, tortures, nor bulls of brass,
Should draw it from me.

Phi. Then it is no time

To dally with thee; I will take thy life,

For I do hate thee; I could curse thee now.

Bell, If you do hate, you could not curse me worse;

The gods have not a punishment in store

Greater for me than is your hate.

Phi. Fie, fie,

So

So

young and so dissembling! fear'st thou not death? Can boys contemn that?

Bell. O, what boy is he

Can be content to live to be a man,

That sees the best of men thus passionate,

Thus without reason?

Phi. Oh, but thou dost not know what 'tis to die.
Bell. Yes I do know, my lord.

"Tis less than to be born; a lasting sleep,

A quiet resting from all jealousy;
A thing we all pursue; I know besides
It is but giving over of a game

That must be lost.

Phi. But there are pains, false boy,

For perjur'd souls; think but on these, and then
Thy heart will melt, and thou wilt utter all.
Bell. May they fall all upon me whilst I live,

If I be perjured, or have ever thought
Of that you charge me with; if I be false,
Send me to suffer in those punishments
You speak of; kill me.

Phi. O, what should I do?

Why, who can but believe him? He does swear
So earnestly, that if it were not true,

The gods would not endure him.

Rise, Bellario,

Thy protestations are so deep, and thou

Dost look so truly when thou utter'st them,

That though I know them false, as were my hopes,
I cannot urge thee further; but thou wert
To blame to injure me, for I must love
Thy honest looks, and take no revenge upon
Thy tender youth: a love from me to thee
Is firm whate'er thou dost: it troubles me
That I have call'd the blood out of thy cheeks,
That did so well become thee: but, good boy,
Let me not see thee more; something is done
That will distract me, that will make me mad,
If I behold thee; if thou tender'st me,

Let me not see thee,

་

Bell